Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Speak, speak thou heavenly spirit, And tell me since thyself art made Divine, What makes thee come in confines of the wretched, And mix thyself with us whose earthly loads Detain us yet in life and misery? Why, I do live. I know thou dost, thou wert not framed to die, Nor at thy birth, when Heaven and Nature joined To give thee those rich Dowries thou enjoyest, Did they intend to make such excellence Mortal and subject to the stroke of death. But where deficient Nature could extend Her force no farther to preserve thy life, Heaven would supply the want, and turn thy state To immortality, yet why shouldst thou, When I have seen thy Funerals performed, Come to afflict me, and augment my grief? Sweet love, if you do live, as fear and hope 'Twixt adverse passions make me doubtful yet, Know that I live as when we parted last, Nor ere was yet interred. No, no, the earth grew feeling of her loss, And grieving to be robbed of such a gem, Refused to shut that treasure in her womb Where foul corruption must have tainted it: Or did my fortunes yet beyond thy death Pursue thee farther, and bereaving first Thy innocent life, in some forsaken wood Leave thee unburied, and thy restless ghost Comes now to seek a Sepulchre of me? Great Lord, recall yourself, and give me leave To speak what will resolve this doubtful maze In which your senses wander, and can find No passage out. Since I last left your Grace Travelling in that disguise, I lost indeed Camilla, poor Companion of my cares: But hearing that yourself in shape of me Was by your Father's doom thrown off this Rock, Knowing my sufferance guilty of your death, I came to end my life where you had died, And expiate the murder with my blood Where 'twas committed on your guiltless self, Reserved by Heavens mild hand to this blessed hour Wherein our innocent loves might once more meet In spite of envy. Lives my Althaea then? Then live Althaea still! But speak no more Lest the vast Tide of joy o'erwhelm my soul, And kill as quick as grief: Or my sad heart Unable to sustain this burden of wonder, Sink and yield vanquished. I have much to ask, But let it rest: yet tell me how thou faredst In this long banishment?— stay, who comes yonder? Now the wind's turned, and fortunes lavish hand Powers down content beyond expectation. Come thou inhuman murderer of my son, Traitor unto thy country's state and safety, And now before the stroke of justice seize Thy hateful life, resolve the wondering world Why the slight motives of a woman's words Should win thee to so foul and horrid crimes? What I have said yourself are witness to, Nor needs it be renewed; nor can I add One word or syllable to make it more.
nodes 1996–2059 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 45 of 47 in this edition
Length
491 words · 614 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.880 (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)
Speake, ſpeake thou heavenly ſpirit, And tell me ſince thy ſelfe art made Divine, What makes thee come in confines of the wretched, And mixe thy ſelfe with us whoſe earthly loades Detaine us yet in life and miſery? Why, I doe live. I know thou doſt, thou wert not fram'd to die, Nor at thy birth, when Heaven and Nature joyn'd To give thee thoſe rich Dowries thou enjoy'ſt, Did they intend to make ſuch excellence Mortall and ſubject to the ſtroke of death. But where deficient Nature could extend Her force no farther to preſerve thy life, Heaven would ſupply the want, and turne thy ſtate To immortality, yet why ſhouldſt thou, When I have ſeene thy Funerals perform'd, Come to afflict me, and augment my griefe? Sweet love, if you doe live, as feare and hope 'Twixt adverſe paſſions make me doubtfull yet, Know that I live as when we parted laſt, Nor ere was yet interr'd. No, no, the earth grew feeling of her loſſe, And grieving to be robb'd of ſuch a jemme, Refus'd to ſhut that treaſure in her wombe Where foule corruption muſt have tainted it: Or did my fortunes yet beyond thy death Purſue thee farther, and bereaving firſt Thy innocent life, in ſome forſaken wood Leave thee unburyed, and thy reſtleſſe ghoſt Comes now to ſeeke a Sepulcher of me? Great Lord, recall your ſelfe, and give me leave To ſpeake what will reſolve this doubtfull maze In which your ſenſes wander, and can finde No paſſage out. Since I laſt left your Grace Travelling in that diſguiſe, I loſt indeed Camilla, poore Companion of my cares: But hearing that your ſelfe in ſhape of me Was by your Fathers doome throwne off this Rock, Knowing my ſufferance guilty of your death, I came to end my life where you had dyed, And expiate the murder with my blood Where 'twas committed on your guiltleſſe ſelf, Reſerv'd by Heavens mild hand to this bleſt houre Wherein our innocent loves might once more meet In ſpight of envie. Lives my Althea then? Then live Althea ſtill! But ſpeake no more Leſt the vaſt Tyde of joy o'rwhelme my ſoule, And kill as quick as griefe: Or my ſad heart Vnable to ſuſtaine this burden of wonder, Sinke and yeeld vanquiſh'd. I have much to aske, But let it reſt: yet tell me how thou far'dſt In this long baniſhment?—ſtay, who comes yonder? Now the wind's turn'd, and fortunes laviſh hand Powres downe content beyond expectation. Come thou inhumane murderer of my ſonne, Traytor unto thy Countries ſtate and ſafety, And now before the ſtroke of Iuſtice ſeize Thy hatefull life, reſolve the wondring world Why the ſlight motives of a womans words Should winne thee to ſo foule and horrid crimes? What I have ſaid your ſelfe are witneſſe to, Nor needs it be renew'd; nor can I adde One word or ſyllable to make it more.