Heywood, Thomas · published 1636 · first performed or written 1635 [1634-1636] (Annals) tragicomedy · King's Men · Blackfriars T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.80 · 490 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Doing no hurt, I hope she has more care of him then so. Wearied with pleasure, she lies fast asleep, Laid in a stranger's arms, sh'as stayed my speech, 'Tas dimmed mine eyes from sight, and patience, Restrained my head from fury: what he is, or whence, I neither know nor question. I commend ye, my daughter a whore, make my house a stews, and her father a pander; is this all the honour she doth me? Dishonoured above sufferance. Wine, and a strumpet, were there no hope of generation, but in her only, this hand should be her hangman: a whore on her wedding night, There's more modesty contemned in a Gore, strumpet, whore, I will not call her daughter, I'll lose her, Will you lead the way? Your pardon, I am so mildly tempered, the expense Of one cheap tear, would buy her pardon; had her fault stroke at my life; If you intend revenge, Do't in my absence. thouart a chicken, leave us, tho' a father's name, I'll bear a lion's heart, break open the doors, strumpet, why Impudence, break ope the door— Whom do you seek? A strumpet, thee, a— I can't devise a name bad enough for thee. I'll give myself one, call me murderess; A Name I am proud of. Ha? She has saved us a labour; what means this bloody poniard? read in my brow, do you not see his name Writ in red letters? I see none: whose? what name? Base Valladaura's— Thy Husband? He was never mine: for tho' you joined our hands, My heart ne'er tie a man to 't; and however duty Lives at command, Love cannot be enforced, And rather than live bound to one I love not, I have bought my freedom with his life. False woman? Alive again! blessed star— I ne'er was dead, But thou hast killed a man, whom to have saved, Had I a thousand lives, I'd lose them all: O valiant Ferrers, a more Noble Gentleman Never drew air. The English man? The wonder, And abstract of all virtues: did you but know What bold and noble Passages of honour, He for my sake, with danger hazarded, You would have thought there were more deity, Than man within him— Choked in my revenge, This joys me yet, that though Il missed thy life, I reached thy friends. My friend indeed: and one, That didst but know how ardently he loved Thee Tiger, thee, his cruel murderer, thou'dst curse thy hand, and hate thy bloody self, For thy not loving him. If he were so loving to her, and honourable to you what business had he in your Chamber? Much, and far more than ever was in man, But passing many unmatched courtesies, In honour's duel, when I all hope had lost, Ever to win the— That slave wooed me for you, so much the sweeter by that, The thought of my revenge.
Blackfriars;Globe;Indoor Professional;Outdoor Professional
Genre (British Drama)
tragicomedy
Play type
Adult Professional;Professional
Edition / TCP / DEEP
edition 1040 · TCP A03190 · DEEP 858
Edition role
Representative edition — used in the analysis
Position
nodes 1517–1571 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 28 of 36 in this edition
Length
490 words · 671 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.803 (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)
Doing no hurt, I hope shee has more care of him then so. Wearied with pleasure, shee lies fast asleepe, Laid in a strangers armes, sh'as stay'd my speech, 'Tas dim'd mine eyes from sight, and patience, Restrian'd my head from fury: what hee is, or whence, I neither know nor question. I commend ye, my daughter a whore, make my house a stews, and her father a pander; is this all the honor she doth me? Dishonor'd above sufferance. Wine, and a strumpet, were there no hope of generation, but in her onely, this hand should be her hang-man: a whore on her wedding night, There's more modesty contem'd in a Goare, strumpet, whore, I will not call her daughter, Ile loose her, Will you leade the way? Your pardon, I am so mildly temper'd, the expence Of one cheape teare, would buy her pardon; had her fault stroke at my life; If you intend revenge, Do't in my absence. Th'art a chicken, leave us, tho'a fathers name, Ile beare a lyons heart, breake ope the doores, strumpet, why Impudence, breake op the doore— Whom doe you seeke? A strumpet, thee, a—I can't devise a name bad enough for thee. Ile give my selfe one, call me Murtheresse; A Name I am prowd of. Ha? She has au'd us a labor; what means this bloody punyard▪ Reade in my brow, doe you not see his name Writ inted letters? I see none: whose? what name? Base Valladuraes— Thy Husband? Hee was never mine: for tho' you joyn'd our hands, My heart ne'e a man to 't; and how ever duty Lives at command, Love cannot be infore'd, And rather then live bound to one I love not, I have bought my freedome with his life. False woman? Alive againe! blest starre— I nee was dead, But thou has kill'd a man, whom to have sau'd, Had I a thousand lives, Ide loose them all: O valliant Ferrers, a more Noble Gentleman Never drewaire. The English man? The wonder, And abstract of all vertues: did you but know What bold and noble Passages of honor, He for my sake, with danger hazzarded, You would have thought there were more deity, Then man within him— Choaked in my revenge, This Ioyes mee yet, that tho'l mist thy life, I reach'd thy friends. My friend indeede: and one, That did'st but know how ardently he lou'd Thee Tiger, thee, his cell mdere, Thou'dst thy hand, and hate thy bloody selfe, For thy oloving him. If hee were so loving to her, and honourable to you what businesse had hee in your Chamber? Much, and farre more then ever was in man, But passing many unmatch'd cutesies, In honors duell, when I all hope had lost, Ever to win the— That slave woo'd mee for you, so much the sweeter by that, The thought of my revenge.