The Night Walker, or The Little Thief · chunk 37 of 39
Fletcher, John / Shirley, James · published 1640 · first performed or written c.1611(?) [revised by Shirley and re-licensed for stage, May 11, 1633] (Annals) comedy · Lady Elizabeth's Men · Phoenix/Cockpit T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.84 · 505 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
If he be hanged, who has his goods? They are forfeited, they say. He has hanged himself for certain then, Only to cozen me of my girl's portion. Very likely. Or did not the Constable carry him to some prison? They thought on that too, and searched everywhere. He may be close for treason, perhaps executed. Nay, they did look among the quarters too, And mustered all the bridge-house for his nightcap. Madam, here is the gentleman again. What gentleman? He that loved my young Mistress. Alas, 'tis Heartlove, 'twill but feed his melancholy, To let him see Maria, since we dare not Yet tell the world she lives; and certainly, Did not the violence of his passion blind him, He would see past her borrowed tongue and habit. Please you entertain him a while Madam, I'll cast about for some thing with your daughter. Do what thou wot, pray Mr. Hartlove enter. Madam, I come to ask your gentle pardon. Pardon, for what? you ne'er offended me, Yes, if you be the mother of Maria. I was her mother, but that word is canceled, And buried with her in that very minute Her soul fled from her, we lost both our names Of mother and of daughter. Alas, Madam, If your relation did consist but in Those naked terms, I had a title nearer, Since love unites more than the tie of blood; No matter for the empty voice of mother; Your nature still is left, which in her absence Must love Maria, and not see her ashes And memory polluted. You amaze me, by whom? By me, I am the vile profaner. Why do you speak thus indiscreetly sir? You ever honoured her. I did alive, But since she died, I ha' been a villain to her. I do beseech you say not so; all this Is but to make me know, how much I sinned In forcing her to marry. Do not mock me, I charge you by the Virgin you have wept for; For I have done an impious act against her, A deed able to fright her from her sleep, And through her marble, oft to be revenged; A wickedness, that if I should be silent, You as a witness must accuse me for't. Was I a witness? Yes, you knew I loved Maria once; or grant, you did but think so, By what I ha' professed, or she has told you, Was't not a fault unpardonable in me, When I should drop my tears upon her grave. Yes, and propose sufficient. To what? That I forgetful of my fame and vows To fair Maria, ere the worm could pierce Her tender shroud, had changed her for another; Did you not blush to see me turn a Rebel? So soon to court a shadow, a strange thing, Without a name? Did you not curse my levity, Or think upon her death with the less sorrow That she had scaped a punishment more killing, Oh how I shame to think on't.
c.1611(?) [revised by Shirley and re-licensed for stage, May 11, 1633]
First performance (BritDrama)
1615 [1613-1616] [revised 1633]
Company (BritDrama)
Lady Elizabeth's Men
Theater
Phoenix/Cockpit;Indoor Professional
Genre (British Drama)
comedy
Play type
Adult Professional;Professional
Edition / TCP / DEEP
edition 1127 · TCP A00966 · DEEP 947
Edition role
Representative edition — used in the analysis
Position
nodes 2455–2523 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 37 of 39 in this edition
Length
505 words · 655 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.836 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T7 · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
If he be hang'd, who ha's his goods? They are forfeited, they say. He has hang'd himselfe for certaine then, Onely to cosen me of my Girles portion. Very likely. Or did not the Constable carry him to some prison? They thought on that too, and search'd every where. He may be close for treason, perhaps executed. Nay, they did looke among the quarters too, And muster'd all the bridge-house for his night-cap. Madam, here is the gentleman agen. What gentleman? He that lov'd my young Mistresse. Alas, tis Heartlove, 'twill but feede his melancholy, To let him see Maria, since we dare not Yet tell the world she lives; and certainely, Did not the violence of h passion blind him, He would see past her borrowed tongue and habit. Please you entertaine him a while Madam, Ile cast about for some thing with your daughter. Do what thou wot, pray Mr. Hartlove enter. Madam, I come to aske your gentle pardon. Pardon, for what? you ne're offended me, Yes, if you be the mother of Maria. I was her mother, but that word is cancel'd, And buried with her in that very minute Her soule fled from her, we lost both our names Of mother and of daughter. Alas, Madam, If your relation did consist but in Those naked termes, I had a title nearer, Since love unites more than the tie of blood; No matter for the empty voyce of mother; Your nature still is left, which in her absence Must love Maria, and not see her ashes And memory polluted. You amaze me, by whom? By me, I am the vile profaner. Why doe you speake thus indiscreetly sir? You ever honor'd her. I did alive, But since she died, I ha beene a villaine to her. I doe beseech you say not so; all this Is but to make me know, how much I sinn'd In forcing her to marry. Doe not mocke me, I charge you by the Virgin you have wept for; For I have done an impious act against her, A deede able to fright her from her sleepe, And through her marble, oft to be reveng'd; A wickednesse, that if I should be filent, You as a witnesse must accuse me for't. Was I a witnesse? Yes, you knew I lov'd Maria once; or grant, you did but thinke so, By what I ha profest, or she has told you, Was't not a fault unpardonable in me, When I should drop my teares upon her grave. Yes, and proose sufficient. To what? That I forgetfull of my fame and vowes To faire Maria, ere the worme could pierce Her tender shroud, had chang'd her for an other; Did you not blush to see me turne a Rebell? So soone to court a shadow, a strange thing, Without a name? Did you not curse my levitie, Or thinke upon her death with the lesse sorrow That she had scap'd a punishment more killing, Oh how I shame to thinke on't.