D., J. · published 1640 · first performed or written c.1625 [revised c.1632] (Annals) comedy · Unknown · Fortune T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.79 · 514 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
We were once friends: once had I such opinion of his virtues, my life and estimation were both his, he might command them, much it were to speak of all that passed between us: thus in short, I would some other were compelled to this, which you have tied me too, my nearest friend alive. Arbaces: was this the man gave you first notice where this Murderer kept? The same my Lord. Did he betray me? can this be. Forward. Speak. Must we be enforced, what should I speak, he slew him, ripped his bowels, mangled him, and in his wrath, as man will any thing: tumbled his reeking quarters down a Vault most steep and loathsome: what of this, he might deserve much worse austerity, yet this was bad enough? Ha? Justice, gracious Prince, justice, justice, sir. Is this truth? Let me be deposed— The most erroneous, execrable part that ever was performed. Were he my father, should forget himself, and match this outrage, mercy quite forsake me if I would sue his pardon. It was ruthless, fell, and bloody. Look not up for shame, thou hast no interest there. I have done wrong, mighty, mighty wrong. Canst thou behold it now? Pardon me father, pardon good Arbaces: that villain, that foul villain. 'Twas time to come. Show mercy, mercy, Duke. Pity our complaints, have some compassion. What are these that make this earnest deprecation, with such a hearty zeal; are they well known to this assembly? Cornelia, sister. Fair Phemone. When will these humid fountains be dried up, and yield no more warm drops? My sweet Franciscus. Some good or bad thing fell me suddenly, let me behold no more. Is that his wife? She was my Lord, while some hard fate disjoined their mutual league, and burst the holy concord. Wilt thou pardon me and live a happy one, when I am dead, and leapt in this cold earth. Franciscus I was ever true to you. I see it, and believe: that villain, oh, that villain! Harken thy sentence. Hear me my good Lord, little I have to say, yet to much grief tend my few words, this traitor, nay, 'tis title all too good for one so heinous foul, that he is perjured, by the death I owe his latest words do witness what he is more, and worse: with pardon Lords, I shall delate at large, that all hereafter may example take, and shun a villain's snare; I took him up, when like an Adder in the frosty dew, the cold had starved him: that I had set my foot upon his head, when to my bosom I did take the Serpent, not cherished, comforted long had he been, but he both bit and stung me: foolish man I was to be so fond, not many months, nor happy days I had with this most truest, most immaculate piece, but that perfidious Caitiff, that black fiend by strange suggestions, and invented projects, draws me into a confirmed jealousy, that she had stained her honour, falsely played with young Antonio.
nodes 1686–1719 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 41 of 46 in this edition
Length
514 words · 687 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.792 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T7 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
We were once friends: once had I ſuch opinion of his vertues, my life and eſtimation were both his, hee might command them, much it were to ſpeake of all that paſt between us: thus in ſhort, I would ſome other were compell'd to this, which you have tied me too, my neereſt friend alive. Arbaces: was this the man gave you firſt notice where this Murderer kept? The ſame my Lord. Did he betray me? can this be. Forward. Speake. Muſt we be enforc'd, what ſhould I ſpeak, hee flue him, ript his bowels, mangled him, and in his wrath, as man will any thing: tumbled his reeking quarters downe a Vault moſt ſteep and lothſome: what of this, hee might deſerve much worſe auſteritie, yet this was bad enough? Ha? Juſtice, gracious Prince, juſtice, juſtice, ſir. Is this truth? Let me be depos'd— The moſt erronious, execrable part that ever was perform'd. Were hee my father, ſhould forget himſelfe, and match this outrage, mercy quite forſake me if I would ſue his pardon. It was ruthleſſe, fell, and bloudie. Look not up for ſhame, thou haſt no intereſt there. I have done wrong, mightie, mightie wrong. Canſt thou behold it now? Pardon me father, pardon good Arbaces: that villaine, that foule villaine. 'Twas time to come. Shew mercie, mercie, Duke. Pittie our complaints, have ſome compaſſion. What are theſe that make this earneſt deprecation, with ſuch a heartie zeale; are they well known to this aſſembly? Cornelia, ſiſter. Faire Phemone. When will theſe humid fountains be dried up, and yield no more warme drops? My ſweet Franciſcus. Some good or bad thing fell mee ſuddenly, let mee behold no more. Is that his wife? She was my Lord, while ſome hard fate diſ-joyn'd their mutuall league, and burſt the holy concord. Wilt thou pardon me and live a happie one, when I am dead, and lapt in this cold earth. Franciſcus I was ever true to you. I ſee it, and believe: that villaine, oh, that villaine! Harken thy ſentence. Heare mee my good Lord, little I have to ſay, yet to much grief tend my few words, this traitor, nay, 'tis title all too good for one ſo hainous foule, that he is perjur'd, by the death I owe his lateſt words do witneſſe what hee is more, and worſe: with pardon Lords, I ſhall delate at large, that all hereafter may example take, and ſhun a villaines ſnare; I tooke him up, when like an Adder in the froſty dew, the cold had ſtarved him: that I had ſet my foot upon his head, when to my boſome I did take the Serpent, not cheriſht, comforted long had he been, but hee both bit and ſtung mee: fooliſh man I was to be ſo fond, not many months, nor happy days I had with this moſt trueſt, moſt immaculate piece, but that perfidious Caitiffe, that blacke fiend by ſtrange ſuggeſtions, and invented projects, draws mee into a confirm'd jealouſie, that ſhe had ſtained her honour, falſly playd with young Antonio.