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 0.82 · 498 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Quiet yourself, sweet madam. How unfitly Thou bid'st me to be quiet, when at once I must bewail my loss, and th'hand that made it, Or what is't I can hope for in this life But torments, near to be redressed by time, If loving th' Author, I pursue the crime. Can you then love the man that killed your Father? Love him, Eluira? more than that I adore him, My love stands up against the sense, I should have Of a slain father, and would quite o'erbear it. I find my lover in mine enemy, And spite of all my anger, in my heart Roderigo makes his part good 'gainst my father: Yet though my love has these advantages, I'll not advise with it about my duty. Nothing is dearer to me than Roderigo, My heart would take his part, but then my honour Tells me I had a father, which he slew. But do you mean to prosecute him, Madam? O cruel meaning! cruel prosecution! To which I'm forced. I ask his head, and yet Fear to obtain it. I would ha' him punished, And yet my death, I know, must wait on his. Fie, Madam, quit this tragical design, Be not so cruel to yourself. Shall I see My father die between my arms? his blood Crying vengeance to me, and shan't I hear him? Shall my heart think, because 'tis charmed by love, That nothing's due unto a father's death But childish tears? or shall I suffer love To steal into my heart, and thrust out honour? Believe me, Madam, you may well be pardoned, If you preserve unto yourself a man You cannot parallel, and one you love. Y'have done enough to ha' been with the King, ne'er press it farther, be not obstinate. Then is my glory lost; no, it behooves I be revenged. But you love Roderigo, He can't displease you. No I'll swear he can't. These things considered, Madam, what can you do? To save mine honour, and to put an end To all my griefs at once, I am resolved First to pursue him unto death, and then To die myself. TO save the trouble of Pursuing me, behold I'm here before you, Glut yourself with the pleasure of my death. What place is this, Elvira? who is this? Roderigo in my house! before my face! Spare not my blood, but taste the sweetness of My death, and your revenge, without resistance. ay me! Hear me Cimena. I die. A word Away and let me die. And afterwards Make me no answer but with this my sword. That sword be smeared with th' blood of my dead father. My Cimena Fie, take away that object Which to mine eyes upbraids thy crime, and life. Look on it rather to increase thy hate T'excite thine anger, and to speed my death. 'Tis died in my own blood. Plunge it in mine, And make it lose the colour so of thine.
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 749–819 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 13 of 27 in this edition
Length
498 words · 675 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.823 (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)
Quiet your ſelfe, ſweet Madame. How unfitly Thou bid'ſt me to be quiet, when at once I muſt bewaile my loſſe, and th'hand that made it, Or what is't I can hope for in this life But torments, neere to be redres'd by time, If loving th' Author, I purſue the crime. Can you then love the man that kill'd your Father? Love him, Eluira? more than that I adore him, My love ſtands up againſt the ſenſe, I ſhould have Of a ſlaine father, and would quite o're-beare it. I finde my lover in mine enemie, And ſpight of all my anger, in my heart Roderigo makes his part good 'gainſt my father: Yet though my love has theſe advantages, I'le not adviſe with it about my duty. Nothing is dearer to me than Roderigo, My heart would take his part, but then my honour Tels me I had a father, which he ſlew. But doe you meane to proſecute him, Madam? O cruell meaning! cruell proſecution! To which I'me forc'd. I aske his head, and yet Feare to obtaine it. I would ha him puniſh'd, And yet my death, I know, muſt wait on his. Fie, Madam, quit this tragicall deſigne, Be not ſo cruell to your ſelfe. Shall I ſee My father die betweene my armes? his bloud Crying vengeance to me, and ſhan't I heare him? Shall my heart thinke, becauſe 'tis charm'd by love, That nothing's due unto a fathers death But childiſh teares? or ſhall I ſuffer love To ſteale into my heart, and thruſt out honour? Beleeve me, Madam, you may well be pardon'd, If you preſerve unto your ſelfe a man You cannot paralell, and one you love. Y'have done enough to ha' beene with the King, Ne're preſſe it farther, be not obſtinate. Then is my glory loſt; no, it behoves I be reveng'd. But you love Roderigo, He can't diſpleaſe you. No I'le ſweare he can't. Theſe things conſider'd, Madam, what can you doe? To ſave mine honour, and to put an end To all my griefes at once, I am reſolv'd Firſt to purſue him unto death, and then To die my ſelfe. TO ſave the trouble of Purſuing me, behold I'me here before you, Glut your ſelfe with the pleaſure of my death. What place is this, Elvira? who is this? Roderigo in my houſe! before my face! Spare not my bloud, but taſte the ſweetneſſe of My death, and your revenge, without reſiſtance. Aye me! Heare me Cimena. I dye. A word Away and let me dye. And afterwards Make me no anſwer but with this my ſword. That ſword be fmear'd with th' bloud of my dead father. My Cimena Fye, take away that object Which to myne eyes upbraids thy crime, and life. Looke on it rather to increaſe thy hate T'excite thine anger, and to ſpeed my death. 'Tis dy'd in my owne bloud. Plunge it in mine, And make it loſe the colour ſo of thine.