Massinger, Philip · published 1639 · first performed or written 1624 [1624-1625] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men · Globe unassigned nearest T51 Parents and children: blessing, birthrig · 505 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T51: esau, iacob, father, son, isaac, god, love, birthright, parents, thing.
At the father's suit, With much unwillingness the governor Consented to'em. You are inward with Our Admiral; could you yet never learn What the nature of the quarrel is, that renders The son, more than incensed, implacable Against the father? Never; yet I have As far as manners would give warrant to it, With my best curiousness of care observed him, I have sate with him in his cabin a day together, Yet not a syllable exchanged between us, Sigh he did often, as if inward grief, And melancholy at that instant would Choke up his vital spirits, and now and then A tear, or two, as in derision of The toughness of his rugged temper would Fall on his hallow cheeks, which but once felt, A sudden flash of fury did dry up, And laying then his hand upon his sword, He would murmur, but yes so as I oft hard him, We shall meet cruel father, yet we shall, When i'll exact for every womanish drop Of sorrow from these eyes, a strict account Of much more from thy heart. 'tis wondrous strange. And past my apprehension. Yet what makes The miracle greater, when from the main top A sail's descried, all thoughts that do concern Himself laid by, no Lion pinched with hunger, Rouses himself more fiercely from his den, Than he comes on the deck, and there how wisely He gives directions, and how stout he is In his executions, we to admiration, Have been eyewitnesses, yet he never minds The booty when 'tis made ours, but as if The danger, in the purchase of the prey Delighted him much more than the reward, His will made known he does retire himself To his private contemplation, no joy Expressed by him for victory, Hear he comes But with more cheerful looks then ever yet I saw him wear. It was long since resolved on Nor must I stagger now, may the cause That forces me to this unnatural act, Be buried in everlasting silence, And I find rest in death, or my revenge, To either I stand equal. Pray you Gentlemen Be charitable in your censures of me, And do not entertain a false belief That I am mad, for undertaking that Which must be, when effected, still repented. It adds to my calamity that I have Discourse and reason, and but too well know I can nor live, nor end a wretched life, But both ways I am impious. Do not therefore Ascribe the perturbation of my soul To a servile fear of death: I oft have viewed All kinds of his inevitable darts, Not are they terrible. Were I condemned to leap From the cloud-covered brows of a steep rock Into the deep; or Curtius-like to fill up, For my country's safety and an after name, A bottomless abyss, or charge through fire, It could not so much shake me, as th' encounter Of this days single enemy. If you please, Sir, You may shun it, or defer it.
seed 43: T62 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
At the fathers suit, With much unwillingnesse the governour Consented to'em. You are inward with Our Admirall; could you yet never learne VVhat the nature of the quarrell is, that renders The sonne, more then incensed, implacable Against the father? Never; yet I have As far as manners would give warrant to it, VVith my best curiousnesse of care observ'd him, I have sae with him in his cabin a day together, Yet not a sillable exchang'd between us, Sigh he did often, as if inward griefe, And melancholy at that instant would Choke up his vitall spirits, and now and then A teare, or two, as in derision of The toughnesse of his rugged temper would Fall on his hallow cheekes, which but once felt, A sudden flash of fury did dry up, And laying then his hand upon his sword, He would murmure, but yes so as I oft hard him, We shall meete cruell father, yet we shall, When i'll exact for every womanish drop Of sorrow from these eies, a strict accompt Of much more from thy heart. Tis wondrous strange. And past my apprehension. Yet what makes The miracle greater, when from the maine top A sayle's descride, all thoughts that doe concerne Himselfe layd by, no Lyon pinchd with hunger, Rowzes himselfe more fiercely from his den, Then he comes on the decke, and there how wisely He gives directions, and how stout he is In his executions, we to admiration, Have beene eye-witnesses, yet he never minds The bootie when tis made ours, but as if The danger, in the purchase of the prey Delighted him much more then the rewarde, His will made knowne he does retire himselfe To his private contemplation, no joy Expressd by him for victory, Heare he comes But with more chearefull lookes then ever yet I saw him weare. It was long since resolv'd on Nor must I stagger now, may the cause That forces mee to this unnaturall act, Be buried in everlasting silence, And I finde rest in death, or my revenge, To either I stand equall. Pray you Gentlemen Be charitable in your censures of me, And doe not entertaine a false beleefe That I am mad, for undertaking that Which must be, when effected, still repented. It addes to my calamitie that I have Discourse and reason, and but too well know I can nor live, nor end a wretched life, But both wayes I am impious. Doe not therefore Ascribe the perturbation of my soule To a servile feare of death: I oft have view'd All kindes of his inevitable darts, Not are they terrible. Were I condemn'd to leape From the cloud-covered browes of a steepe rocke Into the deepe; or Curtius-like to fill up, For my Countries safetie and an after name, A bottomlesse A bysse, or charge through fire, It could not so much shake me, as th' encounter Of this dayes single enemie. If you please, Sir, You may shunit, or defer it.