Shirley, James · published 1637 · first performed or written 1633 [licensed for stage, Nov 11] (Annals) comedy · Queen Henrietta Maria's Men · Phoenix/Cockpit T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.79 · 495 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
I'll not have A thought shall disobey you, and if ever I love again. If ever? why suppose I should propound one to you, now i'th' heat Of this misfortune, can your heart be obstinate To me, and your own good? This is too soon A conscience, sir, before his blood be cold, To whom I professed love, to like another? The World would much condemn me. Is the World Or I to be preferred, this makes the act Of your obedience perfect, and because I'll have assurance of what power I hold, This minute i'll prefer one to your thoughts, Dispose your heart to love the gentleman That now's in Prison. Whom d''ee mean dear sir? He that killed Delamore, Master Beaumont: Do not suspect I trifle, he is of A noble house, of a fair expectation, Handsome in every part. Shall not he suffer For the black deed already done? Compose yourself to love him, i'll find a way how to Secure his life, and bring him freely off. Oh! consider ere you move to far; If having slain my comfort, for I must Give it no other name, call not your justice To my revenge, yet let me not be forced, To have a thought so full of shame to women, That he should be my husband, 'tis a stain Time nor repentance can wash off, I know You cannot mean so cruelly, beside I shall commit a sin, foul as his murder, Upon poor Violante, and rob her: Their heart's love hath sealed up i'th' eye of Heaven, 'Twere sacrilege to part 'em, she's my friend too, One that will rather die than injure me. And he will rather suffer, if he be Noble as you profess him, then consent to So foul a guilt. Let me alone for that, If he refuse this offer for his life, Why let him die, i'll put him to't, consider, In this I shall behold thy naked soul, Be ruled, and prosper; disobey, and be Thrown from my care and blood, at better leisure I'll tell you more. Has Heaven no pity for me? What killing language doth a father speak? Poor heart prevent more grief, and quickly break. This humour does become thee, I knew when Thou didst consider, what was offered thee; Thy sullenness wood shake off, now thou look'st Fresher than morning, in thy melancholy Thy clothes became thee not. Y'are i'th' right, I blamed my Tailor for't, but I find now, The fault was in my countenance, would we had Some Music, I could dance now, la, la, la, bram, etc., Excellent! and she be a-bed but half so nimble, I shall have a fine time on't; how she glides? Thou wot not fail? This night— At the hour of twelve. But you must be as punctual i'th' conditions For my vow's sake, not speak a syllable. I'll rather cut my tongue out then offend thee, Kissing is no language.
nodes 1009–1080 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 16 of 39 in this edition
Length
495 words · 661 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.791 (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)
I'le not have A thought shall disobey you, and if ever I love agen. If ever? why suppose I should propound one to you, now i'th heate Of this misfortune, can your heart be obstinate To me, and your owne good? This is too soone A conscience, sir, before his blood be cold, To whom I profest love, to like another? The World would much condemne me. Is the World Or I to be prefer'd, this makes the act Of your obedience perfect, and because I'le have assurance of what power I hold, This minute i'le preferre one to your thoughts, Dispose your heart to love the gentleman That now's in Prison. Whom d'ee meane deere sir? He that kild Delamore, Master Beaumont: Doe not suspect I trifle, he is of A noble house, of a faire expectation, Handsome in every part. Shall not hee suffer For the blacke deede alreadie done? Compose Your selfe to love him, i'le finde a waie how to Secure his life, and bring him freelie off. Oh! consider ere you move to farr; If having slaine my comfort, for I must Give it no other name, call not your justice To my revenge, yet let me not be forc'd, To have a thought so full of shame to women, That he should be my husband, 'tis a staine Time nor repentance can wash off, I know You cannot meane so cruellie, beside I shall commit a sinne, foule as his murther, Upon poore Violante, and rob her: Their heart's love hath seald up i'th eye of Heaven, 'Twere sacriledge to part em, shee's my friend too, One that will rather die then injure me. And he will rather suffer, if he be Noble as you professe him, then consent to So foule a guilt. Let me alone for that, If he refuse this offer for his life, Why let him die, i'le put him too't, consider, In this I shall behold thy naked soule, Be rul'd, and prosper; disobey, and be Throwne from my care and blood, at better leasure I'le tell you more. Has Heaven no pity for me? What killing language doth a father speake? Poore hart prevent more greife, and quickly breake. This humour does become thee, I knew when Thou didst consider, what was offerd thee; Thy sullennes wood shake off, now thou look'st Fresher then morning, in thy melancholie Thy clothes became thee not. Y'are i'th right, I blam'd my Tailor for't, but I finde now, The fault was in my countenance, wo'd we had Some Musicke, I could dance now, la, la, la, bra, &c, Excellent! and shee be a bed but halfe so nimble, I shall have a fine time on't; how she glides? Thou wot not faile? This night— At the houre of twelue. But you must be as punctuall ith conditions For my vowes sake, not speake a syllable. I'le rather cut my tongue out then offend thee, Kissing is no language.