D., J. · published 1640 · first performed or written c.1625 [revised c.1632] (Annals) comedy · Unknown · Fortune unassigned nearest T34 Thebes and royal catastrophe: siege, sla · 496 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T34: thebes, antigone, polynices, creon, eteocles, war, theban, gods, dear, country.
I should be loath to wish so. Not you offend? look here, This letter left he as a testimony, Who is there here 'mongst all this company, That knew Franciscus, knew not he affected, And highly prized the slain Antonio? What could have raised such deadly enmity? But this, but this, thou strumpet, Between such twinlike friends? Thy misdemeanour, thy approved falseness; Which too, too well he knew, Thou hast und one him, Fled he is and gone; His goods already seized are for the State: And die he shall if ever he be took, Oh, fie upon thee my perpetual shame! Can you this behold, you upright Justices? Thou art not mine, I here deny thy claim, And warn thee henceforth, Come not near my roof: Pine, starve and die, relief and comfort Never more expect from him that was thy father. 'Tis nothing I see, to work the dissolution of a house, How easily this is done? I must weep, to deem I should be forced to be so cruel; More I have to say, if tears would let me; (methinks) I could both kiss and curse her: If she be wronged, and through some make-strife, These foul ills prove a greater plague, Then fell in Egypt, light on the author's head, The maws of Dogs be his Tomb: Help me to curse him Iulio. Ten thousand swords struck me together. Lived there such a wretch, And that I knew him, Let my faith not save me, But I would tear the Viper with my teeth, And like a rude and savage Cannibal, Eat out his treacherous heart. Now the foul Devil, stuff thy gluttonous paunch, I am no viand for thee? Who's this comes here, Arbaces? Disgrace and woe smite all this company, and make them feel my grief. Disgrace, contagion, and what can be worse, Smite thee and all thy tribe. Undone, undone, where is Anthonio? Where's my son Crisippus? Answer thine own words; Where's mine Arbaces? Where such a Villain— And fell murderer should. More charity for shame. Sorrow gripe my heart till it be blood less, But what thou speak'st is false: A more slanderous lie never left the lips of any. Lie? Sir, be persuaded. Tell not me, I'll prove it on him, Arbaces, boy— That we were alone. Well said, old Lad. Show thyself a man, meet me tomorrow. Good, sir, forbear. Not meet him. Will you be entreated? Give me leave. Will you be pacified? Meet thee, yes I will meet thee; I dare meet a man: Arbaces thou shalt find it. Come, you are a prater. Prate; ye shall hear from me. With reverence of your age, good sir, You want of that discretion and staid judgement; Your years and place requires: It is not well, One of your reputation and report, Should so forget yourself: to be plain, You lack advice; and this same cavillation, Merely provoked by you. Proclaims a loud your inconsiderate folly.
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)
I ſhould be loath to wiſh ſo. Not you offend? look here, This letter left he as a teſtimony, Who is there here 'mongſt all this company, That knew Franciſcus, knew not he affected, And highly priz'd the ſlain Antonio? What could have rais'd ſuch deadly enmity? But this, but this, thou ſtrumpet, Between ſuch twinlike friends? Thy miſdemeanour, thy approved falſneſſe; Which too, too well he knew▪ Thou haſt und one him, Fled he is and gone; His goods already ſeiz'd are for the State: And die he ſhall if ever he be took, Oh, fie upon thee my perpetuall ſhame! Can you this behold, you upright Juſtices? Thou art not mine, I here deny thy claime, And warn thee hence-forth, Come not neere my roofe: Pine, ſtarve and die, reliefe and comfort Never more expect from him that was thy father. 'Tis nothing I ſee, to work the diſſolution of a houſe, How eaſily this is done? I muſt weep, to deeme I ſhould be forc'd to be ſo cruell; More I have to ſay, if teares would let me; (Me thinks) I could both kiſſe and curſe her: If ſhe be wrong'd, and through ſome make-ſtrife, Theſe foule ills prove a greater plague, Then fell in Egypt, light on the Authors head, The maws of Dogs be his Tombe: Help me to curſe him Iulio. Ten thouſand ſwords ſtrook me together. Liv'd there ſuch a wretch, And that I knew him, Let my faith not ſave me, But I would teare the Viper with my teeth, And like a rude and ſavage Caniball, Eate out his treacherous heart. Now the foule Devill, ſtuffe thy glutnous paunch, I am no viand for thee? Who's this comes here, Arbaces? Diſgrace and woe ſmite all this company, and make them feele my griefe. Diſgrace, contagion, and what can be worſe, Smite thee and all thy tribe. Undone, undone, where is Anthonio? Where's my ſonne Criſippus? Anſwer thine own words; Where's mine Arbaces? Where ſuch a Villain— And fell murtherer ſhould. More charity for ſhame. Sorrow gripe my heart till it be bloud leſſe, But what thou ſpeak'ſt is falſe: A more ſlanderous lye never left the lips of any. Lye? Sir, be perſwaded. Tell not me, Ile prove it on him, Arbaces, boy— That we were alone. Well ſaid, old Lad. Shew thy ſelf a man, meet me to morrow. Good, ſir, forbeare. Not meet him. Will you be entreated? Give me leave. Will you be pacified? Meet thee, yes I will meet thee; I dare meet a man: Arbaces thou ſhalt finde it. Come, you are a prater. Prate; ye ſhall heare from me. With reverence of your age, good ſir, You want of that diſcretion and ſtayd judgement; Your yeares and place requires: It is not well, One of your reputation and report, Should ſo forget your ſelf: to be plain, You lack advice; and this ſame cavillation, Meerly provok'd by you. Proclaymes a loud your inconſiderate folly.