Goffe, Thomas · published 1633 · first performed or written 1617 [c.1613-c.1618] (Annals) tragedy · at University T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.81 · 494 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
IF ever God lent any thing to earth, Whereby it seemed to symphatize with heaven, It is this sacred friendship: Gordian knot Which Kings, nor Gods, nor Fortune can undo. O what Horoscopus, what constellation, Held in our birth so great an influence, Which one affection in two minds unites? How hath my woe been thine, my fatal ill Hath still been parted, and one share been thine! Why, dearest friend, suppose my case were thine, And I had lost a father, wouldst not thou In the like sort participate my grief? Yes, witness heaven I would. So, now thou hast lost a father, True, Pylades, thou putst me well in mind, I have lost a father, a dear, dear father, A King, a brave old King, a noble soldier, And yet he was murdered: O my forgetful soul; Why should not I now draw my vengeful sword, And straightway sheath it in the murderer's heart? Minos should never have vacation, Whilst any of our progeny remained. Well, I will go, and so massacre him, I'll teach him how to murder an old man, A King, my Father, and so dastardly To kill him in his bed. Alas, Orestes! Grief doth distract thee: who is't thou wilt kill? Why, he, or she, or they that killed my father. ay, who are they? Nay, I know not yet, But I will know. Stay thy vengeful thoughts, And since thus long we have estranged ourselves From friends and parents, let's think why it is, And why we had it noised in the Court, We both were dead; the cause was thy revenge, That if by any secret private means, We might but learn who 'twas, that drenched their swords In thy dear father's blood, we then would rouse Black Nemesis in flames from out her cave, And she should be the umpire in this cause. Man's soul is like a boisterous working sea, Swelling in billows for disdain of wrongs, And tumbling up and down from day to day, Grows greater still in indignation, Turns male content, in pleaseless melancholy, Spending her humours in dull passion, still Locking her senses in unclosed gins, Till by revenge she sets at liberty. O, now my thirsty soul expects full draughts Of Ate's boiling cup: O, how 'two'ld ease My heart, to see a channel of his blood, Streaming from hence to hell, that killed my father, ay, but dear friend, thou must not let rage lose, And like a furious Lion, from whose den The forester hath stolen away his young, He missing it, straight runs with open jaws On all he meets, and never hurting him That did the wrong; wise men must mix revenge With reason, which by providence will prompt, And tell us where's the mark, whereat we aim. Till then in Cinders we'll rake up our grief, Fire thus kept, still lives, but opened dies, From smallest sparks great flames may one day rise.
nodes 695–759 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 12 of 38 in this edition
Length
494 words · 671 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.807 (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)
IF euer God lent any thing to earth, Whereby it seem'd to symphatize with heauen, It is this sacred friendship: Gordian knot Which Kings, nor Gods, nor Fortune can vndoe. O what Horoscopus, what constellation, Held in our birth so great an influence, Which one affection in two mindes vnites? How hath my wo beene thine, my fatall ill Hath still beene parted, and one share beene thine! Why, dearest friend, suppose my case were thine, And I had lost a father, wouldst not thou In the like sort participate my griefe? Yes, witnesse heauen I would. So, now thou hast lost a father, True, Pylades, thou putst me well in mind, I haue lost a father, a deare, deare father, A King, a braue old King, a noble souldier, And yet he was murdered: O my forgetfull soule; Why should not I now drawe my vengefull sword, And strait-way sheath it in the murderers heart? Minos should neuer haue vacation, Whilst any of our progeny remain'd. Well, I will goe, and so massacre him, I'll teach him how to murder an old man, A King, my Father, and so dastardly To kill him in his bed. Alas, Orestes! Griefe doth distract thee▪ who ist thou wilt kill? Why, he, or she, or they that kill'd my father. I, who are they? Nay, I know not yet, But I will know. Stay thy vengefull thoughts, And since thus long we haue estrang'd our selues From friends and parents, lets thinke why it is, And why we had it noysed in the Court, We both were dead; the cause was thy reuenge, That if by any secret priuate meanes, We might but learne who'twas, that drench'd their swords In thy deare fathers blood, wee then would rouze Blacke Nemesis in flames from out her caue, And shee should be the vmpire in this cause. Mans soule is like a boystrous working sea, Swelling in billowes for disdaine of wrongs, And tumbling vp and downe from day to day, Growes greater still in indignation, Turnes male content, in pleaselesse melancholly, Spending her humours in dull passion, still Locking her senses in vnclosed gins, Till by reuenge shee sets at liberty. O, now my thirsty soule expects full draughts Of Ate's boyling cup: O, how two'ld ease My heart, to see a channell of his blood, Streaming from hence to hell, that killd my father, I, but deare friend, thou must not let rage loose, And like a furious Lyon, from whose denne The forrester hath stolne away his young, Hee missing it, strait runnes with open iawes On all he meets, and neuer hurting him That did the wrong; wise men must mix reuenge With reason, which by prouidence will prompt, And tell vs where's the marke, whereat we ayme. Till then in Cinders wee'll rake vp our griefe, Fire thus kept, still liues, but opened dies, From smallest sparks great flames may one day rise.