Davenport, Robert · published 1639 · first performed or written 1625 [c.1624-1639] (Annals) comedy · Queen Henrietta Maria's Men (?); Lady Elizabeth's Men (?) T26 Devils, hell and fiends typicality 0.87 · 500 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T26: devil, hell, devils, sure, soul, fiend, sr, wife, lord, men.
whate'er betide me. Good night to you: see the doors locked and bolted, That's all I shall enjoin you; till we meet A fair and prosperous Morning: did I know What object I should meet with, I could then Fit me unto the plunge accordingly, And arm me for the Grapple; but of this I nothing can conjecture: oh but that Parchment By which I am obliged to pay a soul, The memory of that is horrible, And strikes me with affright: what can I guess, But that this is my devil's Stratagem, To have his Sergeant death arrest me here; And bear me to that cursed Dungeon, Hell? An Usurer would do't; any fat Sergeant That looks as plump in cheeks as th'other lean; Then why not these? their gain's but petty trash, But these the precious riches of a soul; Yet in these Hellhounds have I greater trust Than in those Dogs of th'Earth, for I am sure The Devil himself can be no Usurer, He is so free of his purse; and hitherto Hath lent his money gratis: I'll to Bed, And yet I will not; I'm no whit dismayed, Nor yet at peace within; disquieted With sudden fears, nor yet well reconciled: I'll try if I can sleep; and yet not so, Lest I be taken napping; yet I'll throw me Upon the Bed and read. hay, heigh, the devils dance, sure Hell's broke loose? And this is their Shrove Tuesday; horns upon you, And that's the Cuckold's curse; yet this was sport, Though somewhat fearful: had they proffered violence, This should have thrashed among them, but it seems These were no quarrelling spirits; yet howsoe'er, I am glad they are gone: what object shall be next? Music? yet this sounds sweeter than the first, For that was all of discords. What, in Hell are there white Devils, Angels are These of Light, or but light Angels? Banquet too? And Feast? the furies in the lower World I thought till now had fed on hot meats all; On parboiled Murderers, Usurers roasted flesh, Whores cheeks for dainties, Carbonadoed o'er Red sulphurous Gridirons, and a thousand such: But what's she enters now? to whom the rest Do such obeisance? place her in her State, As if she were the Queen grim Pluto stole, And great Alcides once redeemed from Hell? Be'st thou Ghost, shadow, fury, Fiend, or Hag, Introth thou art a fair one; In heaven's name What art thou? speak, dost answer me in smiles? Why dost thou beckon me? point to those shadows, As were the meats essential! had I a stomach, With thee I durst not eat: dost laugh at me? Oh hadst thou but a substance to that presence I'd dare on thee, wert thou th' infernal Dam. Temptation still? I'll think her what she seems, For no affright can lodge in her fair look, And venture somewhat near; she's left alone, And single; I will to her, what would you have me
Queen Henrietta Maria's Men (?); Lady Elizabeth's Men (?)
Genre (British Drama)
comedy
Play type
Adult Professional;Professional
Edition / TCP / DEEP
edition 1110 · TCP A19888 · DEEP 928
Edition role
Representative edition — used in the analysis
Position
nodes 2297–2357 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 34 of 40 in this edition
Length
500 words · 686 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T26 — Devils, hell and fiendscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.869 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T23 · seed 44: T23 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
What e're betide me. Good night to you: ſee the doores lockt and bolted, That's all I ſhall enjoyne you; till we meete A faire and proſperous Morning: did I know What object I ſhould meet with, I could then Fit me unto the plunge accordingly, And arme me for the Grapple; but of this I nothing can conjecture: oh but that Parchment By which I am oblig'd to pay a ſoule, The memory of that is horrible, And ſtrikes me with affright: what can I gheſſe, But that this is my divells Stratagem, To have his Serjeant death arreſt me heere; And beare me to that curſed Dungeon, Hell? An Uſurer would doe't; any fat Serjeant That lookes as plumpe in cheekes as th'other leane; Then why not theſe? their gaine's but petty traſh, But theſe the precious riches of a ſoule; Yet in theſe Hell-hounds have I greater truſt Than in thoſe Doggs of th'Earth, for I am ſure The Divell himſelfe can be no Uſurer, He is ſo free of his purſe; and hitherto Hath lent his money gratis: Ile to Bed, And yet I will not; I'me no whit diſmay'd, Nor yet at peace within; diſquieted With ſudden feares, nor yet well reconcil'd: Ile try if I can ſleepe; and yet not ſo, Leſt I be taken napping; yet Ile throw me Upon the Bed and reade. Hey, hey, the Divells daunce, ſure Hell's broke looſe? And this is their Shrove Tueſday; hornes upon you, And that's the Cuckolds curſe; yet this was ſport, Though ſomewhat fearefull: had they proffer'd violence, This ſhould have thraſh'd among them, but it ſeemes Theſe were no quarreling ſpirits; yet howſoe're, I am glad they are gone: what object ſhall be next? Muſicke? yet this ſounds ſweeter than the firſt, For that was all of diſcords. What, in Hell are there white Divells, Angels are Theſe of Light, or but light Angels? Banquet too? And Feaſt? the furies in the lower World I thought till now had fed on hot meates all; On parboyl'd Murtherers, Uſurers roaſted fleſh, Whores cheekes for dainties, Carbonado'd o're Red ſulphurous Gridions, and a thouſand ſuch: But what's ſhe enters now? to whom the reſt Doe ſuch obeyſance? place her in her State, As if ſhe were the Queene grim Pluto ſtole, And great Alcides once redeem'd from Hell? Be'ſt thou Ghoſt, ſhadow, Fuery, Fiend, or Hag, Introth thou art a faire one; In Heavens name What art thou? ſpeake, do'ſt anſwer me in ſmiles? Why do'ſt thou beckon me? point to thoſe ſhadowes, As were the meates eſſentiall! had I a ſtomacke, With thee I durſt not eate: do'ſt laugh at me? Oh hadſt thou but a ſubſtance to that preſence I'de dare on thee, wert thou th' infirnall Dam. Temptation ſtill? Ile thinke her what ſhe ſeemes, For no affright can lodge in her faire looke, And venture ſomewhat neere; ſhe's left alone, And ſingle; I will to her, what would you have me