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 0.84 · 506 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
You'ave done my miseries, Sir, too much honour. Thither I came amazed, and found him dead, He spoke nought to me, but the more to move me, His spilt blood wrote my duty on the dust. Rather his worth reduced to that poor State, Spoke to me through his wound and hastened me To this pursuit, and to be heard the better, Of the most just of Kings, borrowed my voice. Suffer not Sir, such rage to pass unpunished Before your eyes, and let not heady youth, Lave themselves in the blood of your best Soldiers, And brave their memories. If you permit it, You'll have, but few that will desire to serve you, In fine my Father's dead, I demand justice Rather for yours, than my own interest, You are engaged i' th' loss of such a man, Revenge it then, and require blood for blood. Sacrifice D. Diego, and his family To yourself, to the people, to Castille, What can be dear enough to satisfy For my dead Father? D. Diego answer. How happy is the man Sir? Who parts no sooner with his strength than life, Since to the valiant, age is most unhappy Accompanied with weakness; I that have Gotten such glory by my former actions, Whom victory has ever waited on See myself now, for having lived too long Affronted, and o'ercome. And that which neither Combat, nor siege, nor ambushes could do, Nor all your enemies, nor mine to boot, The pride of one man in your Court has done Almost before your face, and sullied The reverence, and honour of my age, Advantaged by his youth, and by my weakness, And so Sir, these my hairs which have grown white Under my helmet, and my blood, which has So oft for you been spent, should ha' descended Unto the grave with cureless infamy. Had I not got a Son to save my honour, Who lending me his hand has slain the Count. If to show courage, and a sense of wrong, If to revenge a blow o'th' face deserve Severely to be punished, let it fall On me that tempest, whatsoe'er it be, For the arms fault, we punish oft the head, I am the head, Sir, he is but the arm, And if Cimena do complain that he Has slain her Father, I must answer her, Had I been able, he had never done it. Sacrifice then this head, which age will take, The arm Sir, may hereafter do you service. And let Cimena's wrong be satisfied At my own blood's expense, and I shall be So far from thinking it an unjust censure, That dying with mine honour, I shall die Without t regret. Th' affair is of importance, And merits to be heard in a full Counsel. Don Sancho, wait upon Cimena home, Don Diego's word shall be his surety. Let his son be looked out. I'll do you justice. 'Tis just great Sir to cut off murderers. Daughter, take truce a little with your griefs.
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 619–683 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 11 of 27 in this edition
Length
506 words · 662 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.837 (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)
You'ave done my miſeries, Sir, too much honour. Thither I came amaz'd, and found him dead, He ſpoke nought to me, but the more to move me, His ſpilt bloud wrote my duty on the duſt. Rather his worth reduc'd to that poore State, Spoke to me through his wound and haſten'd me To this purſuite, and to be heard the better, Of the moſt juſt of Kings, borrow'd my voyce. Suffer not Sir, ſuch rage to paſſe unpuniſht Before your eyes, and let not heady youth, Lave themſelves in the bloud of your beſt Souldiers, And brave their memories. If you permit it, You'le have, but few that will deſire to ſerve you, In fine my Father's dead, I demaund juſtice Rather for yours, than my owne intereſt, You are ingag'd i' th' loſſe of ſuch a man, Revenge it then, and require bloud for bloud. Sacrifice D. Diego, and his familie To your ſelfe, to the people, to Caſtile, What can be deare enough to ſatisfie For my dead Father? D. Diego anſwer. How happy is the man Sir? Who parts no ſooner with his ſtrength than life, Since to the valiant, age is moſt unhappy Accompanied with weakneſſe; I that have Gotten ſuch glory by my former actions, Whom victory has ever wayted on See my ſelfe now, for having liv'd too long Affronted, and orecome. And that which neither Combat, nor ſiege, nor ambuſhes could doe, Nor all your enemies, nor mine to boot, The pride of one man in your Court has done Almoſt before your face, and ſullied The reverence, and honour of my age, Advantag'd by his youth, and by my weakneſſe, And ſo Sir, theſe my haires which have growne white Under my helmet, and my bloud, which has So oft for you been ſpent, ſhould ha' deſcended Unto the grave with cureleſſe infamy. Had I not got a Sonne to ſave my honour, Who lending me his hand has ſlaine the Count. If to ſhew courage, and a ſenſe of wrong, If to revonge a blow o'th face deſerve Severely to be puniſht, let it fall On me that tempeſt, what ſoer'e it be, For the armes fault, we puniſh oft the head, I am the head, Sir, he is but the arme, And if Cimena doe complaine that he Has ſlaine her Father, I muſt anſwer her, Had I beene able, he had never done it. Sacrifice then this head, which age will take, The arme Sir, may hereafter doe you ſervice. And let Cimena's wrong be ſatisfied At my owne bloud's expence, and I ſhall be So farre from thinking it an uniuſt cenſure, That dying with mine honour, I ſhall die Withou t regret. Th' affaire is of importance, And merits to be heard in a full Counſell. Don Sancho, wait upon Cimena home, Don Diego's word ſhall be his ſurety. Let his ſonne be lookt out. I'le doe you juſtice. 'Tis juſt great Sir to cut off murderers. Daughter, take truce a little with your griefes.