Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
For honour's sake, For love you bear to conscience.— Reach the flames: Grandoes and Lords of Spain be witness all What here I cancel; read, do you know this bond? Our hands are to't. 'Tis your confirmed Contract With my sad kinswoman: but wherefore, Sir, Now is your rage on fire, in such a presence To have it mourn in Ashes? marquess Daenia, we'll lend That tongue, when this no more can speak. Dear Sir! I am deaf, Played the full consort of the Spheres unto me Upon their loudest strings— so burn that witch Who would dry up the tree of all Spain's Glories, But that I purge her sorceries by fire: Troy lies in Cinders; let your Oracles Now laugh at me if I have been deceived By their ridiculous riddles: why (good father) (Now you may freely chide) why was your zeal Ready to burst in showers to quench our fury? Fury indeed, you give it proper name: What have you done? closed up a festering wound Which rots the heart: like a bad Surgeon, Labouring to pluck out from your eye a moat, You thrust the eye clean out. thouart mad ex tempore: What eye? which is that wound? That Scroll, which now You make the black Indenture of your lust, Although eat up in flames, is printed here, In me, in him, in these, in all that saw it, Iu all that ever did but heare 'twas yours: That scold of the whole world (Fame) will anon Rail with her thousand tongues at this poor shift Which gives your sin a flame greater than that You lent the paper; you to quench a wild fire, Cast oil upon it. Oil to blood shall turn, I'll lose a limb before the heart shall mourn. he's mad with rage or joy. With both; with rage To see his follies checked, with fruitless joy Because he hopes his Contract is cut off Which Divine justice more exemplifies. Where's the King? Wrapped up in clouds of lightning? What has he done? saw you the Contract torn As I did hear a minion swear he threatened. He tore it not, but burned it. Openly! And heaven with us to witness. Well, that fire Will prove a catching flame to burn his kingdom. Meet and consult. No more, trust not the air With our projections, let us all revenge Wrongs done to our most hoble kinswoman; Action is honour's language, swords are tongues, Which both speak best, and best do right our wrongs. Madam, there's a bear without to speak with you. A Bear. It's a Man all hairy, and that's as bad. Who is't? 'tis one Master Captain Baltazar. I do not know that Baltazar. He desires to see you: and if you love a water-spaniel before he be shorn, see him. Let him come in. Hist; a duck, a duck; there she is, Sir. A Soldiers good wish bless you Lady. Good wishes are most welcome (Sir) to me, So many bad ones blast me.
nodes 430–504 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 8 of 27 in this edition
Length
506 words · 670 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.742 (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)
For Honours sake, For love you beare to conscience.— Reach the flames: Grandoes and Lords of Spaine be witnesse all What here I cancell; read, doe you know this bond? Our hands are too't. 'Tis your confirmed Contract With my sad kinswoman: but wherefore, Sir, Now is your rage on fire, in such a presence To have it moure in Ashes? Marquesse Daenia, Wee'll lend That tongue, when this no more can speake. Deare Sir! I am deafe, Playd the full consort of the Spheares unto me Vpon their lowdest strings—so burne that witch Who would dry up the tree of all Spaines Glories, But that I purge her sorceries by fire: Troy lyes in Cinders; let your Oracles Now laugh at me if I have beene dcceiv'd By their ridiculous riddles: why (good father) (Now you may freely chide) why was your zeale Ready to burst in showres to quench our fury? Fury indeed, you give it proper name: What have you done? clos'd up a festering wound Which rots the heart: like a bad Surgeon, Labouring to plucke out from your eye a moate, You thrust the eye cleane out. Th'art mad ex tempore: What eye? which is that wound? That Scrowle, which now You make the blacke Indenture of your lust, Altho eat up in flames, is printed here, In me, in him, in these, in all that saw it, Iu all that ever did but heare 'twas yours: That scold of the whole world (Fame) will anon Raie with her thousand tongues at this poore shift Which gives your sinne a flame greater than that You lent the paper; you to quench a wild fire, Cast oyle upon it. Oyle to blood shall turne, I'le lose a limbe before the heart shall mourne. Hee's mad with rage or joy. With both; with rage To see his follies check'd, with fruitlesse joy Because he hopes his Cotract is cut off Which Divine lustice more exemplifies. Where's the King? Wrapt up in clouds of linghtning? What has he done? saw you the Contract As I did heare a minion sweare he threatned. He tore it not, but burnt it. Openly! And heaven with us to witnesse. Well, that fire Will prove a catching flame to burne his kingdome. Meet and consult. No more, trust not the ayre With our projections, let us all revenge Wrongs done to our most hoble kinswoman; Action is honours language, swords are tongues, Which both speake best, and best do right our wrongs. Madam, theres a beare without to speak with you. A Beare. Its a Man all hairye, and thats as bad. Who ist? Tis one Master Captaine Baltazar. I doe not know that Baltazar. He desires to see you: and if you love a water-paiel before he be shorne, see him. Let him come in. Hist; a ducke, a ducke; there she is, Sir. A Souldiers good wish blesse you Lady. Good wishes are most welcome (Sir) to me▪ So many bad ones blast me.