The Vow Breaker, or The Fair Maid of Clifton · chunk 15 of 36
Sampson, William · published 1636 · first performed or written 1625 [1625(?)-1636] (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 453 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Noble Clifton his ransom is thine own, Dispose of him as thou pleasest. By my halidom, and will? There take thy Arms, return back to Leith With our best convoy; I tell thee Mortigue My hatred is not capital, though honour, And war's necessity made me storm; When to these walls thou seest my white coats come With scaling ladders to assault the Town Be merciful as I have been to thee, This is all Clifton's ransom. I shall report thee noble! Thanks noble Clifton, Thou still add'st honour to thy country's fame, Make scaling Ladders, for we straight intend, By heaven's assistance to mount these walls, Courage brave spirits, every act finds end, we'll teach the Frenchman keep within his bounds Or send him home full of heroic wounds It 'tis resolved! life is too burdensome, I've borne while I can, and have suppressed All insurrections pale Death has made. It is my terror that I live to think I bear a life that is offensive to me. Pale monster in thy meagerest aspect Come, and affront me; fill thy unpaunched nerves With my heart's blood; till with the overture Thy never satisfied maw be sated? But cowardly monster thou approachest none But those that fly thee, and like to greatness Wouldst be so elevated for doing good, That of thyself thou never didst intend. Poor Snakes that are in worldly sorrows sowrst Cannot participate thy Ebon Dart. 'tis said thou art not partial, and dost wind The Prince, the beggar, and the potentate All in one mould; but they do falsify That say thou art so tyrannously just, For I have sought thee through the unpenned groves, The shady cells where melancholy walks, And echo-like thou answer'st me with Death, But dar'st not show thy face; the world's monarch In three fits of an Ague died. Some flies, Some silly gnats can kill! let me consume then mayst thou brag thy conquest, that thou slewst What neither love nor hatred could destroy. Since thou disdainest me, I disdain thy power, There be a thousand ways to cozen Death Behold a Tree, just at her door a fruitless Tree That has in autumn cast her leafy boughs Sorry to show such fruit as she produces. The night seems silent, sleep charms the house, And now the perjured woman is a topping, I'll climb as high as she, yet i'll not rest, My airy ghost shall find her where she lies, And to her face divulge her perjuries. Night be auspicious, draw thy sable weeds, For daylight is a ashamed of her black deeds One twitch will do't, and then I shall be wed As firm unto my grave, as to her bed.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Noble Clifton his ransome is thine owne, Dispose of him as thou pleasest. By my Hollidam, and will? There take thy Armes, returne backe to Leith With our best convoy; I tell thee Mortigue My hatred is not capitall, though honour, And warrs necessity made me storme; When to these walls thou seest my white coates come With scaling ladders to assault the Towne Be mercifull as I have bin to thee, This is all Cliftons ransome. I shall report thee noble! Thanks noble Clifton, Thou still ad'st honour to thy Countries fame, Make scaling Ladders, for we straight intend, By heavens assistance to mount these walls, Courage brave spirits, every act finds end, Weele teach the Frenchman keepe within his bounds Or send him home full of heroicke wounds It tis resolv'd! life is too burthensome, I've borne while I can, and have supprest All insurrections pale Death has made. It is my terrour that I live to thinke I beare a life that is offensive to me. Pale monster in thy meagerest aspect Come, and affront me; fill thy unpauncht nerves With my harts bloud; till with the overture Thy never satisfied maw be sated? But cowardly monster thou approchest none But those that fly thee, and like to greatnes Wouldst be so elivated for doing good, That of thy selfe thou never didst intend. Poore Snakes that are in worldly sorrowes sowrst Cannot participate thy Ebon Dart. Tis said thou art not partiall, and dost winde The Prince, the begger, and the potentate All in one mould; but they doe falsifie That say thou art so tiranously just, For I have sought thee through the unpend groves, The shady cells where melancholly walkes, And eccho-like thou answerst me with Death, But darst not show thy face; the worlds monarch In three fits of an Ague di'd. Some flyes, Some silly gnats can kill! let me consume then maist thou brag thy conquest, that thou slewst What neyther love nor hatred could destroy. Since thou disdainst me, I disdaine thy power, There be a thousand waies to cozen Death Behold a Tree, just at her doore a fruitlesse Tree That has in autumne cast her leavy boughs Sorry to show such fruit as she produces. The night seemes silent, sleepe charmes the house, And now the periurd woman is a topping, I'le clime as high as she, yet i'le not rest, My airy ghoast shall find her where she lyes, And to her face divulge her perjuries. Night be auspicious, draw thy sable weedes, For day-light is a asham'd of her blacke deeds One twich will do't, and then I shall be wed As firme unto my grave, as to her bed.