Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Thy words Antonio cannot add an Atom To the full love that's harboured in my breast Of thy true real worth: then be content. And leave me, for 'tis impossible that more Than my unhappy self can be contained Or have an Action within the narrow limits Of my designs. Then thus I take my leave With as much feeling pain, as if my foule Were by some violence shot from out my bowels, Farewell my Lord, my vows and wishes guard you From awkward Fate, whilst I twixt hope and fear Attend the issue of these strange attempts. So now Lucillo arm thyself for death, That from thy blood she may regain a life And freedom, whom thy weak affection sold To undeserved slaughter and black infamy. Immoved powers! we must not ask you why And yet methinks I could expostulate The reason of this mixture in the frame Of all our Universe! why every perfect good Is girt with such a multitude of ills? Not the most sacred and puissant Throne Of divine justice (whose Majestic form Bears a resemblance of that Power Supreme That equal Kings and Slaves, by giving each Deserved vengeance for their actions Can stand secure, but all the brood of hell, Bribes, Respects, Envy, and whate'er perverts The strictest line of virtuous equity, Will press up to the judgement Seat, and there Transform the beauteous picture of the Godhead Into the hateful shapes of tyranny, Of blood and murder— But I forget myself, And like en angry woman, chide the Heavens, When I should do. Fortune and stealth assist My just adventures; and a friendly sleep Seize all the eyes and ears that would pursue Our harmless Stratagems. This is the window, If my directions fail not, that does imprison her, Whom Virtue, Nature, and the mild aspect Of all the Constellations sweat to make A freeborn Empress— whose's that? Lucilio. O my dear Lord! How fares my Althaea? As one that lives but in the arms of death, And like a frost-killed worm is half revived By your fair presence, whose desired sight Makes a warm blood post through my trembling veins To tell my heart this news, that ere I die I once shall speak to you: But I must chide Your Grace my Lord, that would so stain your love With foulest spots of blood. Blood to their souls that thought it, for by The ne'er appalled heart of innocence, The newborn babes first smiles were ne'er more chaste Than was my breast from thoughts of murder. O Althaea! What will a woman loath, that's all possessed With wrath, and has the killing voice of justice Tuned to pronounce her merciless revenge? The sword by her steeled conscience edged to slaughter, And undefended lives to work upon? It was your seal and hand that did persuade Me to the murder, but myself returned Dissuasive arguments to beat you from't.
nodes 498–564 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 13 of 47 in this edition
Length
489 words · 622 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.792 (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)
Thy words Antonio cannot adde an Atome To the full love that's harbour'd in my breaſt Of thy true reall worth: then be content. And leave me, for 'tis impoſſible that more Than my unhappy ſelfe can bee contain'd Or have an Action within the narrow limits Of my deſignes. Then thus I take my leave With as much feeling paine, as if my foule Were by ſome violence ſhot from out my bowels, Farewell my Lord, my vowes and wiſhes guard you From awkward Fate, whil'ſt I 'twixt hope and feare Attend the iſſue of theſe ſtrange attempts. So now Lucillo arme thy ſelfe for death, That from thy blood ſhe may regaine a life And freedome, whom thy weake affection ſold To undeſerved ſlaughter and black infamy. Immoved powers! we muſt not aske you why And yet methinkes I could expoſtulate The reaſon of this mixture in the frame Of all our Vniverſe! why every perfect good Is girt with ſuch a multitude of ils? Not the moſt ſacred and puiſſant Throne Of divine Iuſtice (whoſe Majeſtick forme Beares a reſemblance of that Power Supreme That equals Kings and Slaves, by giving each Deſerved vengeance for their actions Can ſtand ſecure, but all the brood of hell, Bribes, Reſpects, Envy, and what e'r perverts The ſtricteſt line of vertuous equity, Will preſſe up to the Iudgement Seat, and there Transforme the beauteous picture of the Godhead Into the hatefull ſhapes of tyrannie, Of blood and murder—But I forget my ſelf, And like en angry woman, chide the Heavens, When I ſhould doe. Fortune and ſtealth aſſiſt My juſt adventures; and a friendly ſleepe Seiſe all the eyes and eares that would purſue Our harmleſſe Stratagems. This is the window, If my directions faile not, that does impriſon her, Whom Vertue, Nature, and the mild aſpect Of all the Conſtellations ſweat to make A free-borne Empreſſe — Whoſe that? Lucilio. O my deare Lord! How fares my Althea? As one that lives but in the armes of death, And like a froſt-kill'd worme is halfe reviv'd By your faire preſence, whoſe deſired ſight Makes a warme blood poſt through my trembling veins To tell my heart this newes, that ere I die I once ſhall ſpeake to you: But I muſt chide Youe Grace my Lord, that would ſo ſtaine your love With ſouleſt ſpots of blood. Blood to their ſoules that thought it, for by The ne'r appaled heart of innocence, The new-borne babes firſt ſmiles were ne'r more chaſte Then was my breaſt frō thoughts of murder. O Althea! What will a woman loath, that's all poſſeſt With wrath, and has the killing voyce of Iuſtice Tun'd to pronounce her mercileſſe revenge? The ſword by her ſteel'd conſcience edg'd to ſlaughter, And undefended lives to worke upon? It was your ſeale and hand that did perſwade Me to the murder, but my ſelfe return'd Diſſwaſive arguments to beate you from't.