Richards, Nathaniel · published 1640 · first performed or written 1635 [1634-1636] (Annals) tragedy · King's Revels Company unassigned nearest T36 Hell, Furies and the language of punishm · 523 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T36: hell, earth, gods, death, ghosts, blood, bloody, heaven, night, ghost.
Thrust home and sure, Why so; desire now follows my blood, Farewell world picture of painted folly, Frame of woe; paltry life, I gladly shake thee off. Hold, hold, for pity hold. It is too late. Too late Syllana my most virtuous wife. O my dear husband, flint hearted Caesar, Was not this husband wrought by the Circean Charms of thy she devil; she, she hath been, The fatal Engine of my husband's sin, She from my heart hath torn away this pearl More precious than the world, O my dear love, I do beseech thee to bear up in death, Shoot thy pale looks through my afflicted soul, Whose sighs and tears & prayers knit up in groans Ascend you starry globe unto the Gods. The good good Gods to pardon thee my love. Like a spent Taper only for a flash, I do recover to embrace thee sweet: Forgive me injured excellence; constant wife. Take from my lips (dear heart) a parting kiss Cold as the dead man's Skull; nay weep not sweet There is divinity in that weeping eye, Prayer on thy lip, and holiness in thy heart. The Devils cannot say I flatter thee, Nor this abusive, scornful, dull dark Age, Tax me to say it never, never can▪ Not out of all the Catalogue of women, Pick such a Phoenix Saint forth as thyself. In thee, bright heavens majestic eminence, Lives my supporting prop against all ill To take me up to mercy. Stay, O stay, And take me with thee up to mercy's seat, For when we are there I know, we shall not Part thus; O he is gone; the strings of life Are cracked; I'll not outlive thee, no; thy loss Most noble husband, wastes my soul the way To her eternal rest, break heart, swell grief, And mount me to my love; I need not I, The burning coals of Portia, Lucrece knife, One kiss wilt do't, thus ends Syllana's life. Live royal Emperor long and happy live, To add to your revenge behold I bring The approbrious Faction unto Silius. More blood unto this banquet welcome, what Virgillianus so grave a Senator So treacherous, served you as Bawds to soothe the Minds of Lechers, Calphurnianus and Sulpitius too: off with their heads, away With them, be sudden, the ton of vengeance Now begins to stoop broached with the blood of These; vain inconsiderate fools. My Lord, The Core of lust still lives, time was Rome bragged Of these dead corpses for the most virtuous youths It e'er brought forth, till your lewd Empress Poisoned their bloods with her bewitching lust. Where is that wretch? Prisoner my Lord, safe in Lucullus' garden Remove these bodies, her bloods the period To my full revenge. Mercy great Emperor, mercy for the love You bear unto your hopeful royal issue, Lovely Britanicus, sweet Octavia, And for that admiration of her sex. Their mother's mother virtuous Lepida She that hath saved a hundred virgins from The rack of rape, for that true piercing motive Mighty Lord; O be in your great mercy Pleased; to give your Empress audience.
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)
Thrust home and sure, Why so; desire now followes my bloud, Farewell world picture of painted folly, Frame of woe; paltry life, I gladly shake thee off. Hold, hold, for pitty hold. It is too late. Too late Syllana my most vertuous wife. O my deare husband, lint hearted Caesar, Was not this husband wrought by the Circean Charmes of thy she divell; she, she hath bin, The fatall Engine of my husbands sinne, She from my heart hath torne away this pearle More pretious then the world, O my deare love, I doe beseech thee to beare up in death, Shoot thy pale lookes through my afflicted soule, Whose sighes and teares & prayers knit up in groanes Ascend you starry globe unto the Gods. The good good Gods to pardon thee my love. Like a spent Taper onely for a flash, I doe recover to embrace thee sweet: Forgive me injur'd excellence; constant wife. Take from my lippes (deare heart) a parting kisse Cold as the dead mans Skull; nay weepe not sweet There is divnity in that weeping eye, Prayer on thy lip, and holinesse in thy heart. The Divells cannot say I flatter thee, Nor this abusive, scornefull, dull darke Age, Taxe me to say it never, never can▪ Not out of all the Catalogue of women, Pick such a Phaenix Saint forth as thy selfe. In thee, bright heavens majesticke emminence, Lives my supporting prop against all ill To take me up to mercy. Stay, O stay, And take me with thee up to mercies seate, For when we are there I know, we shall not Part thus; O he is gone; the strings of life Are crackt; I'le not outlive thee, no; thy losse Most noble husband, was my soule the way To her eternall rest, breake heart, swell griefe, And mount me to my love; I neede not I, The burning coales of Portia, Lucrece knife, One kisse wilt do't, thus ends Syllana's life. Live royall Emp'rour long and happy live, To adde to your revenge behold I bring The approbrious Faction unto Silius. More blood unto this banquet welcome, what Virgillianus so grave a Senator So trech'rous, serv'd you as Bawdes to sooth the Mindes of Letchers, Calphurnianus and Sulpitius too: off with their heads, away With them, be suddaine, the tunne of vengeance Now begins to stoope broacht with the blood of These; vaine inconsiderate fooles. My Lord, The Core of lust still lives, time was Rome bragg'd Of these dead corpes for the most vertuous youths It e're brought forth, till your led Empresse Poyson'd their bloods with her bewitching lust. Where is that wretch? Prisoner my Lord, safe in Lucullu's garden Remove these bodies, her bloods the period To my full revenge. Mercy great Emp'rour, mercy for the love You beare unto your hopefull royall issue, Lovely Britanicus, sweet Octavia, And for that admiration of her sex. Their mothers mother vertuous Lepida She that hath sav'd a hundred virgins from The racke of rape, for that true peircing motive Mightie Lord; O be in your great mercy Pleas'd; to give your Emp'resse audience.