Marmion, Shackerley · published 1633 · first performed or written 1633 [1632-1633] (Annals) comedy · Prince Charles's Men (second) · before the Court T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.79 · 491 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Look you: t' unfold your heart sir with this sword, And read the falsehood that is written in it. Come I must know the truth, and reason too, If there be reason for a wicked act. You mean about Valeria? The same. Still an ill conscience will betray itself, And sends forth many a scowling, fearful look, To descry danger; if he stand confident, And justify it to the face of terror, Than she is false. I hear she is run mad. Is, and the cause of her distemperature Is the reproach you put upon her honour. The wound then is too deep, and an ill Fate Has driven the shaft of my intended malice Beyond the scope I aimed at. Was it malice? That word has struck me both with joy and anger, Both in suspense, which should weight down the scale Of my deep burdened mind. What horrid baseness Durst so attempt to profane innocence? It was my love to her. What is his hate, Whose love has proved so ominous? That love Being wronged, begot that hate. Thou hast done ill. And like a foolish and young Exorcist, Hast conjured up a spirit of that fury, Thy art cannot allay. Repentance may. I only meant to give her name a gash, That might be healed again without a scar, Or any spreading plaster of wide rumour, With help of her compurgators, but only To vex her. What's the offence that did provoke This imputation? Did she ever wrong you? Malign your wit? Disgrace you before your Mistress? Disparage your behaviour? Had she done so, Yet this revenge were disproportionate. Urge me no more, I cannot look on her Without such a reflection of my crime, As must give shame a lustre; there's no man But once in's life may sin besides his nature, Nay perhaps contrary: this is a deed I must abhor to justify. You have given Almost a satisfaction. 'twas a scandal, Arose from my repulse, and has no witness Besides your ears; if it were silenced there, The world were ignorant of it; I hear She is run mad upon the grief, I am sorry Her punishment has outstripped my desires. I'll undertake, whate'er you shall propose, For the recovery of her wits, or honour. And I'll make use of your kind proffer sir. I will resign her where she most affects, And give you all assistance to obtain her. You speak honestly, I shall employ you; I know you have that credit with her father, You may advise him in a thing that reason Shall seem to second; bring but this to pass, You have made requital for all injuries. Show me the way, I'll do't; be you the mover, I'll be the instrument. You are my Genius, My hope, my opportunity, my Fate; And in effecting this you cannot err, To make me happy, and recover her. HOw do I look now Crochet?
before the Court;Salisbury Court;Whitehall;Indoor Professional
Genre (British Drama)
comedy
Play type
Adult Professional;Professional
Edition / TCP / DEEP
edition 1004 · TCP A07024 · DEEP 818
Edition role
Representative edition — used in the analysis
Position
nodes 1463–1535 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 38 of 45 in this edition
Length
491 words · 636 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.786 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T7 · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Looke you: t' unfold your heart ſir with this ſword, And reade the falſhood that is written in it. Come I muſt know the truth, and reaſon too, If there be reaſon for a wicked act. You meane about Valeria? The ſame. Still an ill conſcience will betray it ſelfe, And ſends forth many a ſcowling, fearfull looke, To deſcry danger; if he ſtand confident, And juſtify it to the face of terrour, Then ſhe is falſe. I heare ſhe is runne mad. Is, and the cauſe of her diſtemperature Is the reproach you put upon her honour. The wound then is too deepe, and an ill Fate Has driven the ſhaft of my intended malice Beyond the ſcope I aim'd at. Was it malice? That word has ſtrooke me both with joy and anger, Both in ſuſpence, which ſhould weight downe the ſcale Of my deep burdned mind. What horrid baſeneſſe Durſt ſo attempt to prophane innocence? It was my love to her. What is his hate, Whoſe love has prov'd ſo ominous? That love Being wrong'd, begot that hate. Thou haſt done ill. And like a fooliſh and young Exorciſt, Haſt conjur'd up a ſpirit of that fury, Thy art cannot allay. Repentance may. I only meant to give her name a gaſh, That might be heal'd againe without a ſcarre, Or any ſpreading playſter of wide rumour, With helpe of her compurgators, but only To vexe her. What's the offence that did provoke This imputation? Did ſhe ever wrong you? Maligne your wit? Diſgrace you before your Miſtris? Diſparage your behaviour? Had ſhe done ſo, Yet this revenge were diſproportionate. Vrge me no more, I cannot looke on her Without ſuch a reflection of my crime, As muſt give ſhame a luſtre; there's no man But once in's life may ſinne beſides his nature, Nay perhaps contrary: this is a deed I muſt abhorre to juſtify. You have given Almoſt a ſatisfaction. Twas a ſcandall, Aroſe from my repulſe, and has no witneſſe Beſides your eares; if it were ſilenc'd there, The world were ignorant of it; I heare She is runne mad upon the griefe, I am ſorry Her puniſhment has outſtript my deſires. Ile undertake, what ere you ſhall propoſe, For the recovery of her wits, or honour. And Ile make uſe of your kind profer ſir. I will reſigne her where ſhe moſt affects, And give you all aſſiſtance to obtaine her. You ſpeake honeſtly, I ſhall imploy you; I know you have that credite with her father, You may adviſe him in a thing that reaſon Shall ſeeme to ſecond; bring but this to paſſe, You have made requitall for all injuries. Shew me the way, Ile do't; be you the mover, Ile be the inſtrument. You are my Genius, My hope, my opportunity, my Fate; And in effecting this you cannot erre, To make me happy, and recover her. HOw doe I looke now Crochet?