Dekker, Thomas · published 1636 · first performed or written 1631 [1619-1631] (Annals) comedy · Prince Charles's Men (first) (?) T11 Siblings, kin and confidants typicality 0.85 · 506 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T11: sister, brother, love, friend, heart, father, mother, woman, lord, hear.
Sister you do but stretch me on the rack And with a laughing cheek increase my pain, Be rather pitiful and ease my torments By teaching me how in this dreadful storm, I may escape shipwreck and attain that shore Where I may live, here else I'm sure to die. Well brother, since you will needs sail by such a Star as I shall point out, look you here it is; if she were Your feather-makers, Tailors or barber's wife, Bait a hook with gold, and with it— I do conjure you by that noble blood Which makes me call you sister, cease to pour Poison into a wound, so near my heart, And if to cure Loves-pains there be an Art. Woman methinks should know it cause she breeds it, That cunning woman you take me to be, and because I see you dissemble not, here's my medicine. I shall for ever thank you. First send for your Barber. For heaven's sake. Your barber shall not come to rob you of your beard, I'll deal in no concealments— Oh! fie, fie, fie— But let him by rubbing of you quicken Your spirits. So so. Then whistle your goldfinches (your gallants) to your fist. Y'are mad, y'are mad. Into a tavern, Drink stiff, swear stiff; have your music, and your brace, dance, and whiff Tobacco, Till all smoke Again, and split Sir. You split my very heart in pieces. And do thus, but till the Moore cuts off her horns; Laugh in the day, and sleep in the night: and this wenching fire will be burnt out of you. Away, away, cruel you are to kill, When to give life, you have both power and skill. Alas, poor brother now I pity thee and would do Any thing to help thee to thy longing, but that a Gap must be broken, in another man's hedge to rob His orchard, within there Luca Angelo, give him Music: Music has helped some madmen, let it then Charm him, Love makes fools of the wisest men. Yonder's that villain, keep off Iaspero: This prey I'll cease. Be more advised Sir. At whose life shoot you? At that slaves there. Slave? I know you for the Duke's son, but I know no cause of quarrel, or this base reproach. Thou art a villain. Wherein? And by witchcraft, Had stole my sister Fiametta's heart, Forcing her leave a Prince his bed for thine. If for her love you come to kill me; here I'll point you to a door where you may enter and fetch out a loathed life. Iaspero. Oh my Lord. Let him come, I owe her all; And that debt will I pay her gladly. Dear Sir hear him— But if on any other fire of rage; You thirst to drink my blood, here I defy You, and your malice; and return the villain Into your throat. So brave sir. I charge you in the Duke's name, keep the peace; Beat down their weapons, knock 'em down Cargo.
nodes 187–252 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 4 of 30 in this edition
Length
506 words · 661 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T11 — Siblings, kin and confidantscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.849 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T15 · seed 44: T12 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Sister you do but stretch me on the racke And with a laughing cheeke increase my paine, Be rather pitifull and ease my torments By teaching me how in this dreadfull storme, I may escape ship-wrack and attaine that shore Where I may live, heere else I'me sure to die. Well brother, since you will need s saile by such a Starre as I shall point out, looke you heere it is; if she were Your Fether-makers, Taylors or Barbers wife, Baite a hooke with gold, and with it— I doe conjure you by that noble blood Which makes me call you sister, cease to powre Poison into a wound, so neere my heart, And if to cure Loves-paines there be an Art. Woman me thinkes should know it cause she breeds it, That cunning woman you take me to be, and because I see you dissemble not, heer's my medcine. I shall for ever thanke you. First send for your Barber. For heavens sake. Your barber shall not come to rob you of your beard, I'le deale in no concealements— Oh! fie, fie, fie— But let him by rubbing of you quicken Your spirits. So so. Then whistle your gold-finches (your gallants) to your fist. Y'ar mad, y'ar mad. Into a Tanerne, Drinke stiffe, sweare stiffe; have your musicke, and your brace, dance, and whiffe Tobacco, Till all smoake Agen, and split Sir. You split my very heart in pieces. And doe thus, but till the Moore cutts off her hornes; Laugh in the day, and sleepe in the night: and this wenching fier will be burnt out of you. Away, away, cruell you are to kill, When to give life, you have both power and skill. Alas, poore brother now I pitty thee and wo'd doe Any thing to helpe thee to thy longing, but that a Gap must be broken, in another mans hedge to rob His orchard, within there Luca Angelo, give him Musick: Musicke has helpt some mad-men, let it then Charme him, Love makes fooles of the wisest men. Yonders that villaine, keepe off Iaspero: This prey I'le cease. Be more advised Sir. At whose life shoote you? At that slaves there. Slave? I know you for the Dukes sonne, but I know noc ause of quarrell, or this base reproach. Thou art a villaine. Wherein? And by witch-craft, Had stole my sister Fiamettas heart, Forceing her leave a Prince his bed for thine. If for her love you come to kill me; heere I'le point you to a doore where you may enter and fetch out a loath'd life. Iaspero. Oh my Lord. Let him come, I ow her all; And that debt will I pay her gladly. Deare Sir heare him— But if on any other fier of rage; You thirst to drinke my blood, heere I defie You, and your malice; and returne the villaine Into your throate. So brave sir. I charge you in the Dukes name, keepe the peace; Beate downe their weapons, knock em downe Cargo.