Shirley, James · published 1635 · first performed or written 1631 [licensed for stage, May 4] (Annals) tragedy · Queen Henrietta Maria's Men T40 Sin, guilt and violent loss within famil typicality 0.81 · 510 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T40: brother, death, life, die, heaven, sin, live, father, blood, soul.
Pity the Seaman, that to avoid a shelf, Must strike upon a rock to save himself. THe doors are fast, Enough is wept already for Pisano: There's something else that must be thought on, and Of greater consequence: I am yet unsafe, That for thy sake am guilty of his blood. Though all my stock of tears were spent already Upon Pisano's loss, and that my brain Were bankrupt of moisture, and denied To lend my grief one drop more for his Funeral; Yet the remembrance that you have made A forfeit of your dear life Is able to create a weeping spring Within my barren head: oh my lost brother, Thou hast a cruel destiny, my eyes In pity of thy fate desire to drown thee. The Law will only seek thee upon land, Hid in my tears, thou shalt prevent the stroke Kills both our name and thee. I know thou lov'st me Poor Girl. I shall desire to cherish life if thou lament me thus: so rich a comfort Will tempt me, wish I might delay my journey To Heaven. Good Heaven that we might go together. That must not be. Then let me go before. How? Make my suit unto the Prince, my blood May be your ransom; let me die, Sciarrha My life is fruitless unto all the world, The Duke in justice will not deny this: And though I weep in telling thee, I shall Smile on the Scaffold. How my Honour blushes To hear thee Amidea? in this love Thou woundst me more, than thou desir'st to save: Suffer for me? why thou art innocent: I have provoked the punishment, and dare Obey it manly; if thou couldst redeem me With any thing but death, I think I should Consent to live, but I'd not have thee venture All at one chance. Nothing can be too precious To save a brother, such a loving brother As you have been. Death's a devouring gamester, And sweeps up all: what thinkst thou of an eye? Couldst thou spare one, and think the blemish recompensed, To see me safe with tother; or a hand, This white hand, that hath so often With admiration trembled on the Lute, Till we have prayed thee leave the strings awhile, And laid our ears close to thy Ivory fingers, Suspecting all the Harmony proceeded From their own motion, without the need Of any dull or passive instrument. No Amidea, shalt not bear one scar To buy my life: the sickle shall not touch A flower that grows so fair upon his stalk: Thy other hand will miss a white companion, And wither on thy arm; what then can I Expect from thee to save me? I would live And owe my life to thee, so 'twere not bought Too dear. Do you believe I should not find The way to Heaven: were both mine eyes thy ransom, I shall climb up those high and rugged cliffs Without a hand. One way there is, if thou Dost love with that tenderness.
seed 43: T37 · seed 44: T36 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Pittie the Sea-man, that to avoide a shelfe, Must strike upon a rocke to save himselfe. THe doores are fast, Enough is wept alreadie for Pisano: Theres something else that must be thought on, and Of greater consequence: I am yet unsafe, That for thy sake am guiltie of his blood. Though all my stocke of teares were spent alreadie Upon Pisanoes losse, and that my braine Were banquerout of moisture, and deni'd To lend my griefe one drop more for his Funerall; Yet the remembrance that you have made A forfeit of your deare life Is able to create a weeping spring Within my barren head: oh my lost brother, Thou hast a cruell destinie, my eies In pittie of thy fate desire to drowne thee. The Law will onely seeke thee upon land, Hid in my teares, thou shalt prevent the stroake Kills both our name and thee. I know thou lov'st me Poore Girle. I shall desire to cherrish life Jf thou lament me thus: so rich a comfort Will tempt me, wish I might delay my journie To Heaven. Good Heaven that we might goe together. That must not be. Then let me goe before. How? Make my suite unto the Prince, my blood May be your ransome; let me die, Sciarrha My life is fruitlesse unto all the world, The Duke in justice will not denie this: And though I weepe in telling thee, I shall Smile on the Scaffold. How my Honour blushes To heare thee Amidea? in this love Thou woundst me more, then thou desir'st to save: Suffer for me? why thou art innocent: I have provok'd the punishment, and dare Obey it manly; if thou couldst redeeme me With any thing but death, I thinke I should Consent to live, but I'de not have thee venture All at one chance. Nothing can be too precious To save a brother, such a loving brother As you have beene. Death's a devouring gamester, And sweepes up all: what thinkst thou of an eye? Couldst thou spare one, and thinke the blemish rcōpenc'd, To see me safe with tother; or a hand, This white hand, that hath so often With admiration trembled on the Lue, Till we have prayd thee leave the strings awhile, Ad laid our eares close to thy Ivorie fingers, Suspecting all the Harmonie proceeded From their owne motion, without the neede Of any dull or passive instrument. No Amidea, shalt not beare one scarre To buy my life: the sickle shall not touch A flower that growes so faire upon his stalke: Thy tother hand will misse a white companion, And wither on thy arme; what then can I Expect from thee to save me? I would live And owe my life to thee, so 'twere not bought Too deere. Doe you beleeve I should not finde The way to Heaven: were both mine eyes thy ransome, I shall clime up those high and rugged Without a hand. One way there is▪ if thou Doest love wit that tendernesse.