The Bloody Brother (Rollo, Duke of Normandy) · chunk 36 of 39
Fletcher, John / Field, Nathan / Massinger, Philip · published 1639 · first performed or written 1617 [revised 1627-1630] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men T51 Parents and children: blessing, birthrig typicality 0.76 · 517 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T51: esau, iacob, father, son, isaac, god, love, birthright, parents, thing.
Now for a Father's murder, and thy ruin, All chastity shall suffer if he reign; Thou blessed soul, look down, and steel thy daughter, Look on the sacrifice she comes to send thee, And through the bloody cloud behold my piety, Take from my cold heart fear, from my sex pity, And as I wipe theses tears off, shed for thee, So all remembrance may I lose of mercy; Give me a woman's anger bend to blood, The wildness of the winds to drown his prayers, Storm like may my destruction fall upon him, My rage like roving billows as they rise, poured on his soul to sink it, give me flattery, (For yet my constant soul near knew dissembling. Flattery the food of fools, that I may, rock him And lull him in the Down of his desires; That in the height of all his hopes and wishes, His heaven forgot, and all his lusts upon him, My hand, like thunder from a could, may seize him. I hear him come, go boy, and entertain him. Take, Oh take those lips away that so sweetly were forsworn, And those eyes, like break of day, lights that do mislead the Morn, But my kisses being again, Seals of love, though sealed in vain. Hide, Oh hide those hills of Snow, which thy frozen blossom bears, On whose tops the Pinks that grow are of those that April wears. But first set my poor heart free, bound in those joy chains by thee. What bright star, taking beauty's form upon her, In all the happy lustre of heaven's glory, Has dropped down from the Sky to comfort me? Wonder of Nature, let it not profane thee My rude hand touch thy beauty, nor this kiss; The gentle sacrifice of love and service Be offered to the honour of thy sweetness My gracious Lord, no deity dwells here, Nor nothing of that virtue, but obedience, The servant to your will affects no flattery. Can it be flattery to swear those eyes Are loves eternal lamps he fires all hearts with? That tongue the smart string to his bow? those sighs The deadly shafts he sends into our souls? Oh, look upon me with thy spring of beauty. Your grace is full of game. By heaven, my Edith, Thy mother fed on Roses when she bred thee. And thine on brambles that have pricked her heart out. The sweetness of the Arabian wind still blowing Upon the treasures of perfumes and spices, In all their pride and pleasures call thee Mistress. Wil't please you sit sir? So you please sit by me. Fair gentle maid, there is no speaking to thee, The excellency that appears upon thee Ties up my tongue: pray speak to me. Of what sir? Of any thing, any thing is excellent; Will you take my directions? speak of love then; Speak of thy fair self Edith; and while thou speakest, Let me, thus languishing, give up myself wench. H'as a strange cunning tongue, why do you sigh sir? How masterly he turns himself to catch me?
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Now for a Fathers murther, and thy ruine, All chastity shall suffer if he raigne; Thou blessed soule, look down, and steele thy daughter, Look on the sacrifice she comes to send thee, And through the bloudy cloud behold my piety, Take from my cold heart feare, from my sex pitty, And as I wipe theses teares off, shed for thee, So all remembrance may I loose of mercy; Give me a womans anger bent to bloud, The wildnesse of the winds to drown his prayers, Storme like may my destruction fall upon him, My rage like roving billowes as they rise, Powr'd on his soule to sinke it, give me flattery, (For yet my constant soule neer knew dissembling. Flattery the food o ooles, that I may, rocke him And lull him in the Downe of his desires; That in the height of all his hopes and wishes, His heaven forgot, and all his lusts upon him, My hand, like thunder from a could, may seize him. I heare him come, go boy, and entertaine him. Take, Oh take those lips away that so swetly were forsworne, And those eyes, like breake of day, lights that doe misleade the Morne, But my kisses being againe, Seales of love, though seal'd in vaine. Hide, Oh hide those hils of Snow, which thy frozen blossome beares, On whose tops the Pincks that grow are of those that April weares. But first set my poore heart free, bound in those Ioy chaines by thee. What bright star, taking beauties forme upon her, In all the happy lustre of heavens glory, Ha's drop'd downe from the Skye to comfort me? Wonder of Nature, let it not prophane thee My rude hand touch thy beauty, nor this kisse; The gentle sacrifice of love and service Be offer'd to the honor of thy sweetnesse My gracious Lord, no diety dwells here, Nor nothing of that vertue, but obedience, The servant to your will affects no flattery. Can it be flattery to sweare those eyes Are loves eternall lamps he fires all hearts with? That tongue the smart string to his bow? those sighes The deadly shafts he sends into our soules? Oh, looke upon me with thy spring of beauty. Your grace is full of game. By heaven, my Edith, Thy mother fed on Roses when she bred thee. And thine on brambles that have prick'd her heart out. The sweetnesse of the Arabian winde still blowing Upon the treasures of perfumes and spices, In all their pride and pleasures call thee Mistris. Wil't please you sit sir? So you please sit by me. Faire gentle maid, there is no speaking to thee, The excellency that appeares upon thee Tyes up my tongue: pray speake to me. Of what sir? Of any thing, any thing is excellent Will you take my directions? speake of love then; Speake of thy faire selfe Edith; and while thou speak'st, Let me, thus languishing, give up my selfe wenh. H'as a strange cunning tongue, why doe you sigh sir? How masterly he turnes himselfe to catch me?