Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
It was my seal, which by my mother's charge 'Tis thought the Page stole out, without suspect, As I conceive, of mischief; all the rest Was merely counterfeit. But be advised, And I will choke the hungry throat of Treason, That gapes for blood, with such a working pill, As it shall loathe to swallow, and vomit up Their bloody plots in sick repentance. No my dearest Lord, let me in contentment die, Since you are innocent, and in my Tomb Bury your danger, that have thus long sat A heavy burden to your happiness. Long mayst thou live until the gods, Althaea, Shall summon thee from hence to make a star, And grant Commission to the winged Post Of heaven, to steal away thy soul in sleep: That Divine mould was not ordained to suffer A painful shipwreck in thy life's departure. 'Twill sweeten much the bitter'st throes of death When I shall think my labouring soul does work For my Lucilio's rest: then let my guiltless Ghost Securely pass up to the fields of peace, For I am weary and would gladly die. Urge it no more, the very sound of death Wished to thy innocence, comes like a clap Of armed thunder to mine ears, and thou Shalt live, though I should search the utmost tortures Tyranny did ere invent, to find a death Might ransom thee: and therefore if thy love Does yet respect Lucîlios constancy, Resolve and second me: Dispute no more, But make some means to let me down a line, That I may fasten this disguise unto it. There draw it up, and put it on with speed, Suspicions eye dogs every step I tread. How strong is sad affliction on my State! When I must steal a death, and think me blessed if none Do interrupt my passage to destruction. Oh that the paths of Fate so strange and envious Should lead us into life, and through a Maze Of chances, bring us to such unpassable periods, That we must leap the banks, and give our breath To shun the ills that do encounter us. Come, have you yet dispatched? I have my Lord; but what of this? Then once more lend your line. Fasten those Hooks to your window, and come down. A more troublesome descent then from the Rock, But your fall gentler. So: Now fly Althaea, And live as happy as my unhappy love Had made thee miserable: time may be More friendly to thee, and beget some means That thou mayst one day sit amidst thy friends— Nay, do not weep Althaea; thou shalt see This will work both our freedoms; and if I die, My silent Ghost shall in the pleasingst forms At midnoon days come oft to visit thee. Farewell— What means your Grace? To outrun treachery, and win a Goal That shall enrich my name, make envy swell, And drown herself in overflowing Gall.
nodes 565–626 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 14 of 47 in this edition
Length
489 words · 626 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.825 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
It was my ſeale, which by my mothers charge 'Tis thought the Page ſtole out, without ſuſpect, As I conceive, of miſchiefe; all the reſt Was meerly counterfeit. But bee advis'd, And I will choake the hungry throat of Treaſon, That gapes for blood, with ſuch a working pill, As it ſhall loath to ſwallow, and vomit up Their bloody plots in ſick repentance. No my deareſt Lord, let me in contentment die, Since you are innocent, and in my Tombe Bury your danger, that have thus long ſate A heavy burden to your happineſſe. Long maiſt thou live untill the gods, Althea, Shall ſummon thee from hence to make a ſtarre, And grant Commiſſion to the winged Poſt Of heaven, to ſteale away thy ſoule in ſleepe: That Divine mould was not ordain'd to ſuffer A painfull ſhipwrack in thy lifes departure. 'Twill ſweeten much the bitterſt throes of death When I ſhall thinke my labouring ſoule does worke For my Lucilio's reſt: then let my guiltleſſe Ghoſt Securely paſſe up to the fields of peace, For I am weary and would gladly die. Vrge it no more, the very ſound of death Wiſh'd to thy innocence, comes like a clappe Of armed thunder to mine eares, and thou Shalt live, though I ſhould ſearch the utmoſt tortures Tyrannie did ere invent, to find a death Might ranſome thee: and therefore if thy love Does yet reſpect Lucîlios conſtancy, Reſolve and ſecond mee: Diſpute no more, But make ſome meanes to let me downe a line, That I may faſten this diſguiſe unto it. There draw it up, and put it on with ſpeed, Suſpitions eye dogs every ſtep I tread. How ſtrong is ſad affliction on my State! When I muſt ſteale a death, and thinke me bleſt if none Doe interrupt my paſſage to deſtruction. Oh that the paths of Fate ſo ſtrange and invious Should lead us into life, and through a Maze Of chances, bring us to ſuch unpaſſable periods, That we muſt leape the bankes, and give our breath To ſhunne the ills that doe incounter us. Come, have you yet diſpatch'd? I have my Lord; but what of this? Then once more lend your line. Faſten thoſe Hookes to your window, and come downe. A more troubleſome deſcent then from the Rock, But your fall gentler. So: Now flie Althea, And live as happy as my unhappy love Had made thee miſerable: time may bee More friendly to thee, and beget ſome meanes That thou maiſt one day ſit amidſt thy friends— Nay, doe not weep Althea; thou ſhalt ſee This will worke both our freedomes; and if I die, My ſilent Ghoſt ſhall in the pleaſingſt formes At mid-noon dayes come oft to viſit thee. Farewell— What meanes your Grace? To out-runne trechery, and winne a Goale That ſhall enrich my name, make envy ſwell, And drowne her ſelfe in overflowing Gall.