The Vow Breaker, or The Fair Maid of Clifton · chunk 17 of 36
Sampson, William · published 1636 · first performed or written 1625 [1625(?)-1636] (Annals) tragedy T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.74 · 496 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Such dire becomings mayst thou never want, Thou that wert once the Jewel of these eyes, Look here, and see the ruins of pale death. How soon a Gorgeous Palace is sunk down; Though he has surfeited upon this piece He has not ta'en the colour of his cheek, Nature contests with death, and will outdo him; Canst not thou spare one tear to balm him in, Nor lend a sigh as sorry for his fall? If not today i'll come again tomorrow, So thou wilt shed two tears, and one poor sigh, Then gentle Charon will assign him waftage; Thy griefs are violent, and work within 'tis a foul sign of an unpersant heart whenas the eyes cannot impart a tear. Since none of you will weep, i'll weep alone Till Niobe like my tears convert to stone. Had you disciplined your son in's youth You might then have prevented your tears? 'cause he was bad, and I did shun his evils, Must I be held the causeress of his ills? Must my virtues beget his perverseness, Or my obedience breed his shameful death, If the World balance me uprightly just I care not then which way you turn the Scales; Worse than the worst that ever could be named. My best counsel is that you bury him as the custom of the Country is, and drive a stack through him; so perhaps I that had no quietness with him whilst he lived, may sleep in peace now he's dead. I will not curse thee, 'twas my boy's request Such deeds as these sink not in oblivion, The justness of my cause I leave to Heaven. mayst thou live mother of many children, And may they prosper better than did mine. Come poor boy these arms have borne thee oft I'll have thy picture hung up in my Chamber, And when I want thee, I will weep to that Death's Leaden Plummets draw thine eyelids down, Since none will sing sad obsequies but I, I'll call the Linnet, Redbreast, and the throstle, The Nightingale shall bear the burden two For she is exquisite in tragic notes, we'll have a Funeral hymn, and o'er thy hearse, This woman's perjuries i'll pen in verse. How now cozen weeping? Troth cousin, Though griefs of lower kinds assail me not, I never was so touched unto the heart, Mine eyes so flexible are to melt in tears I cannot stop'em; I shall be still afraid To walk toth' door when I behold this Tree, For fear his Ghost haunt me! I wonder much, You could forbear from passionating. Afraid on's Ghost, as much as of a picture painted o'th' wall! that's just like we fools that rub our shins 'gainst the bed posts in our dreams, and then swear the fairies, pinched us? he swore he would have me quick or dead. Let him lie still in's grave I will in my bed, and let consequents prove the rest?
nodes 828–879 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 17 of 36 in this edition
Length
496 words · 649 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.738 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
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)
Such dire becomings maist thou never want, Thou that wert once the Jewell of these eies, Looke here, and see the ruines of pale death. How soone a Gorgeous Pallace is suncke downe; Though he has surfetted upon this peece He has not tane the colour of his cheeke, Nature contests with death, and will out-doe him; Canst not thou spare one teare to balme him in, Nor lend a sigh as sorry for his fall? If not to day i'le come againe to morrow, So thou wilt shed two teares, and one poore sigh, Then gentle Charon will assigne him wafftage; Thy greifes are violent, and worke within Tis a fowle signe of an unpersant hart When as the eyes cannot impart a teare. Since none of you will weepe, i'le weepe alone Till Niobe like my teares convert to stone. Had you disciplind your sonne in's youth You might then have prevented your teares? Cause he was bad, and I did shun his evils, Must I be held the cause'res of his ils? Must my vertues beget his perversnes, Or my obedience breede his shamefull death, If the World ballance me uprightly just I care not then which way you turne the Scales; Worse then the worst that ever could be nam'd. My best counsell is that you bury him as the custome of the Country is, and drive a stacke through him; so perhaps I that had no quietnes with him whil'st he liv'd, may sleepe in peace now he's dead. I will not curse thee, t'was my boyes request Such deedes as these sinke not in oblivion, The justnes of my cause I leave to Heaven. Maist thou live mother of many children, And may they prosper better then did mine. Come poore boy these armes have borne thee oft I'le have thy picture hung up in my Chamber, And when I want thee, I will weepe to that Deaths Leaden Plummets draw thine eielids downe, Since none will sing sadd obsequies but I, I'le call the Linnet, Red-brest, and the Throsle, The Nightingale shall beare the burthen two For she is exsquisite in tragicke notes, Weele have a Funerall hymne, and o're thy herse, This womans perjuiries i'le pen in verse. How now cozen weeping? Troth Cozen, Though griefes of lower kinds assaile me not, I never was so touch'd unto the hart, Mine eies so flexible are to melt in teares I cannot stop'em; I shall be still affraid To walke to'th doore when I behold this Tree, For feare his Ghost haunte me! I wonder much, You could forbeare from passionating. Affraid on's Ghost, as much as of a picture painted o'th wall! thats just like we fooles that rub our shins 'gainst the bed posts in our dreames, and then sweare the faries, pinchd us? he swore he would have me quicke or dead. Let him ly still in's grave I will in my bed, and let consequents prove the rest?