Rawlins, Thomas · published 1640 · first performed or written 1638 [1637-1639] (Annals) tragedy · King's Revels Company T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.86 · 492 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Alas my Lord is wounded. Come hither French man, make a dying man Bound to thy love; go to Philippa, Sickly as she is bring her unto me; Or my flying soul will not depart in peace else: Prithee make haste: yet stay, I have not breath To pay thy labour. Shrink ye, you twin-born atlases, that bear This my near ruined world; have you not strength To bear a curse, whose breath may taint the air, That this Globe may feel a universal plague. No, yet bear up, till with a vengeful eye I outstare day, and from the dogged sky Pluck my impartial Star: O, my blood Is frozen in my veins— farewell revenge— me— dies. They need no Law. Nor Hangman. They Condemn, and execute without a Jury. I come, I come; nay fly not, for by Hell I'll pluck thee by the Beard, and drag thee thus Out of thy fiery Cave. Ha, on yonder hill Stand troops of devils waiting for my soul: But I'll deceive 'em, and instead of mine, Send this same spotted Tigers. Oh. So, whilst they to hell Are posting with their prize, I'll steal to Heaven: Wolf dost thou grin? ha, is my Raymond dead? So ho, so ho: come back You sooty Fiends that have my Raymond's soul, And lay it down, or I will force you do't: No, won't you stir? by Styx I'll bait you for't: Where is my Crown? Philippa was a Queen, Was she not ha? Why so, where is my Crown: O you have hid it— ha, wa''t thou That robbed Philippa of her Raymond's life? Nay I will nip your wings, you shall not fly; I'll pluck you by the guarded front: and thus Sink you to hell before me. Oh, oh. What down, ho, ho, ho: Laugh, laugh, you souls that fry in endless flames; Ha, whence this chillness— must I die— nay then, I come, I come, nay weep not for I come: Sleep injured shadow, O death strikes dumb. Machvile thy hand, I can't repent, farewell: My burdened conscience sinks me down to hell. I cannot tarry long, farewell; we'll meet Where we shall never part: if here be any My life has injured, let your charity Forgive declining Machvile: I am sorry. His penitence works strongly on my temper. Of disguise, see falling Count: Antonio forgives thee. Antonio, O my shame, Can you whom I have injured most pardon my guilt? Give me thy hand yet nearer, this embrace Betray's thee to thy death: ha, ha, ha. So weeps the Egyptian monster when it kills, Washed in a flood of tears; couldst ever think Machvile's repentance could come from his heart; No, down Colossus Author of my sin, And bear the burden mingled with thine own, To finish thy damnation. Accursed villain, thou hast murdered him That holds not one small drop of loyal blood: But what is worth thy life.
nodes 1912–1977 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 30 of 32 in this edition
Length
492 words · 682 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.863 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T10 · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Alasse my Lord is wounded. Come hither French man, make a dying man Bound to thy love; goe to Philippa, Sickly as she is bring her unto me; Or my flying soule will not depart in peace else: Prethee make hast: yet stay, I have not breath To pay thy labour. Shrinke yee, you tweene-borne Atlasses, that beare This my neere ruin'd world; have you not strength To beare a curse, whose breath may taint the aire, That this Globe may feele a universall plague. No, yet beare up, till with a vengefull eye I out-stare day, and from the dogged sky Plucke my impartiall Star: O, my blood Is frozen in my veines—farewell revenge—me —dyes. They need no Law. Nor Hang-man. They Condemne, and execute without a Jury. I come, I come; nay fly not, for by Hell Ile plucke thee by the Beard, and drag thee thus Out of thy fiery Cave. Ha, on yonder hill Stand troopes of divills waiting for my soule: But Ile deceive 'em, and instead of mine, Send this same spotted Tygers. Oh. So, whilst they to hell Are posting with their prize, Ile steale to Heaven: Wolfe dost thou grin? ha, is my Raymond dead? So ho, so ho: come backe You sutty Fiends that have my Raymonds soule, And lay it downe, or I will force you do't: No, won't you stir? by Stix Ile baite you for't: Where is my Crowne? Philippa was a Queene, Was she not ha? Why so, where is my Crowne: O you have hid it—ha, wa'st thou That rob'd Philippa of her Raymonds life? Nay I will nip your wings, you shall not fly; Ile plucke you by the guarded front: and thus Sinke you to hell before me. Oh, oh. What downe, ho, ho, ho: Laugh, laugh, you soules that fry in endlesse flames; Ha, whence this chilnesse—must I dye —nay then, I come, I come, nay weepe not for I come: Sleepe injur'd shadow, O death strikes dumbe. Machvile thy hand, I can't repent, farewell: My burthened conscience sinkes me downe to hell. I cannot tarry long, farewell; weele meet Where we shall never part: if here be any My life has injur'd, let your charity Forgive declining Machvile: I am sorry. His penitence workes strongly on my temper. Of disguise, see falling Count: Antonio forgives thee. Antonio, O my shame, Can you whom I have injur'd most pardon my guilt? Give me thy hand yet nearer, this imbrace Betray's thee to thy death: ha, ha, ha. So weepes the Aegyptian monster when it kills, Wash't in a floud of teares; could'st ever thinke Machviles repentance could come from his heart; No, downe Colossus Author of my sin, And beare the burthen mingled with thine owne, To finish thy damnation. Accursed villaine, thou hast murther'd him That holds not one small drop of loyall blood: But what is worth thy life.