Shirley, James · published 1635 · first performed or written 1631 [licensed for stage, May 4] (Annals) tragedy · Queen Henrietta Maria's Men T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.87 · 492 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Thou dar'st not kill me. True, but I dare die. be thy own murderer? Rather than you should be my ravisher. Thou canst not be so merciless, useless sin To be unchaste, I am thy Prince, I prithee Throw by that cruel weapon, let our war De soft embraces, shooting amorous smiles, Kill and restore each other with a kiss, I know thou canst not be unkind so long, Than I command thee. I must not obey To be your strumpet, though my hand be unskilful, I shall soon find my heart. I'll not believe— Let this deserve your faith, I dare be just, This crimson river issuing from my arm. Hold. Never, it shall flow, and if this channel Yield not enough, I'll strike another vein, And after that another, and not pity The murmuring stream, till through a prodigal wound I have drained the fountain: this doth weep for you, And shall extol my death, if it may teach You to correct your blood. There's so much gone From me I cool apace; this action Hath shot an ague through me; Amidea, Pity thyself. Not, till you swear repentance; I do not faint yet, 'tis somewhat about, But I can find a nearer way, this does it. Contain, I am sorry, sorry from my soul, Trust me, I do bleed inward, Amidea Can answer all thy drops: oh pardon me, Thou faintest already, dost not? I am fearful, The Phoenix with her wings, when she is dying Can fan her ashes into another life: But when they breathe more sweet than all the spice That helps the other's funeral, returns To heaven, the world must be eternal looser: Look to thy wound. May I believe you sir? I dare not think awry, again I ask Forgiveness, in thy innocence I see My own deformity. Now a thousand blessings Reward thy goodness; thou deservest a statue, A tall one which should reach above the clouds. Justle the moon, that people afar off Beholding it, may be invited hither In hope to climb to heaven by't, but apply Betimes unto thy wound; Florio assist her. And now my Lord— Sciarrah I'll begin to be thy Lord, I brought intentions of dishonour to thee, And thy fair sister, but I am reconciled To virtue, and will study how to satisfy For you and Florence. You will be more precious, Then had you never fallen, I am all joy in your conversion. Lorenzo? I think he has not said his prayers yet, But— What? I cannot tell, may be, he does not use it. How? My Lord, you now are lovely, 'twere better you'd forget him, he's not right At heart I fear. Fear nothing. To be plain, You cherish your disease in him, and are Not safe while he is near you. Do not envy him. Then I must tell you sir he is a Traitor, Within my knowledge hath conspired your death.
nodes 1259–1335 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 20 of 38 in this edition
Length
492 words · 653 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.870 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Thou dar'st not kill mee. True, but I dare die. Bee thy owne murderer? Rather then you should be my ravisher. Thou can'st not be so mercilesse, uslesse sin To be unchast, I am thy Prince, I prethee Throw by that cruell weapon, let our warre De soft embraces, shooting amorous smiles, Kill and restore each other with a kisse, I know thou canst not bee unkinde so long, Then I command thee. I must not obey To be your strumpet, though my hand be unskilfull, I shall soone finde my heart. Ile not beleeve— Let this deserve your faith, I dare be just, This crimson river issuing from my arme. Hold. Never, it shall flow, and if this channell Yeeld not enough, Ile stricke another veine, And after that another, and not pittie The murmuring streame, till through a prodigal wound I have draind the fountaine: this doth weepe for you, And shall extoll my death, if it may teach You to correct your blood. There's so much gone From mee Icoole apace; this action Hath shot an ague through me; Amidea, Pitty thy selfe. Not, till you sweare repentance; I doe not faint yet, tis somewhat about, But I can finde a neerer way, this does it. Containe, I am sorry, sorry from my soule, Trust me, I doe bleed inward, Amidea Can answere all thy drops: oh pardon mee, Thou faintst already, dost not? I am fearefull, The Phoenix with her wings, when shee is dying Can fanne her ashes into another life: But when they breath more sweete then all the spice That helps the others funerall, returnes To heaven, the world must be eternall looser: Looke to thy wound. May I beleeve you sir? I dare not thinke awry, agen I aske Forgivenesse, in thy innocence I see My owne deformitie. Now a thousand blessings Reward thy goodnesse; thou deservst a statue, A tall one which should reach above the clouds. Justle the moone, that people a farre off Beholding it, may be invited hither In hope to climbe to heaven by't, but apply Betimes unto thy wound; Florio assist her. And now my Lord— Sciarrah Ile begin to bee thy Lord, I brought intentions of dishonor to thee, And thy faire sister, but I am reconcil'd To vertue, and will studie how to satisfie For you and Floreuce. You will be more precious, Then had you never fallen, I am all joy in your conversion. Lorenzo? I think he has not said his prayers yet, But— What? I cannot tel, may be, he does not use it. How? My Lord, you now are lovely, Twere better you'd forget him, hee's not right At heart I feare. Feare nothing. To be plaine, You cherrish your disease in him, and are Not safe while hee is neare you. Doe not envie him. Then I must tell you sir he is a Traitor, Within my knowledge hath conspird your death.