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 0.81 · 518 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
What cruelty is this, which in one day Father and daughter both deprives of life, One by the sword, the other by the sight? Remove that object of my hate, thy sword, Thou wouldst be heard of her thou mean'st to kill. I do obey, yet with the same desire To die by thee. For from my affection Never expect a cowardly repentance Of a good action, the box o'th' ear Thy father gave, dishonoured mine, thou know'st How home that touches any man of spirit, I shared in the affront and went to seek The Author, having found him I revenged Mine and my father's honour: were't to do Again I'd do't, yet think not but thy love Held out against my father, and myself, A combat long enough, and made me doubt Whether I should displease thee or sit down By th' injury received. I held my hand And blamed myself for too much violence: And without doubt thy beauty had o'er swayed, Had I not cast in balance, that a man Dishonoured never could be worthy thee, That she who loved me when my fame stood clear, Would hate me, stained with infamy. 'Tis true, I did thee an affront, and 'tis as true I ought to do it both to save my honour And merit thee. But having thus acquitted My father and myself, 'tis only you That I now come to satisfy, and make A present of my blood. I know the thought Of a slain father, arms thy hate against me, Nor will I rob thee of thy sacrifice Here, offer to the blood already shed The blood of him, that glories to have shed it, True Roderigo, (though thine enemy) That thou didst shun disgrace, I cannot blame thee, And whatsoever face my griefs put on I not accuse thee, but my own misfortune. I know what honour, after such an out rage, demands of any brave and generous spirit. Thou didst thy duty but in doing it Thou taught'st me mine. The same regard thou hadst To vindicate thine own, and father's honour falls now one me, and the more t'afflict me Of thee I must require, what I have lost; It is thy interest makes me despair, Had any other hand, or sad misfortune Deprived me of my father, I had found My comfort in thy sight, the only charm Against my griefs: When by so dear a hand My tears had been wiped off: but now I must Lose him and thee too, and what's more cruel, I'm bound myself to labour thy destruction, For never look from my affection The least resentment for thy punishment; For though our love would speak in favour of thee, Mine honour yet must go as high as thine; Thou in my wrong showd'st thyself worthy me, I in thy death will appear worthy thee. Never defer then longer what your honour Requires of you. It demands my head, To stay till justice give't you, will delay As well your glory, as my punishment. I shall die happy, dying by your hand.
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 820–884 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 14 of 27 in this edition
Length
518 words · 656 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.806 (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)
What cruelty is this, which in one day Father and daughter both deprives of life, One by the ſword, the other by the ſight? Remove that object of my hate, thy ſword, Thou would'ſt be heard of her thou mean'ſt to kill. I doe obey, yet with the ſame deſire To dye by thee. For from my affection Never expect a cowardly repentance Of a good action, the box o'th eare Thy father gave, diſhonor'd mine, thou know'ſt How home that touches any man of ſpirit, I ſhar'd in the affront and went to ſeeke The Author, having found him I reveng'd Mine and my fathers honor: wer't to doe Againe I'de do't, yet thinke not but thy love Held out againſt my father, and my ſelfe, A combat long enough, and made me doubt Whether I ſhould diſpleaſe thee or ſit down By th' injury receav'd. I held my hand And blam'd my ſelfe for too much violence: And without doubt thy beauty had o're ſway'd, Had I not caſt in ballance, that a man Diſhonor'd never could be worthy thee, That ſhe who lov'd me when my fame ſtood cleare, Would hate me, ſtain'd with infamy. 'Tis true, I did thee an affront, and 'tis as true I ought to doe it both to ſave my honor And merit thee. But having thus acquitted My father and my ſelfe, 'tis onely you That I now come to ſatisfie, and make A preſent of my bloud. I know the thought Of a ſlaine father, armes thy hate againſt mee, Nor will I rob thee of thy ſacrifice Here, offer to the blood already ſhed The blood of him, that glories to have ſhed it, True Roderigo, (though thine enemy) That thou did'ſt ſhun diſgrace, I cannot blame thee, And whatſoever face my griefes put on I not accuſe thee, but my owne misfortune. I know what honour, after ſuch an out rage, Demaund's of any brave and generous ſpirit. Thou did'ſt thy duty but in doeing it Thou t'aught'ſt me mine. The ſame regard thou had'ſt To vindicate thine owne, and fathers honor Fall's now one me, and the more t'afflict me Of thee I muſt require, what I have loſt; It is thy intereſt makes me deſpaire, Had any other hand, or ſad misfortune Depriv'd me of my father, I had found My comfort in thy ſight, the onely charme Againſt my griefes: When by ſo deare a hand My teares had beene wip'd off: but now I muſt Loſe him and thee too, and what's more cruell, I'me bound my ſelfe to labour thy deſtruction, For never looke from my affection The leaſt reſentment for thy puniſhment; For though our love would ſpeak in favour of thee, Mine honour yet muſt goe as high as thine; Thou in my wrong ſhewd'ſt thy ſelfe worthy me, I in thy death will appeare worthy thee. Never deferre then longer what your honour Requires of you. It demands my head, To ſtay till juſtice give't you, will delay As well your glory, as my puniſhment. I ſhall die happy, dying by your hand.