D., J. · published 1640 · first performed or written c.1625 [revised c.1632] (Annals) comedy · Unknown · Fortune T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.89 · 476 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Sir, sir; check your own:— You never lost a son, and cannot Aim at my affections and paternal care: You have undone me— Robbed me of my joy. You are not right considerate, Who has undone you sir? You, you, and she, and every one of you; The punishment for murder fall on all your heads, And blast your terrene hopes: Cruel, cruel, butchery. Wast not sufficient that he took his life, As by his own confession: Undid his woeful mother and myself, But he must practise more immanely, more dire austerity; Throwing his breathless trunk In some obscure night-shaded Mansion, A prey for ravenous beasts; Where never eye of creature rational, Shall more behold him: unchristian part, If there be justice, above or here; As certainly there's both: I'll petition, My loud complaints shall pierce both sides o'the globe, And strike a sorrow in the rudest thing, Nature for man's use moulded: O! my Antonio? my joy, my life; My dear, my dear Antonio. There's cause for this. Sure, sure, how fond was I That could not weigh this before; Having his proper cause, If for some not slaughtered, Nor mine own, but by selection, I could sigh my age, shed floods of tears, Meet dangers in my shirt, bid conquering Death defiance, if all this and more I durst attempt, For one no otherwise, then mine by law; Needs must he rave past rules of Manhood, And forget all precepts that support his sufferance: See you this? What think you of yourself? Have you not done well? account thou scandal, That like the Whore of Greece, Was teemed for man's destruction; Thy sin upon thyself, my door is shut; That hospitality I show a stranger, Shall be restrained from thee. Most courteous sir,— expect more. Keep your Orisons to charm relenting beggars. Such in need, as may thy wants relieve; Or at least sympathy thy mournful tale, When fierce distress smiles, Expect more comfort from the blustering North, When he does blow the highest Acorn head Down to the Meadow, and there dips his cup; Then lest relief from me, for thee; For thee chaste Maid, all benisons, And goodness, that I can, command and have. Your liberality was ever such, As merits more than thanks; yet thus far, Truth emboldens me to say you are too cruel kind, Not all the proofs, whate'er incensed my brother to his rage; Can wean me to that vain opinion, To think it her desert: I dare protest for her, No persuasion can drive belief in me, To call Antonio false; if you prove so cruel, So unnatural as you speak, there is no pity in you: Nor are you such as a father ought to be, Thrust her out, then turn me off; If you supplant one, you extirp us both, And her extremes are mine.
nodes 692–763 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 17 of 46 in this edition
Length
476 words · 639 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.890 (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)
Sir, ſir; check your own:— You never loſt a ſonne, and cannot Ayme at my affections and paternall care: You have undone me— Robb'd me of my joy. You are not right conſiderate, Who has undone you ſir? You, you, and ſhee, and every one of you; The puniſhment for murder fall on all your heads, And blaſt your terrene hopes: Cruell, cruell, butchery. Waſt not ſufficient that he took his life, As by his own confeſſion: Undid his wofull mother and my ſelf, But he muſt practice more Immanly, more dire auſterity; Throwing his breathleſſe trunk In ſome obſcure night-ſhaded Manſion, A prey for ravenous beaſts; Where never eye of creature rationall, Shall more behold him: unchriſtian part, If there be juſtice, above or here; As certainly there's both: Ile petition, My lowd complaints ſhall pierce both ſides o'the globe, And ſtrike a ſorrow in the rudeſt thing, Nature for mans uſe moulded: O! my Antonio? my joy, my life; My deare, my deare Antonio. There's cauſe for this. Sure, ſure, how fond was I That could not weigh this before; Having his proper cauſe, If for ſome not ſlaughtred, Nor mine own, but by ſelection, I could ſigh my age, ſhed flouds of teares, Meet dangers in my ſhirt, bid conquering Death defiance, if all this and more I durſt attempt, For one no otherwiſe, then mine by law; Needs muſt he rave paſt rules of Manhood, And forget all precepts that ſupport his ſuffrance: See you this? What think you of your ſelf? Have you not done well? account thou ſcandall, That like the Whore of Greece, Was teem'd for mans deſtruction; Thy ſin upon thy ſelf, my doore is ſhut; That hoſpitality I ſhew a ſtranger, Shall be reſtrained from thee. Moſt courteous ſir,—expect more. Keep your Oriſons to charm relenting beggers. Such in need, as may thy wants relieve; Or at leaſt ſympathy thy mournfull tale, When fierce diſtreſſe ſmiles, Expect more comfort from the bluſtring North, When he does blow the higheſt Acorn head Down to the Medow, and there dips his cup; Then leaſt relief from me, for thee; For thee chaſt Maid, all beniſons, And goodneſſe, that I can, command and have. Your liberality was ever ſuch, As merits more then thanks; yet thus far, Truth emboldens me to ſay you are too cruell kinde, Not all the proofs, What ere incenſt my brother to his rage; Can wean me to that vain opinion, To think it her deſert: I dare proteſt for her, No perſwaſion can drive belief in me, To call Antonio falſe; if you prove ſo cruell, So unnaturall as you ſpeak, there is no pitty in you: Nor are you ſuch as a father ought to be, Thruſt her out, then turn me off; If you ſupplant one, you extirp us both, And her extreams are mine.