Berkeley, William · published 1638 · first performed or written 1637 [1637-1638] (Annals) not in BritDrama T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.84 · 498 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
And try if that can make me yet more wretched: Was not her death affliction enough, But you must make me be the murderer? Is this a punishment for adoring her Equal with you, you made so equal to ye? Pardon the fault you forced me to commit: So visible a Divinity could not be looked on With less adoration. If e'er I did expect a happier death, May I die loathed: what Funeral pomp Can there be greater, than for me to hear Whilst I yet live, my dying Obsequies With so much zeal pronounced by him I love? Tortures again do seize me. Eyes, are you dry where such an object calls Your tears forth— My blood shall supply your place. For heaven's sake hold his hands: O my best Lysicles, Do not destroy the comforts of my soul; What a division do I feel within me! I am but half tormented, my soul in spite O'th' tortures of my body, do feel a joy That meets departed spirits in the blessed shades— What unexpected mischiefs circle me, What Arts hath malice, armed with Fortune, found To make me wretched? could I e'er have thought A Miracle could have restored thee to my eyes, But they should see the joys of Heaven in thee? Yet now the height of my affliction is, That they behold thee guilty of the close Of thine for ever: see HERMIONE, The countenance Death should put on, when Death Would have us throng unto her Palaces, And court her frozen Sepulchres. Sure she is dead: how pale she is! No: she is white as Lilies, as the Snow That falls upon PARNASSUS; if the Red were here, As I have seen't enthroned, the rising day Would get new excellence by being compared to her: ARGOS, nor CYPRUS, Egypt never saw A beauty like to this; let it be lawful for me to usurp So much on Death's right, as to take a kiss From thy cold Virgin-lips, where she and Love Yet strive for Empire: the flames that rise from hence, Are not less violent, though less pleasing now, Than when she did consent I should receive What now I ravish. Dares not Death shut those eyes where love Hath entered once, or am I in the shades Assisted with the Ghost of my dear Lysicles? She speaks again: good Heaven, she speaks again! You are yet living. And therefore dying, but before I go Let me obtain your pardon for the wrongs My jealousy hath thrown upon your innocence. 'T was my too perfect knowledge of my want Of merits to deserve, made me doubt yours: I mean your constant love, which I will teach Below, and make them learn again to love, Who have died for it. Do not abuse your mercy and my grief, By asking pardon of your murderer, But curse your sufferings off, on this devoted head, To save the beauty of the world in you.
nodes 2139–2201 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 35 of 42 in this edition
Length
498 words · 628 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.836 (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)
And try if that can make me yet more wretched: Was not her death affliction enough, But you must make me be the murtherer? Is this a punishment for adoring her Equall with you, you made so equail to yee? Pardon the fault you forc't me to commit: So visible a Divinity could not be loo'd on With lesse adoration. If e're I did expect a happier death, May I dye loathed: what Funerall pompe Can there be greater, than for me to heare Whilst I yet live, my dying Obsequies With so much zeale pronounc'd by him I love? Tortures againe doe seize me. Eyes, are you dry where such an object calls Your teares forth—My bloud shall supply your place. For heavens sake hold his hands: O my best Lysicles, Doe not destroy the comforts of my soule; What a division doe I feele within me! I am but halfe tormented, my soule in spight O'th'tortures of my body, doe feele a joy That meets departed spirits in the blest shades— What unexpected mischiefes circle me, What Arts hath malice, arm'd with Fortune, found To make me wretched? could I e're have thought A Miracle could have restor'd thee to my eyes, But they should see the joyes of Heaven in thee? Yet now the height of my affliction is, That they behold thee guilty of the close Of thine for ever: see HERMIONE, The countenance Death should put on, when Death Would have us throng unto her Palaces, And court her frozen Sepulchres. Sure she is dead: how pale she is! No: she is white as Lillies, as the Snow That falls upon PARNASSVS; if the Red were here, As I have seene't enthron'd, the rising day Would get new excellence by being compar'd to her: ARGOS, nor CYPRVS, AEGYPT never saw A beauty like to this; let it be lawfull for me to usurpe So much on Deaths right, as to take a kisse From thy cold Virgin-lips, where she and Love Yet strive for Empire: the flames that rise from hence, Are not lesse violent, though lesse pleasing now, Than when she did consent I should receive What now I ravish. Dares not Death shut those eyes where love Hath enter'd once, or am I in the shades Assisted with the Ghost of my deare Lysicles? She speakes againe: good Heaven, she speakes againe! You are yet living. And therefore dying, but before I goe Let me obtaine your pardon for the wrongs My jealousie hath throwne upon your innocence. 'T was my too perfect knowledge of my want Of merits to deserve, made me doubt yours: I meane your constant love, which I will teach Below, and make them learne againe to love, Who have dyed for it. Doe not abuse your mercy and my griefe, By asking pardon of your murtherer, But curse your sufferings off, on this devoted head, To save the beauty of the world in you.