Shakespeare, William / Fletcher, John · published 1634 · first performed or written 1613 [1613-1614] (Annals) tragicomedy · King's Men · Blackfriars T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.79 · 449 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Is this winning? Oh all you heavenly powers where is you mercy? But that your wills have said it must be so, And charge me live to comfort this unfriended, This miserable Prince, that cuts away A life more worthy from him, than all women; I should, and would die too. Infinite pity That four such eyes should be so fixed on one That two must needs be blind for't. So it is. there's many a man alive, that hath out lived The love o'th' people, yea i'th' selfsame state Stands many a Father with his child; some comfort We have by so considering: we expire And not without men's pity. To live still, Have their good wishes, we prevent The loathsome misery of age, beguile The Gout and Rheum, that in lag hours attend For grey approachers; we come towards the gods Young, and unwappered not, halting under Crymes Many and stale: that sure shall please the gods Sooner than such, to give us Nectar with 'em, For we are more clear Spirits. My dear kinsmen. Whose lives (for this poor comfort) are laid down, You have sold 'em too too cheap. What ending could be Of more content? over us the victors have Fortune, whose title is as momentary, As to us death is certain: A grain of honour They not ore'-weigh us. Let us bid farewell; And with our patience, anger tottering Fortune, Who at her certainest reels. Come? who begins? Even he that led you to this Banquet, shall Taste to you all: ah ha my Friend, my Friend, Your gentle daughter gave me freedom once; You'll see't done now for ever: pray how does she? I heard she was not well; her kind of ill gave me some sorrow. Sir she's well restored, And to be married shortly. By my short life I am most glad on't; 'tis the latest thing I shall be glad of, prithee tell her so: Commend me to her, and to piece her portion Tender her this. Nay le's be offerers all. Is it a maid? Verily I think so, A right good creature, more to me deserving Then I can quite or speak of. Commend us to her. The gods requite you all, And make her thankful. Adieu; and let my life be now as short, As my leave taking. Lead courageous Cosin. we'll follow cheerfully. Hold, hold, O hold, hold, hold. Hold hoa: It is a cursed haste you made If you have done so quickly: noble Palamon, The gods will show their glory in a life. That thou art yet to lead. Can that be, When Venus I have said is false? How do things fare?
nodes 3004–3070 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 46 of 48 in this edition
Length
449 words · 595 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.791 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T10 · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Is this wynning? Oh all you heavenly powers where is you mercy? But that your wils have saide it must be so, And charge me live to comfort this unfriended, This miserable Prince, that cuts away A life more worthy from him, then all women; I should, and would die too. Infinite pitty That fowre such eies should be so fixd on one That two must needes be blinde fort. So it is. Ther's many a man alive, that hath out liv'd The love o'th people, yea i'th selfesame state Stands many a Father with his childe; some comfort We have by so considering: we expire And not without mens pitty. To live still, Have their good wishes, we prevent The loathsome misery of age, beguile The Gowt and Rheume, that in lag howres attend For grey approachers; we come towards the gods Yong, and unwapper'd not, halting under Cryes Many and stale: that sure shall please the gods Sooner than such, to give us Nectar with 'em, For we are more cleare Spirits. My deare kinsemen. Whose lives (for this poore comfort) are laid downe, You have sould 'em too too cheape. What ending could be Of more content? ore us the victors have Fortune, whose title is as momentary, As to us death is certaine: A graine of honour They not ore'-weigh us. Let us bid farewell; And with our patience, anger tottring Fortune, Who at her certain'st reeles. Come? who begins? Ev'n he that led you to this Banket, shall Taste to you all: ah ha my Friend, my Friend, Your gentle daughter gave me freedome once; You'l see't done now for ever: pray how do'es she? I heard she was not well; her kind of ill gave me some sorrow. Sir she's well restor'd, And to be marryed shortly. By my short life I am most glad on't; Tis the latest thing I shall be glad of, pre'thee tell her so: Commend me to her, and to peece her portion Tender her this. Nay lets be offerers all. Is it a maide? Verily I thinke so, A right good creature, more to me deserving Then I can quight or speake of. Commend us to her. The gods requight you all, And make her thankefull. Adiew; and let my life be now as short, As my leave taking. Leade couragiour Cosin. Wec'l follow cheerefully. Hold, hold, O hold, hold, hold. Hold hoa: It is a cursed hast you If you have done so quickly: noble Palamon, The gods will shew their glory in a life. That thou art yet to leade. Can that be, When Venus I have said is false? How doe things fare?