D., J. · published 1640 · first performed or written c.1625 [revised c.1632] (Annals) comedy · Unknown · Fortune T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.71 · 479 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Read the indictment. Save that pains, guilty, nor do repent, that in my wrath I did, whereof I stand convict. Art thou not sorry for thy heinous crime? No mighty sir, but rather joy the more, in that it breviates my passage here, which I would willingly leave. Impudent homicide: justice good my Lord, with that severity which they deserve, which wilfully commit— Arise, thou needst not kneel, nor beg for justice, be assured Arbaces: such his deservings, such his punishment, and cruel as the cause, thou most brutish man, nay, beast or something worse: hadst thou no humanity, no spark of reason then, nor sense, to think thy trespass foul and ugly? dost not repent thy tyranny in death, though not the deed itself: fie on thee monster, hast thou a foul and dreadst not her perdition: what heathen savage, nay, what ruder thing, having the life thou soughtst, would have enacted such a deed of ruth, as thou, thou worst of creatures, on the image and liveless carcase of thy loving friend. 'Twas most uncivil, most unchristianly. An act, a Tiger would not have performed, on one that had slain his brood. Hear me good my Lord. My poor Antonio. That I did take his life, I have confessed, what further accusations laid on me, is merely malice, and proceed from some, could wish my torment worse. Out on thee butcher: give me leave my Lord. Silence. Canst thou deny thy wrathful cruelty, impetuous tyranny, and fell revenge upon his bleeding trunk? Unless I should belie myself, and speak like a vain boaster, more than what I did, I must say this is false, and he's from truth, as far as I am from hope of life, begot this slander. Produce your proof Arbaces, strike blushes through the cheeks of this false man, and let him see his shame. What Devil should be raised from the lowest hell, to justify this wrong? This is strange. I never thought Franciscus one so foul, as I behold him now. Not thought, I durst have sworn him of a purer mettle, and better temper far. Prosperity to the Venetian State. Iulio: he's not his proof I hope. Is this the Gentleman? This is he my Lord. Make room, give way there. How comes this about? The fact's confessed, my Lord, what need we further wade into the Law, or heap on troubles which we may eschew, upon so plain a case? the crime is Murder, Murder is confessed, then as you find the guilt, proceed to judgement, and make no further question. We shall be sudden. My sentence, good my Lord. Speak, sir, can you report any thing more touching this business then what already is delivered here in the open Court. No more or less, then what his own tongue uttered, can I or have to say. How's that?
nodes 1654–1685 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 40 of 46 in this edition
Length
479 words · 644 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.708 (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)
Read the indictment. Save that pains, guilty, nor do repent, that in my wrath I did, whereof I ſtand convict. Art thou not ſorrie for thy hainous crime? No mighty ſir, but rather joy the more, in that it breviats my paſſage here, which I would willingly leave. Impudent homicide: juſtice good my Lord, with that ſeveritie which they deſerve, which wilfully commit— Ariſe, thou needſt not kneele, nor beg for juſtice, be aſſured Arbaces: ſuch his deſervings, ſuch his puniſhment, and cruell as the cauſe, thou moſt bruitiſh man, nay, beaſt or ſomething worſe: hadſt thou no humanitie, no ſparke of reaſon then, nor ſence, to thinke thy treſpaſſe foule and ugly? do'ſt not repent thy tyranny in death, though not the deed it ſelf: fie on thee monſter, haſt thou a foule and dreadſt not her perdition: what heathen ſavage, nay, what ruder thing, having the life thou ſoughtſt, would have enacted ſuch a deed of ruth, as thou, thou worſt of creatures, on the image and liveleſſe carcaſſe of thy loving friend. 'Twas moſt uncivill, moſt unchriſtianly. An act, a Tigre would not have perform'd, on one that had ſlain his brood. Heare me good my Lord. My poore Antonio. That I did take his life, I have confeſt, what further accuſations laid on mee, is meerly malice, and proceed from ſome, could wiſh my torment worſe. Out on thee butcher: give me leave my Lord. Silence. Canſt thou deny thy wrathfull crueltie, impetuous tyranny, and fell revenge upon his bleeding trunk? Unleſſe I ſhould belie my ſelfe, and ſpeake like a vaine boaſter, more then what I did, I muſt ſay this is falſe, and hee's from truth, as farre as I am from hope of life, begot this ſlander. Produce your proofe Arbaces, ſtrike bluſhes through the cheeks of this falſe man, and let him ſee his ſhame. What Devill ſhould be rais'd from the loweſt hell, to juſtifie this wrong? This is ſtrange. I never thought Franciſcus one ſo foule, as I behold him now. Not thought, I durſt have ſworn him of a purer mettle▪ and better temper farre. Proſperitie to the Venetian State. Iulio: he's not his proof I hope. Is this the Gentleman? This is he my Lord. Make room, give way there. How comes this about? The fact's confeſt, my Lord, what need we further wade into the Law, or heap on troubles which we may eſchew, upon ſo plain a caſe? the crime is Murder, Murder is confeſt, then as you finde the guilt, proceed to judgement, and make no further queſtion. We ſhall be ſuddain. My ſentence, good my Lord. Speake, ſir, can you report any thing more touching this buſineſſe then what already is delivered here in the open Court. No more or leſſe, then what his owne tongue uttered, can I or have to ſay. How's that?