Glapthorne, Henry · published 1639 · first performed or written 1634 [1634-1639] [incorrect] (Annals) not in BritDrama · Globe T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.86 · 509 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Dear Albertus, draw not a ruin on thy priceless life, For my despised sake I will go to death, All peace as does an Anchorite, that's assured of all his sin's forgiveness. Saucy devil, carry that touch of her to hell, 'twill serve To mitigate thy tortures. O my Lord, what has your fury acted, Dear Albertus. 'Twas a most friendly hand, and I could kiss it, For the most welcome benefit; Isabella, In death thou givest me life, thy innocence, Will like my guardian Angel, safely convey me To yonder heavenly Mansion: pray forgive me, Dear Sir, if in my overhasty zeal In this poor innocents quarrel, my wild fury, Transgressed my natural duty, and as the last Request your dying son can ask, take pity On this most innocent Maid: thy hand, my fair one, And now as willingly I do expire, As a blessed Martyr, who does court the fire. O Isabella dies. O my dear Albert. Death slave, dare you play with a flame That shall consume you. Hang her up, or torments shall pay your breach of duty. There friend, there's all the Jewels I am mistress of, And that thou merits, prithee be as speedy In thy dispatch, as fate itself; there is A pure white Ghost in you same azure cloud, Expects me straight, I come my dear Albertus. Take hence their bodies, 'twas a hopeful boy, And one I loved well, till his wild love Made him forget his duty; and 'tis better He died with fame, his sword in's hand, then that He'd lived with foul dishonour: would he were Alive again, I do begin to feel strange horrors here, and that Big guest, my soul, is shaken as with a nipping frost, hence idle Grief, I must be furnished with more spritely passions, thou art too Heavy, fit for the society of none but pensive women. All must die, Why should not he then, 'twas his destiny. Are all your horse in readiness. Yes, 'tis time, That we were mounted, 'tis four leagues at least Unto the general's Camp, and 'twill be late Ere we arrive there, are you yet resolved Upon the means, by which to put in practice Our long intended purpose, our delay Will make the Emperor apt to call in question Our faith's integrity, So great a business, Is not with easy speed to be performed: An eager haste ofttimes o'erthrows the fortunes Of such affairs, if we once get him hither, Within our City walls, be confident, He's in his grave; but have you given command, That all your Soldiers be in readiness, To wait the general's entry. They shall be In their best furniture of Arms, all drawn Into parada, he shall have all pomp, And ornament of war, to bid him welcome. These triumphs Shall be but funeral pomps before his death; Gordon, you must, as Governor of Egers, Present the keys with all humility To his dispose, 'twill make him be more careless, And trust his very soul into our hands.
nodes 1071–1135 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 16 of 21 in this edition
Length
509 words · 674 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.861 (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)
Deare Albertus, draw not a ruine on thy prizeles life, For my despis'd sake I will go to death, All peace as does an Anchorite, that's assur'd of all his sinnes forgivenesse. Sawcie divell, carry that touch of her to hell, 'twill serve To mitigate thy tortures. O my Lord, what has your fury acted, Deare Albertus. 'Twas a most friendly hand, and I could kisse it, For the most welcome benefit; Isabella, In death thou givest me life, thy innocence, Will like my guardian Angell, safely convey me To yonder heavenly Mansion: pray forgive me, Deare Sir, if in my over-hasty zeale In this poore innocents quarrell, my wild fury, Transgress'd my naturall duty, and as the last Request your dying son can aske, take pitty On this most innocent Maid: thy hand, my faire one, And now as willingly I doe expire, As a blest Martyr, who does court the fire. O Isabella dies. O my deare Albert. Death slave, dare you play with a flame That shall consume you. Hang her up, or torments shall pay your breach of duty. There friend, there's all the Jewels I am mistris of, And that thou merits, prethee be as speedy In thy dispatch, as fate it selfe; there is A pure white Ghost in you same azure cloud, Expects me straight, I come my deare Albertus. Take hence their bodies, 'twas a hopefull boy, And one I lov'd well, till his wild love Made him forget his duty; and 'tis better He di'd with fame, his sword in's hand, then that He'd liv'd with foule dishonour: would he were Alive agen, I do begin to feele strange horrors here, and that Big guest, my soule, is shaken as with a nipping frost, hence idle Grief, I must be furnish'd with more spritly passions, thou art too Heavy, fit for the society of none but pensive women. All must dy, Why should not he then, 'twas his destiny. Are all your horse in readinesse. Yes, 'tis time, That we were mounted, 'tis foure leagues at least Unto the Generals Campe, and 'twill be late Ere we arrive there, are you yet resolv'd Upon the meanes, by which to put in practice Our long intended purpose, our delay Will make the Emperour apt to call in question Our faiths integrity, So great a businesse, Is not with easie speed to be perform'd: An eager haste oft-times o'rethrowes the fortunes Of such affaires, if we once get him hither, Within our City walls, be confident, He's in his grave; but have you given command, That all your Souldiers be in readinesse, To waite the Generalls entry. They shall be In their best furniture of Armes, all drawne Into parada, he shall have all pompe, And ornament of warre, to bid him welcome. These triumphs Shall be but funerall pomps before his death; Gordon, you must, as Governour of Egers, Present the keyes with all humility To his dispose, 'twill make him be more carelesse, And trust his very soule into our hands.