Goffe, Thomas · published 1633 · first performed or written 1617 [c.1613-c.1618] (Annals) tragedy · at University T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.82 · 490 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
O, now, the heaven's rain vengeance on our head O mother, mother, save, me save me father. Hold Pylades, be steadfast, for by heaven He wounds me, that persuades me not to wound. O turn thy bloody weapon on my breast, 'Twas this womb that brought forth this Babe and thee If that be guilty, I have made it so. Rip up this place which first did bring thee forth, 'Tis I'intreat thee, 'tis the mother, she Which gave thee houseroom here within this breast, Upon whose dugs thy infant lips did hang. It was my father, he entreated you, Who many a time had clipped you in his arms, Who made you Queen of Greece, yes, it was he, Good Agamemnon, he did plead for life. bath not thy hands in a poor infant's blood, Nor in thy mothers, I deserve to die: And yet remember how my doom saved thee, How easily mercy did obtain her suit. Nay, but Aegisthus, you can aggravate, To do a heinous murder, and i'th' Court; I'th' place of justice, where the King might hear, Upon a chief attendant of the Kings. Murder itself is past all expiation, A crime that nature most of all abhors, And look how manhood and civility, Stand at the bar of justice, and there plead, How much they're wronged, and how much defaced, When man doth die his hands in blood of man. Now harken King, I'll use thy Rhetoric, Thou didst a heinous murder in the Court, Not which the King did hear, but which he felt; When no petition could (good man) prevail, Therefore this dies, this first shall have his due. This mischief done, revenge shall prompt a new: O, the God's blush, and heaven looks pale at this, A father's face besmeared with his own blood. My haste deceives my will; tush, all this yet, May be called piety, you shall taste too mother. O, why dost banish nature from his place? Look on thy mother's tears worse than those groans, And pangs she had, when she first brought thee forth, When of thy friends or parents thou hast wrong, Patience, not fury doth to thee belong. Is this the blessing that thy knee should ask? Repay'st thou thus my kisses and my tears, Which flowed from me to thee in tender years. O why did you so banish womanhood, When you and this damned villain, base adulterer, Made in my father's side so many wounds, And brought a brave old King into this state: See, here's his bones, my pocket can contain Great Agamemnon; and repaid you thus His kind embraces? all his loving signs? Aegisthus, you are thirsty, you shall drink, Yes, you shall clear your throat, by heaven you shall. O mischief above mischief! what Bred on a stony rock, could e'er endure To see a father's thirst quenched with such blood? Hast thou no measure? hath revenge no end?
nodes 1769–1828 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 29 of 38 in this edition
Length
490 words · 673 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.819 (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)
O, now, the heauens raine vengeance on our head O mother, mother, saue, me saue me father. Hold Pylades, be stedfast, for by heauen He wounds mee, that perswades me not to wound. O turne thy bloody weapon on my brest▪ 'Twas this wombe that brought forth this Babe and thee▪ If that be guilty, I haue made it so. Rip vp this place which first did bring thee forth▪ 'Tis I'intreat thee, 'tis the mother, she Which gaue thee house-roome here within this brest, Vpon whose dugs thy infant lips did hang. It was my father, he intreated you, Who many a time had clipt you in his armes, Who made you Queene of Greece, yes, it was hee▪ Good Agamemnon, he did plead for life. Bathe not thy hands in a poore infants blood, Nor in thy mothers, I deserue to die: And yet remember how my doome sau'd thee, How easily mercy did obtaine her suit. Nay, but Aegystheus, you can aggrauate▪ To doe a haynous murther, and i'th Court; I'th place of Iustice, where the King might heare, Vpon a chiefe attendant of the Kings. Murther it selfe is past all expiation, A crime that nature most of all abhorres, And looke how manhood and ciuility, Stand at the barre of Iustice, and there plead, How much they'r wrong'd, and how much defac'd, When man doth dye his hands in blood of man. Now harken King, I'll vse thy Rhetorique, Thou didst a haynous murther in the Court, Not which the King did heare, but which he felt; When no petition could (good man) preuaile, Therefore this dies, this first shall haue his due. This mischiefe done, reuenge shall prompt a new: O, the Gods blush, and heauen looks pale at this, A fathers face besmear'd with his owne blood. My haste deceiues my wil; tush, al this yet, May be call'd piety, you shall taste too mother. O, why dos't banish nature from his place? Looke on thy mothers teares' worse then those grones, And pangs she had, when she first brought thee forth, When of thy friends or parents thou hast wrong, Patience, not fury doth to thee belong. Is this the blessing that thy knee should aske? Repay'st thou thus my kisses and my teares, Which flow'd from mee to thee in tender yeeres. O why did you so banish woman-hood, When you and this damn'd villaine, base adulterer, Made in my fathers side so many wounds, And brought a braue old King into this state: See, here's his bones, my pocket can containe Great Agamemnon; and repayd you thus His kind embraces? all his louing signes? Aegysteus, you are thirsty, you shall drinke, Yes, you shal cleare your throat, by heauen you shal. O mischief aboue mischief! what Bred on a stony rock, could e'r endure To see a fathers thirst quench'd with such blood? Hast thou no measure? hath reuenge no end?