Dekker, Thomas / Middleton, Thomas · published 1639 · first performed or written 1639 [c.1617-1639] (Annals) tragedy · Queen Anne's Men (?) T32 Rings and jewels as tokens typicality 0.90 · 517 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T32: ring, ti, gave, finger, jewel, lady, lord, love, invisible, away.
Mine my most worthy Lord; behold this Villain Sealed with his just desert: light here my King, This violent youth, whom till this night, I saw not, Being, as it seems, acquainted with the footsteps Of that dark passage, broke through the Vault upon me And with a secret lantern searched me out; And seized me at my Orisons alone And bringing me by violence to this room Far from my guard, or any hope of rescue, Intending here the ruin of my honour; But in the strife, as the good Gods ordained it Reaching for succour, I lighted on a Pistol, Which I presumed was not without his charge, Than I redeemed mine honour from his lust, So he that sought my fall lies in the dust. Oh let me embrace thee for a brave unmatchable Precious, unvalued admirable whore. Ha! what says my Lord? Come hither, yet draw nearer, how came this man To's end? I would hear that, I would learn cunning, Tell me that I may wonder and so lose thee. There is no Art like this; let me partake A subtlety no devil can imitate, Speak, why is all so contrary to time? He down and you up? ha, why thus? I am sorry for my Lord, I understand him not. The deed is not so monstrous in itself As is the Art which ponders home the deed; The cunning doth amaze me past the sin, That he should fall before my rage begin. My Lord. Come hither yet, one of those left hands give me, Thou hast no right at all; Nothing but put a Ring upon a finger That's a wrong finger for a Ring my Lord. And what was he on whom you bounteously bestowed this jewel? I do not like that word. Look well upon't, dost know it? ay, and start. Oh heaven, how came this hither? Your Highness gave me this, this is mine own. 'tis the same ring, but yet not the same stone Mystical Strumpet, dost thou yet presume Upon thy subtle strength? shak'st thou not yet? Or is it only Art makes women constant, whom nature makes so loose? I looked for gracious lightning from thy cheeks, I see none yet; for a relenting Eye, I can see no such sight; lust keeps in all; My witness? where's my witness? rise in the same form. Oh I'm betrayed. Is not you woman an Adulteress. Yes, my good Lord. Was not this fellow catched for her desire? Brought in a Mist? banqueted and received To all her amplest pleasures! True, my Lord, I brought him, saw him feasted and received, Down, down, we have too much. Oh 'tis Roxano. So, by this sleight I have deceived them both, I'm took for him I strive to make her loath. Needs here more witnesses? I'll call up more. Oh no, here lies a witness 'gainst myself Sooner believed than all their hired faiths; Doom me unto my death, only except The lingering execution of your look; Let me not live tormented in that brow, I do confess.
nodes 1349–1415 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 23 of 28 in this edition
Length
517 words · 674 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T32 — Rings and jewels as tokenscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.897 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T33 · seed 44: T32 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Mine my most worthy Lord; behold this Villaine Seald with his just desert: light here my King, This violent youth, whom till this night, I saw not, Being, as it seemes, acquainted with the footesteps Of that darke passage, broke through the Vault upon me And with a secret Lanthorne searcht me out; And seized me at my Orisons alone And bringing me by violence to this roome Farre from my guard, or any hope of rescue, Intending here the ruine of my honour; But in the strife, as the good Gods ordain'd it Reaching for succour, I lighted on a Pistoll, Which I presum'd was not without his charge, Then I redeemed mine honour from his lust, So he that sought my fall lyes in the dust. Oh let me imbrace thee for a brave unmatchable Precious, unvallewed admirable whore. Ha! what sayes my Lord? Come hither, yet draw nearer, how came this man To's end? I would heare that, I would learne cunning, Tell me that I may wonder and so lose thee. There is no Art like this; let me pertake A subtlety no devill can imitate, Speake, why is all so contrary to time? He downe and you up? ha, why thus? I am sorry for my Lord, I understand him not. The deed is not so monstrous in it selfe As is the Art which ponders home the deed; The cunning doth amaze me past the sinne, That he should fall before my rage begin. My Lord. Come hither yet, one of those left hands give me, Thou hast no right at all; Nothing but put a Ring upon a finger That's a wrong finger for a Ring my Lord. And what was he on whom you bounteously bestow'd this Iewell? I doe not like that word. Looke well upon't, doest know it? I, and start. Oh heaven, how came this hither? Your Highnesse gave me this, this is mine owne. Tis the same ring, but yet not the same stone Mysticall Strumpet, dost thou yet presume Vpon thy subtle strength? shak'st thou not yet? Or is it onely Art makes women constant, whom nature makes so loose? I lookt for gracious lightning from thy cheekes, I see none yet; for a relenting Eye, I can see no such sight; lust keepes in all; My witnesse? where's my witnesse? rise in the same forme. Oh I'me betray'd. Is not you woman an Adulteresse. Yes, my good Lord. Was not this fellow catcht for her desire? Brought in a Mist? banquetted and received To all her amplest pleasures! True, my Lord, I brought him, saw him feasted and rēceiv'd, Downe, downe, we have too much. Oh tis Roxano. So, by this sleight I have deceiv'd them both, I'm tooke for him I strive to make her loath. Needes here more witnesses? Ile call up more. Oh no, here lyes a witnesse gainst my selfe Sooner beleev'd than all their hired faiths; Doome me unto my death, onely except The lingering execution of your looke; Let me not live tormented in that brow, I doe confesse.