Rutter, Joseph / Corneille, Pierre · published 1637 · first performed or written 1637 [1637-1638] (Annals) not in BritDrama · before the Court T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.79 · 454 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Rage and despair! must I needs live thus long, To see this, one day of my infamy Blast all the Trophies of my former years, O fatal dignity! which art to me No other than a precipice, from whence Mine honour headlong falls unto the earth, Let him that has disarmed me take the place Of Governor to the Prince, for I that am A man dishonoured, am not fit for it. And thou my sword, that hangest here for a show, The glorious instrument of my actions past, But now the idle ornament of my age, Go to his hands that can tell how to use thee, Be then my sons, who, if he be my own, Cannot but have a sense of my dishonour, And though he love Cimena, yet 'tis fit His love give place to the more ardent fire Of valour, animated by an affront, Which, though it fell on me, did yet result On him: and see, he's here, Roderigo tell me, Hast th' any courage? ANy man but my father Should quickly find I have. Well said, my boy, I now perceive my blood runs in thy veins, This noble anger says thou art my son; My youth revives in me from this thy heat. Thou shalt revenge me son. Of what, or whom? Of an affront so cruel, that our honours Suffer together in it. 'Twas, Roderigo, A box o'th' ear, which on th'insolent giver I had revenged, but that my feeble age Failed my strong heart. This sword then, which my arm Knew not to wield, take thou, and with it punish The arrogant that wronged me, and be sure Thou kill, or die, for such a stain as this Is never washed, but in the offender's blood. But let me tell thee, I do send thee now To combat with a man whom I have seen All on a gore, in midst of a fought battle, Making himself a Rampire of slain men. Pray Sir his Name, let him be what he will. To tell thee more then; besides that he is The bravest soldier, and the best Commander That I have seen; he is— For heaven's sake what? The father to Cimena. The? Reply not, I know thy love, but yet remember son, He that can live contemned, doth not deserve To breathe an hour; thou know'st th' affront was given To me, to thee I leave the just revenge; The sense of honour, and the fire that springs From thence, should put out the less heat of love; Revenge me, and thyself, show thyself worthy Of me thy father, now o'erborne with miseries, Which whilst I go to moan, haste thou to punish.
before the Court;Phoenix/Cockpit;Indoor Professional
Genre (British Drama)
not in BritDrama
Play type
Boys Professional;Professional;Translation
Edition / TCP / DEEP
edition 1059 · TCP A19346 · DEEP 878
Edition role
Representative edition — used in the analysis
Position
nodes 245–303 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 5 of 27 in this edition
Length
454 words · 601 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.792 (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)
Rage and deſpaire! muſt I needs live thus long, To ſee this, one day of my infamy Blaſt all the Trophies of my former yeares, O fatall dignity! which art to me No other than a precipice, from whence Mine honour headlong fals unto the earth, Let him that has diſarm'd me take the place Of Governour to the Prince, for I that am A man diſhonour'd, am not fit for it. And thou my ſword, that hang'ſt here for a ſhew, The glorious inſtrument of my actions paſt, But now the idle ornament of my age, Goe to his hands that can tell how to uſe thee, Be then my ſonnes, who, if he be my owne, Cannot but have a ſenſe of my diſhonour, And though he love Cimena, yet 'tis fit His love give place to the more ardent fire Of valour, animated by an affront, Which, though it fell on me, did yet reſult On him: and ſee, he's here, Roderigo tell me, Haſt th' any courage? ANy man but my father Should quickly finde I have. Well ſaid, my boy, I nowe perceive my bloud runnes in thy veines, This noble anger ſayes thou art my ſonne; My youth revives in me from this thy heat. Thou ſhalt revenge me ſonne. Of what, or whom? Of an affront ſo cruell, that our honours Suffer together in it. 'Twas, Roderigo, A box o'th eare, which on th'inſolent giver I had reveng'd, but that my feeble age Fail'd my ſtrong heart. This ſword then, which my arme Knew not to weild, take thou, and with it puniſh The arrogant that wrong'd me, and be ſure Thou kill, or die, for ſuch a ſtaine as this Is never waſht, but in the offenders bloud. But let me tell thee, I doe ſend thee now To combat with a man whom I have ſeene All on a goare, in midſt of a fought battell, Making himſelfe a Rampire of ſlaine men. Pray Sir his Name, let him be what he will. To tell thee more then; beſides that he is The braveſt ſouldier, and the beſt Commander That I have ſeene; he is— For heavens ſake what? The father to Cimena. The? Reply not, I know thy love, but yet remember ſonne, He that can live contemn'd, doth not deſerve To breath an houre; thou know'ſt th' affront was given To me, to thee I leave the juſt revenge; The ſenſe of honour, and the fire that ſprings From thence, ſhould put out the leſſe heat of love; Revenge me, and thy ſelfe, ſhew thy ſelfe worthy Of me thy father, now o're-borne with miſeries, Which whilſt I goe to moane, haſte thou to puniſh.