Ford, John · published 1633 · first performed or written 1630 [c.1630-1633] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T40 Sin, guilt and violent loss within famil · 482 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T40: brother, death, life, die, heaven, sin, live, father, blood, soul.
You had been happy: Then had you never known that sin of life Which blots all following glories with a vengeance, For forfeiting the last will of the dead, From whom you had your being. Sad Penthea, Thou canst not be too cruel; my rash spleen Hath with a violent hand plucked from thy bosom A lover-blessed heart, to grind it into dust, For which mine's now a breaking. Not yet, heaven I do beseech thee: first let some wild fires Scorch, not consume it; may the heat be cherished With desires infinite, but hopes impossible. Wronged soul, thy prayers are heard. Here lo I breathe A miserable creature led to ruin By an unnatural brother. I consume In languishing affections for that trespass, Yet cannot die. The handmaid to the wages, The untroubled of Country toil, drinks streams With leaping kids, and with the bleating lambs; And so alleys her thirst secure, whiles I Quench my hot sighs with fleerings of my tears. The labourer doth eat his coursest bread, Earned with his sweat, and lies him down to sleep; Which every bit I touch turns in digestion To gall, as bitter as Penthea's curse. Put me to any penance for my tyranny, And I will call thee merciful. Pray kill me, Rid me from living with a jealous husband, Than we will join in friendship, be again Brother and sister.— Kill me pray: nay, will 'ee? How does thy Lord esteem thee? Such an one As only you have made me; a faith-breaker, A spotted whore, forgive me; I am one In art, not in desires, the gods must witness. Thou dost belye thy friend. I do not Ithocles; For she that's wife to Orgilus, and lives In known Adultery with Bassanes, Is at the best a whore. Wilt kill me now? The ashes of our parents will assume Some dreadful figure, and appear to charge Thy bloody gilt, that hast betrayed their name To infamy, in this reproachful match. After my victories abroad, at home I meet despair; ingratitude of nature Hath made my actions monstrous: thou shalt stand A Deity (my sister) and be worshipped, For thy resolve martyrdom: wronged maids, And married wives shall to thy hallowed shrine Offer their orisons, and sacrifice Pure Turtles crowned with myrtle, if thy pity Unto a yielding brother's pressure, lend One finger but to ease it. O no more. Death waits to waft me to the Stygian banks, And free me from this Chaos of my bondage, And till thou wilt forgive, I must endure. Who is the Saint you serve? Friendship, or Of birth to any but my sister, durst not Have moved that question as a secret, Sister: I dare not murmur to myself. Let me, By your new protestations I conjure 'ee, Partake her name. Her name,— 'tis,— 'tis, I dare not. All your respects are forged.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
You had beene happy: Then had you neuer knowne that sinne of life Which blots all following glories with a vengeance, For forfeiting the last will of the dead, From whom you had your being. Sad Penthea, Thou canst not be too cruell; my rash spleene Hath with a violent hand pluck'd from thy bosome A louer-blest heart, to grind it into dust, For which mine's now a breaking. Not yet, heauen I doe beseech thee: first let some wild fires Scorch, not consume it; may the heat be cherisht With desires infinite, but hopes impossible. Wrong'd soule, thy prayers are heard. Here lo I breathe A miserable creature led to ruine By an vnnaturall brother. I consume In languishing affections for that trespasse, Yet cannot dye. The handmaid to the wages, The vntroubled of Country toyle, drinkes streames With leaping kids, and with the bleating lambes; And so allayes her thirst secure, whiles I Quench my hot sighes with fleerings of my teares. The labourer doth eat his coursest bread, Earn'd with his sweat, and lyes him downe to sleepe; Which euery bit I touch turnes in disgestion To gall, as bitter as Penthea's curse. Put me to any pennance for my tyranny, And I will call thee mercifull. Pray kill me, Rid me from liuing with a iealous husband, Then we will ioyne in friendship, be againe Brother and sister. — Kill me pray: nay, will 'ee? How does thy Lord esteeme thee? Such an one As onely you haue made me; a faith-breaker, A spotted whore, forgiue me; I am one In art, not in desires, the gods must witnesse. Thou dost be lye thy friend. I doe not Ithocles For she that's wife to Orgilus, and liues In knowne Adultery with Bassanes, Is at the best a whore. Wilt kill me now? The ashes of our parents will assume Some dreadfull figure, and appeare to charge Thy bloody gilt, that hast betray'd their name To infamy, in this reproachfull match. After my victories abroad, at home I meet despaire; ingratitude of nature Hath made my actions monstrous: thou shalt stand A Deity (my sister) and be worship'd, For thy resolued martyrdome: wrong'd maids, And married wiues shall to thy hallowed shrine Offer their orisons, and sacrifice Pure Turtles crown'd with mirtle, if thy pitty Vnto a yeelding brothers pressure, lend One finger but to ease it. O no more. Death waits to waft me to the Stygian bankes, And free me from this Chaos of my bondage, And till thou wilt forgiue, I must indure. Who is the Saint you sere? Friendship, or Of birth to any but my sister, durst not Haue mou'd that question as a secret, Sister: I dare not murmure to my selfe. Let me, By your new protestations I coniure 'ee, Partake her name. Her name,— 'tis, — 'tis, I dare not. All your respects are forg'd.