Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Alas your son. How does it concern him? Great sir, your dear and only son is slain. How's this? He's murdered sacrilegiously, Even in the Temple-porch, he was disguised, And thought of all t'have been Imperial. I am undone. The desperate actor was Clad in a country habit, and it seems, Mistook the person; when he saw his face, He tore his viperous hair; the judge was present, Who gave command to bring him instantly, To receive speedy judgement, Overreached? In my own plot? the sword of my revenge Turned on myself? and drowned in mine own bowels? I am betrayed, yet cannot suspect how; It could not be by any mortal subtlety, It was some devil lurking in the air; How shall I be revenged? O that he would Assume a humane body, that I might Encounter him! but I have found the way, I'll study the black art, turn Conjurer, And then impose a labour on them all, Worse than Ixion, or the Belides Are said to undergo. We have done ill, To rush upon him with such violence; The sudden grief hath half distracted him; we'll strive to temper it with better hopes, Things may not be so bad as our affections Have made us fear; Francisco Spinola Was often named. But neither of us both Can say we saw him dead. Nay then I see Y'are villains hired, suborned to undermine me. First you confound me with your horrid news, And then confess ye may be both mistaken: But I am armed with patience, if Imperial Retaining still his late abjured malice, Hath by some hellish art contrived this mischief, I may in just resentment of my wrongs, Implore heaven's vengeance, on his perjured head, And this is all y'are like to screw from me. Let not your troubled thoughts make you doubt us, Who for his life would sacrifice our own. I will devise a stratagem, shall need No other hand but this, which I'll conceal From my own self, till th'instant time of action; For if I should disclose it in a place Where there are trees, or flowers, I am betrayed: I would not breathe it forth, unless it were After a dreadful thunder, that had purged The air, and frighted thence those subtle spies, That to our foes by night betray our plots. You have a faithful friend, to whom you may Safely pour out the secrets of your heart, The wise Iustinian. Oh that name is like A precious balm to cure the wounds of fortune! Please you retire, I'll bring him presently. No wild rebellion of my passions can Make me neglect the friendship of that man. NOw you may see, sir, you were not abused In our discovery, and I hope you find My undertakings and your trust made good; The Sun at noon is not more clearly seen; But may it not breed a suspicion That he was clad like me? Why sir you know That it is now the time of Carnival, When every man takes what disguise he pleases.
nodes 956–1029 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 15 of 28 in this edition
Length
513 words · 658 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.814 (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)
Alas your ſonne. How does it concerne him? Great ſir, your deare and onely ſonne is ſlaine. How's this? He's murther'd ſacrilegiouſly, Even in the Temple-porch, he was diſguis'd, And thought of all t'have bin Imperiale. I am undone. The deſperate actor was Clad in a country habit, and it ſeemes, Miſtooke the perſon; when he ſaw his face, He tore his viperous haire; the Iudge was preſent, Who gave command to bring him inſtantly, To receive ſpeedy judgement, Over-reach't? In my owne plot? the ſword of my revenge Turn'd on my ſelfe? and drown'd in mine owne bowels? I am betraid, yet cannot ſuſpect how; It could not be by any mortall ſubtilty, It was ſome divell lurking in the ayre; How ſhall I be reveng'd? O that he would Aſſume a humane body, that I might Encounter him! but I have found the way, I'le ſtudy the blacke art, turne Conjurer, And then impoſe a labour on them all, Worſe then Ixion, or the Belides Are ſaid to undergoe. We have done ill, To ruſh upon him with ſuch violence; The ſudden griefe hath halfe diſtracted him; Wee'l ſtrive to temper it with better hopes, Things may not be ſo bad as our affections Have made us feare; Franciſco Spinola Was often nam'd. But neither of us both Can ſay we ſaw him dead. Nay then I ſee Y'are villaines hir'd, ſuborn'd to undermine me. Firſt you confound me with your horrid newes, And then confeſſe ye may be both miſtaken: But I am arm'd with patience, if Imperial Retaining ſtill his late abjured malice, Hath by ſome helliſh art contriv'd this miſchiefe, I may in juſt reſentment of my wrongs, Implore heavens vengeance, on his perjur'd head, And this is all y'are like to ſcrew from me. Let not your troubled thoughts make you doubt us, Who for his life would ſacrifice our own. I will deviſe a ſtratagem, ſhall need No other hand but this, which I'le conceale From my owne ſelfe, till th'inſtant time of action; For if I ſhould diſcloſe it in a place Where there are trees, or flowers, I am betraid: I would not breathe it forth, unleſſe it were After a dreadfull thunder, that had purg'd The ayre, and frighted thence thoſe ſubtill ſpies, That to our foes by night betray our plots. You have a faithfull friend, to whom you may Safely powre out the ſecrets of your heart, The wiſe Iuſtinian. Oh that name is like A pretious balme to cure the wounds of fortune! Pleaſe you retire, I'le bring him preſently. No wilde rebellion of my paſſions can Make me neglect the friendſhip of that man. NOw you may ſee, ſir, you were not abus'd In our diſcovery, and I hope you finde My undertakings and your truſt made good; The Sunne at noone is not more cleerely ſeene; But may it not breed a ſuſpition That he was clad like me? Why ſir you know That it is now the time of Carnivall, When every man takes what diſguiſe he pleaſes.