The Bloody Brother (Rollo, Duke of Normandy) · chunk 35 of 39
Fletcher, John / Field, Nathan / Massinger, Philip · published 1640 · first performed or written 1617 [revised 1627-1630] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men T0 Court life: dukes, favour and honour typicality 0.90 · 492 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T0: duke, lord, duchess, love, court, madam, prince, honour, grace, lady.
It is no time to talk now honoured Sir, Be pleased to hear thy servant, I am wronged And cannot, being now to serve the Duke, Stay to express the manner how, but If I do not suddenly give you strong proofs, Your life is dearer to me than my own, May I live base and die, so sir your pardon. I am both ways ruined, both ways marked for slaughter, On every side about, behind, before me, My certain fate is fixed, were I knave now I could avoid this: had my actions, But mere relations to their own ends, I could scape now: O honesty, thou elder child of virtue, Thou seed of heaven, why to acquire thy goodness, Should malice and distrust stick thorns before us? And make us swim unto thee hung with hazards. But heaven is got by suffering, not disputing: Say he know this before hand, where am I then? Or say he do not know it, where's my loyalty? I know his nature troubled as the Sea, And as the Sea devouring, where he is vexed, And I know Princes are their own expounders, Am I afraid of death? of dying nobly? Of dying in my innocence uprightly? Have I met death in all his forms and fears, Now on the points of swords, now pitched on lances, In fires, in storms of arrows, battles, breaches, And shall I now shrink from him when he courts me? smiling and full of Sanctity? i'll meet him, My loyal hand and heart shall give this to him, And though it bear, beyond what Poets feign, A punishment; duty shall meet that pain, And my most constant heart to do him good, Shall check at neither pale affright nor blood. The Duchess presently would crave your presence. I come; and Aubrey now resolve to keep, Thy honour living though thy body sleep. Now for a Father's murder and the 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 that bloody cloud behold my piety. Take from my cold heart fear, from my sex pity, And as I wipe these tears off, shed for thee, So all remembrance may I lose of mercy, Give me a woman's anger, bent to blood, The wildness of the winds to drown his prayers, stormlike 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 ne'er 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 cloud may seize him, I hear him come, go boy and entertain him.
Fletcher, John / Field, Nathan / Massinger, Philip
Publication year (edition)
1640
First performance / composition (Annals)
1617 [revised 1627-1630]
First performance (BritDrama)
1617 [1617-1620]
Company (BritDrama)
King's Men
Genre (British Drama)
tragedy
Play type
Adult Professional;Professional
Edition / TCP / DEEP
edition 1115 · TCP A00959 · DEEP 936
Edition role
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 2300–2356 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 35 of 39 in this edition
Length
492 words · 618 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T0 — Court life: dukes, favour and honourcross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.903 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
Other seeds
seed 43: T0 · seed 44: T0 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
It is no time to talke now honour'd Sir, Be pleas'd to heare thy servant, I am wrong'd And cannot, being now to serve the Duke, Stay to expresse the manner how, but If I doe not suddenly give you strong proofes, Your life is deerer to me then my owne, May I live base and dye, so sir your pardon. I am both waies ruin'd, both waies mark'd for slaughter, On every side about, behind, before mee, My certain fate is fixt, were I knave now I could avoid this: had my actions, But meere relations to their own ends, I could scape now: O honesty, thou elder child of vertue, Thou seed of heaven, why to acquire thy goodnesse, Should mallice and distrust stick thornes before us? And make us swimme unto thee hung with hazards. But heaven is got by suffering, not disputeing: Say he know this before hand, where am I then? Or say he doe not know it, where's my loyalty? I know his nature troubled as the Sea, And as the Sea devouring, where he is vex'd, And I know Princes are their own expounders, Am I afraid of death? of dying nobly? Of dying in my innocence uprightly? Have I met death in all his formes and fears, Now on the points of swords, now pitcht on lances, In fires, in stormes of arrowes, battles, breaches, And shall I now shrink from him when he courts mee? Smileng and full of Sanctity? ile meet him, My loyall hand and heart shall give this to him, And though it beare, beyond what Poets feigne, A punishment; duty shall meet that paine, And my most constant heart to doe him good, Shall check at neither pale affright nor bloud. The Duchesse presently would crave your presence. I come; and Aubrey now resolve to keepe, Thy honour living though thy body sleepe. Now for a Fathers murther and the ruine, All chastity shall suffer if he raigne, Thou blessed soule look downe and steel thy daughter, Looke on the Sacrifice she comes to send thee, And through that bloudy cloud behold my piety. Take from my cold heart feare, from my sexe pitty, And as I wipe these teares off, shed for thee, So all remembrance may I loose of mercy, Give mee a womans anger, bent to bloud, The wildnesse of the winds to drowne his prayers, Stormelike may my destruction fall upon him, My rage like roving Billowes as they rise, Pour'd on his soule to sinke it; give me flattery, (For yet my constant soule nere knew dissembling) Flattery the food of fooles, that I may rock 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 cloud may ceize him, I heare him come, goe boy and entertaine him.