Berkeley, William · published 1638 · first performed or written 1637 [1637-1638] (Annals) not in BritDrama unassigned nearest T36 Hell, Furies and the language of punishm · 492 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T36: hell, earth, gods, death, ghosts, blood, bloody, heaven, night, ghost.
Sir, Lord PINDAR us would speak with you. Where is he? Sir, I have waited as you commanded, Near the house of the Egyptian Lady: Something is done, that disturbs them all, Divers run in and out, Physicians are sent for: At last, I went in myself, and entered her Chamber, found her on her bed almost distract With torture, cries she is poisoned, curses her jealousy and curiosity, calls upon your name, Desires, and then forbids you should be sent for. But I will come to her confession: courage my soul, Let no faint pity hinder thee the joys Thou art receiving, triumph in their sufferings That have attempted thine: Look down MILESIA, Applaud my piety, that snatched the sword From sleeping Justice, to revenge thy death. What means my Lord to be pleased with this Sad news? how can this stranger have offended him? I'll follow, learn the issue, and the cause. Oh, oh, oh, gods! if I have merited your hate, You might have laid it on until my name Had been a word to express full misery, And I had thanked you, if you had forborn To make his innocence the instrument Of your dire wrath. HERMIONE, IRENE, I have conjured my servants not to tell you When I am dead, who I was: but if Their weakness shall discover't, let it be hid From the best Lysicles: I burn, I burn, And death dares not to cease me, frighted With the furies that torment me. Mysterious powers! instruct us in the way You would be served, for we are ignorant; Your Thunder else would not be aimed at those That follow virtue, as it is prescribed, Whilst thousand others scape unpunished, That violate the Laws we are taught to keep. What mean these sad expressions of sorrow? Oh my Lord, Nature had not made our hearts Capable of pity, if we forbear it here: The virtuous Acanthe has been tormented With pains, nothing is able to express But her own groans: she fears she's poisoned, Talks of you, of Tombs, and of Milesia, And in the midst of all her torture Says, her distrust and jealousy deserves a greater punishment. And I believe't, nor should you pity her: Those that do trace forbidden paths of knowledge The gods reserve unto themselves, do never do't, But with intent to ruin the believers, And venturers on their Art: Something I know O'th' cursed effects of her commanding Magic, And she (no doubt) is conscious to herself Of infinite more mischiefs than are yet revealed. I am confident she is fled her Country For the ills she has done there, and now The punishment has overtaken her here: And for her shows of Virtue, they are Masks To hide the rottenness that lies within, And gain her credit with some dissembled acts Of piety, which levels her a passage To those important mischiefs, Hell Has employed her here to execute.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Sir, Lord PINDAR vs would speake with you. Where is he? Sir, I have waited as you commanded, Neere the house of the AEgyptian Lady: Something is done, that disturbs them all, Divers runne in and out, Physitians are sent for: At last, I went in my selfe, and entred her Chamber, found her on her bed almost distract With torture, cries she is poison'd, curses her Iealousie and curiosity, cals upon your name, Desires, and then forbids you should be sent for. But I will come to her confession: courage my soule, Let no faint pitty hinder thee the joyes Thou art receiving, triumph in their sufferings That have attempted thine: Looke downe MILESIA, Applaud my pietie, that snatcht the sword From sleeping Justice, to revenge thy death. What meanes my Lord to be pleas'd with this Sad newes? how can this stranger have offended him? I'le follow, learne the issue, and the cause. Oh, oh, oh, gods! if I have merited your hate, You might have laid it on untill my name Had beene a word to expresse full misery, And I had thank'd you, if you had forborne To make his innocence the instrument Of your dire wrath. HERMIONE, IRENE, I have conjur'd my servants not to tell you When I am dead, who I was: but if Their weakenesse shall discover't, let it be hid From the best Lysicles: I burne, I burne, And death dares not to ceaze me, frighted With the furies that torment me. Mysterious powers! instruct us in the way You would be serv'd, for we are ignorant; Your Thunder else would not be aim'd at those That follow vertue, as it is prescrib'd, Whilst thousand others scape unpunished, That violate the Lawes we are taught to keepe. What meane these sad expressions of sorrow? Oh my Lord, Nature had not made our hearts Capable of pitty, if we forbeare it here: The vertuous Acanthe has beene tormented With paines, nothing is able to expresse But her owne groanes: she feares shee's poison'd, Talkes of you, of Tombes, and of Milesia, And in the midst of all her torture Sayes, her distrust and jealousie deserves a greater punishment. And I beleev't, nor should you pitty her: Those that doe trace forbidden paths of knowledge The gods reserve unto themselves, doe never doo't, But with intent to ruine the beleevers, And venterers on their Art: Something I know O'th'curs'd effects of her commanding Magick, And she (no doubt) is conscious to her selfe Of infinite more mischiefes than are yet reveal'd. I am confident she is fled her Country For the ills she has done there, and now The punishment has overta'ne her here: And for her shewes of Vertue, they are Masks To hide the rottennesse that lyes within, And gaine her credit with some dissembled acts Of piety, which levells her a passage To those important mischiefes, Hell Has imploy'd her here to execute.