Richards, Nathaniel · published 1640 · first performed or written 1635 [1634-1636] (Annals) tragedy · King's Revels Company T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.78 · 548 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Murder in thee, in thee thou wicked Imp And that thy substitute by the ordained 'gainst the most noble minds of chastity, Whose innocent blood like th' Atlantic sea Looks red with murder, and cries out to heaven For justice and revenge; O hadst thou first Then been the Author of so foul a fact Made thy own passage, happy woman I. Beldame give o'er, or I'll disclaim all smoothness, there's nothing done that's wished undone by us. 1st even so, then too too ill farewell truth's story shall relate to after times My love to thee; hate to thy desperate crimes. Pish to your chamber dotard be advised. Go and a mischief damn you, and all your Pitiful Sex. We do commend thy care, joy i'th' performance of our strict command, Which shall from hence forth style thee favourite To us, that will command thy fortunes rise. And all those fortunes, favours, life and all, Shall like an Atlas undergo the weight Of your imperious will, be it toth' death Of Parents, massacre of all my kin, To exceed the devil, act any sin. For which we thus enseam thee, O Dulce, Divinest goddess whom my soul adores, Multiply that sweet touch of rare delight, And from the Garden of Hesperides, Those delicate delicious ruby lips, Make me immortal, quench, quench the burning heat Which like th'immoderate thirst of Tantalus, (Scorching the meadows of my solid flesh) Dries up the Rivers of my crimson blood, And as the gaping tongue tide earth for rain Opens her grief, so in my looks behold, View my distress; make me to live or die. Grasp me Saufellus; let's have a sprightly dance, Swift footing apts my blood for dalliance. Music, rich music there; O that my skill Could transcend mortal. Tush: we'll accept thy will. What devil sends her back, Pish mind her not. Nature constrains me back, what though dismayed Shall I desist, O then she's lost for ever, No; I will bend with fairest fair demean. To save her soul I'll make my foot my head, Mothers were Monsters else not truly bred, Give my speech once more freedom. You'll force us through unmannerly exclaims To rest the strictness of our dread command I come not bent with wrath, but to implore On bended knees, with penitential tears, T'appease the Gods for thy full Sea of sin, Such is a mother's love, and such is mine; Prove thou my like, thy soul shall never fall Into those damned sins it nourisheth; Which like a ponderous argosy full fraughted, Cuffed on the mountain top of some big wave, In the descent, falls on the fearful Rock And splits in pieces irrecoverable. So fatal death upon the wings of night Whirls the black soul in her triumphant Car To the Tartarian vales; where crowned in flames, Tumbling descend to dreadful Orcus Cell, That merciless pit of bottomless despair, To fry in those blue flames of fear for ever, In never ending endless pain for ever. If mother's tears were e'er of force to move, Let these of mine take place; strive to repent, Think what a horrid thing it is to see There is fear above us; fear still beneath us, Fear round about, and yet no fear within us.
nodes 707–781 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 11 of 31 in this edition
Length
548 words · 732 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.775 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
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)
Murder in thee, in thee thou wicked Impe And that thy substitute by the ordain'd Gainst the most noble mindes of chastitie, Whose innocent blood like th' Atlantick sea Lookes red with murder, and cries out to heaven For justice and revenge; O hadst thou first Then beene the Author of so foule a fact Made thy owne passage, happy woman I. Beldame give or'e, or Ile disclaime all smoothnesse, Ther's nothing done that's wisht undone by us. 1st even so, then too too ill farewell Truths story shall relate to after times My love to thee; hate to thy desp'rate crimes. Pish to your chamber dotard be advis'd. Goe and a mischiefe dambe you, and all your Pittifull Sex. We doe commend thy care, Ioy 'ith performance of our strict command, Which shall from hence forth stile thee favorite To us, that will command thy fortunes rise. And all those fortunes, favours, life and all, Shall like an Atlas undergoe the weight Of your imperious will, be it toth' death Of Parents, massacre of all my kin, To exceede the divell, act any sinne. For which we thus enseame thee, O Dulce, Divinest goddesse whom my soule adores, Multiply that sweet touch of rare delight, And from the Garden of Hesperides, Those delicate delicious rubie lips, Make me immortall, quench, quench the burning heat Which like th'immoderate thirst of Tantalus, (Scorching the medowes of my solid flesh) Dries up the Rivers of my crimson blood, And as the gaping tongue tide earth for raine Opens her griefe, so in my lookes behold, View my distresse; make me to live or die. Graspe me Saufellus; lets have a sprightly dance, Swift footing apts my blood for dalliance. Musicke, rich musicke there; O that my skill Could transcend mortall. Tush: wee'l accept thy will. What divell sends her back, Pish minde her not. Nature constraines me back, what though dismai'd Shall I desist, O then shees lost for ever, No; I will bend with fairest faire demeane. To save her soule I'le make my foot my head, Mothers were Monsters else not truly bred, Give my speech once more freedome. You'l force us through unmannerly exclaimes To rest the strictnesse of our dread command I come not bent with wrath, but to implore On bended knees, with penitentiall teares, T'appease the Gods for thy full Sea of sinne, Such is a mothers love, and such is mine; Prove thou m like, thy soule shall never fall Into those damned sinnes it nourisheth; Which like a ponderous Argosey full frought, Cuft on the mountaine top of some bigge wave, In the descent, falls on the fearefull Rock And splits in peeces irrecoverable. So fatall death upon the wings of night Whirles the blacke soule in her triumphant Car To the Tartarian vales; where crown'd in flames, Tumbling descend to dreadfull Orus Cell, That mercilesse pit of bottomlesse despaire, To fry in those blew flmes of feare for ever, In never ending endlesse paine for ever. If mothers teares were e're of force to move, Let thse of mine take place; strive to repent, Thinke what a horrid thing it is to see There is feare above us; feare still beneath us, Feare round about, and yet no feare within us.