The Vow Breaker, or The Fair Maid of Clifton · chunk 29 of 36
Sampson, William · published 1636 · first performed or written 1625 [1625(?)-1636] (Annals) tragedy T57 Ships, merchants and pirates typicality 0.80 · 495 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T57: ship, sea, master, sail, home, money, pisaro, life, ships, till.
With expedition; The Ferryman attends thee at the verge Of Cocytus, and sooty Acheron, And he shall waft thee into Tartary, Where perjury, and falsehood finds reward There shalt thou read thy history of faults, And 'mongst the furies find just recompense, I'll bring thee over Turrets, Towers, and Steeples, o'er shady Groves, brineish Meres, and Brooks, The flattering Sea to me is navigable, o'er steepy Mountains, and the craggy Rocks, Whose heights Kiss Stars, and stop the flying Clouds we'll through as swift as Swallows in recourse. The chanticleer summons my retreat, Signing a period to my pilgrimage; From nipping frosts, and penetrating blasts Could Snows, black thaws, and misty killing dews. I'll lead thee to the ever-flaming Furnace, That like a Fever fed by opposite meats, Engenders, and consumes itself with heat. I'll pierce the Air as with a thunder bolt, And make thy passage free; make speed away Thy broken contract, now thou goest to pay. Oh help, succour: help! wives, cousins, Midwives, Good Angels guard me, I go, but cannot tell, Whether my journey be, to Heaven or hell. I have slept this hour, how, d'ye cozen? ha? cozen, here; ay me, where, alas nowhere, ay me she's gone, she's gone. Heigho; what's the matter Mistress Ursula! Alas! my cousin, she's gone, she's gone. marry Jove forbid. I did not like her dream. Nor I, I promise you. Dispatch every one several ways some to th'fields some toth' waterside; 'las 'tis but a fit, 'twill be over presently— away away severally. What means this noise! how comes my doors open at this time o'th' night; I hope my daughters well, Oh sir she is— Not dead I hope. I know not that neither; but whilst we After long watching took a little rest She's stolen out of her bed, and fled away, The doors quite open, and the infant-here. Heaven bless her; I am struck dead with grief She has been subject to distempered passions Jove grant she works no harm upon herself, methinks she should not for the infant's sake, Poor babe it smiles, it lacks no mother yet. Till it miss the breast, she cannot be far But they may find her out; their's a great Snow fallen this night, and by her foot steps they may Easily trace her, where she is. Oh misery! Behold the saddest spectacle of woe, That ever mortal eyes took notice off. We traced her through the Snow, step, by step, Until we came unto the riverside, Where like a cunning Hare she had indented To cozen her pursuers, and cozened herself For drowned we found her on the riverside Nigh Colic Ferry. Oh my poor girl! Oh my poor boy! How happy had I been if she had lived? How happy had I been if he had lived? who's that which echoes me, playing the wanton With my miseries? I come to see how sorrow does become thee Dost thou remember that?
seed 43: T55 · seed 44: T46 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
With expedition; The Ferry-man attends thee at the verge Of Cocitus, and sooty Acheron, And he shall waft thee into Tartary, Where perjury, and false-hood finds reward There shalt thou reade thy history of faults, And mong'st the furies finde just recompence, I'le bring thee over Turrets, Towres, and Steeples, O're shady Groves, brineish Mears, and Brookes, The flattring Sea to me is navigable, O're steepy Mountaines, and the craggy Rocks, Whose heights Kisse Starres, and stop the flying Clouds Wee'le through as swift as Swallowes in recourse. The Chauntecleere summons my retreat, Signing a period to my pilgrimage; From nipping frosts, and penetrating blastes Could Snowes, blacke thawes, and misty killing deawes. I'le lead thee to the ever-flaming Furnace, That like a Feaver fed by opposite meates, Engenders, and consumes it selfe with heate. I'le peirce the Aire as with a thunder bolt, And make thy passage free; make speede away Thy broken contract, now thou goest to pay. Oh helpe, succour: helpe! wives, cozens, Mid-wives, Good Angels guard me, I goe, but cannot tell, Whether my journey be, to Heaven or hell. I have slept this houre, how, d'yee cozen? ha? cozen, here; ay me, where, alas no where, ay me she's gon, she's gon. Heigho; what's the matter Mistris Vrsula! Alas! my cozen, she's gon, she's gon. Mary Jove forbid. I did not like her dreame. Nor I, I promise you. Dispatch every one severall waies some to th'feilds some to'th water-side; las 'tis but a fit, twill be over presently—away away severally. What meanes this noise! how comes my doores open at this time o'th night; I hope my daughters well, Oh sir shee is— Not dead I hope. I know not that neyther; but whilst we After long watching tooke a litle rest She's stolne out of her bed, and fled away, The doores quite open, and the infant-here. Heaven blesse her; I am strucke dead with griefe She has beene subject to distemper'd passions Jove grant she works no harme upon her selfe, Me thinkes she should not for the infants sake, Poore babe it smiles, it lacks no mother yet. Till it misse the brest, she cannot be farre But they may find her out; their's a great Snow Fal'ne this night, and by her foote stepps they may Easily trace her, where she is. Oh misery! Behold the saddest spectacle of woe, That ever mortall eies tooke notice off. We trac'd her through the Snow, step, by step, Vntill we came unto the River side, Where like a cunning Hare she had indented To cozen her persuers, and cozen'd her selfe For dround we found her on the River side Nigh Collicke Ferry. Oh my poore girle! Oh my poore boy! How happy had I beene if she had liv'd? How happy had I beene if he had liv'd? Whoes that which ecchoes me, playing the wanton With my miseries? I come to see how sorrow does become thee Doo'st thou remember that?