Berkeley, William · published 1638 · first performed or written 1637 [1637-1638] (Annals) not in BritDrama T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.85 · 496 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Oh my griefs! Now I perceive the gods decreed you endless, Since they have made him add unto my torment, Whose memory before did make the sharpest, glorious: Tears, and sighs, and groans farewell: They ne'er were spent but when I feared for you; And you being lost I have no use of them. Here, take this paper, 'tis the last Legacy My love shall ever give you: 'twas designed When I conceived you worthy. If you believe her words, whose faith was never lost, Though you ungratefully have flung it off, If so, you be not that you accuse me for, you there shall find A story that will punish your suspicion. You that by powerful prayers have diverted An imminent ruin, inspire me with fit words To appease my injured Mistress; hear me, do not kneel for mercy, but to beg Your leave to die: I must not live When pardons make my offence most horrible, And hell is here without them; take a middle way If you incline to mercy, and forget me. Rise, this is worse than your doubts were. Turn not your face away; would you revenge, Then let my eyes dwell on't: what punishment Can there be greater, than for me to see the beauty I have lost By my own fault? look then upon me. No, I must yet keep my anger to preserve my honour, And I dare not trust that, and my eyes at once, If they behold you. Then hear a wretched man, that has outlived So much his hopes, he knows not what to wish, Whether to live or die; yet life for this I only seek, that you may find I shrink not To punish him your Justice has condemned. Rise, I can hold out no longer, the bare sounds Of your death dissolve my resolutions: Forget my anger, as I will the cause. Never, it shall live here to honour me, Since pity of my love made you decline it: But must—— Yes, the virtuous Lysicles, for his respects to me, However unhappy, challenged that name, In your absence labours to marry me: yet death— Wretched Eugenio, did thy coward Fate Not dare to strike thee, till thou turnedst thy back: Must I return from banishment to find My hopes are banished? Did I for this love Virtue, Pursued her rugged paths, when danger made Her horrid to the valiant, to be ruined By him that is most virtuous? Ye gods, Was envy, malice, Fortune impotent To injure me, but you must raise up Virtue To suppress me— If I suffer it, I shall deserve it. Oh my Eugenio, we are miserable, Yet must not quarrel love, to take or give A seeming comfort: go try all your power Of hate or friendship to undo this match, I'll give you leave to die first: any thing, But let not me have so much leave to change, As to believe you think it possible.
nodes 1885–1944 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 31 of 42 in this edition
Length
496 words · 631 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.852 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T10 · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Oh my griefes! Now I perceive the gods decreed you endlesse, Since they have made him adde unto my torment, Whose memory before did make the sharpest, glorious: Teares, and sighes, and groanes farewell: They ne're were spent but when I feard for you; And you being lost I have no use of them. Here, take this paper, 'tis the last Legacy My love shall ever give you: 'twas defign'd When I conceiv'd you worthy. If you beleeve her words, whose faith was never lost, Though you ungratefully have flung it off, If so, you be not that you accuse me for, you there shall finde A story that will punish your suspition. You that by powerfull prayers have diverted An imminent ruine, inspire me with fit words To appease my injur'd Mistresse; heare me, doe not kneele for mercy, but to begge Your leave to dye: I must not live When pardons make my oftence most horrible, And hell is here without them; take a middle way If you incline to mercy, and forget me. Rise, this is worse than your doubts were. Turne not your face away; would you revenge, Then let my eyes dwell on't: what punishment Can there be greater, than for me to see the beauty I have lost By my owne fault? looke then upon me. No, I must yet keepe my anger to preserve my honour, And I dare not trust that, and my eyes at once, If they behold you. Then heare a wretched man, that has out-liv'd So much his hopes, he knowes not what to wish, Whether to live or die; yet life for this I onely seeke, that you may finde I shrinke not To punish him your Justice has condemn'd. Rise, I can hold out no longer, the bare sounds Of your death dissolve my resolutions: Forget my anger, as I will the cause. Never, it shall live here to honour me, Since pirty of my love made you decline it: But must— — Yes, the vertuous Lysicles, for his respects to me, How'ere unhappy, challeng'd that name, In your absence labours to marry me: yet death— Wretched Eugenio, did thy coward Fate Not dare to strike thee, till thou turn'dst thy backe: Must I returne from banishment to finde My hopes are banish'd? Did I for this love Vertue, Purtued her rugged pathes, when danger made Her horrid to the valiant, to be ruin'd By him that is most vertuous? Yee gods, Was envy, malice, Fortune impotent To injure me, but you must raise up Vertue To suppresse me—If I suffer it, I shall deserve it. Oh my Eugenio, we are miserable, Yet must not quarrell love, to take or give A seeming comfort: goe trie all your power Of hate or friendship to undoe this match, Ile give you leave to die first: any thing, But let not me have so much leave to change, As to beleeve you thinke it possible.