Rawlins, Thomas · published 1640 · first performed or written 1638 [1637-1639] (Annals) tragedy · King's Revels Company unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 477 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
O my brother. Give him some air, the wound cannot be mortal. Alas he faints, O my Antonio: Cursed Machvile, may thy soul— Peace, peace Aurelia; be more merciful: Men are apt to censure, and will condemn Thy passion, call it madness, and say thou want'st Religion: nay weep not sweet, For every one must die: it was thy love, For to deceive the Law, and give me life: But death you see has reached me, O, I die; Blood must have blood, so speaks the Law of Heaven: I slew the Governor, for which rash deed; Heaven, fate, and man, thus make Antonio bleed. Sleep, sleep great heart, thy virtue made me ill Authors of vice, 'tis fit the vicious kill: But yet forgive me, Oh, my great heart Dissolves like snow, and lessons to a rheum, Cold as the envious blasts of Northern wind: World how I loved thee, 'twere a sin to boast; Farewell, I now must leave thee; my life Grows empty with my veins: I cannot stand, my breath Is as my strength, weak; and both seized by death: Farewell ambition catching at a Crown, Death tripped me up, and headlong threw me down. So falls an exhalation from the sky, And's never missed because unnatural; A birth begotten by incorporate ill: Whose usher to the gazing World is wonder. Alas good man, thou'rt come unto a sight Will try thy temper, whether joy or grief Shall Conquer most within thee; joy lies here Scattered in many heaps: these when they lived, Threatened to tear this balsam from our brow, And rob our Majesty of this elixir: is't not my right? was not I heir to Spain? You are our Prince, and may you live Long to enjoy your right. But now look here, 'tis plain grief has a hand Harder than joy; it presseth out such tears. Nay rise. I do beseech your Grace not to think me Contriver of Antonio's scape from death, 'Twas my disloyal daughter's breach of duty. That's long since pardoned. You're still merciful. Antonio was thy son, I sent for thee For to confirm it, but he is dead: Be merciful, and do not curse the hand That gave it him, though it deserve it. O my griefs, are you not strong enough To break my heart? pray tell me, tell me true; Can it be thought a sin? or is it so, By my own hand to ease my breast of woe? Alas poor Lady; rise, thy Father's here. Look up Aurelia, ha, why do you kneel? For a blessing. Why she is not Aurelia, do not mock me. But he is Sebastiano and your son; Late by our hand made happy by enjoying The fair Evadne dead Antonio's sister: For whose sake he became a Tailor, And so long lived in that mean disguise.
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)
O my brother. Give him some ayre, the wound cannot be mortall. Alas he faints, O my Antonio: Curst Machvile, may thy soule— Peace, peace Aurelia; be more mercifull: Men are apt to censure, and will condemne Thy passion, call it madnesse, and say thou Wantst Religion: nay weepe not sweet, For every one must dye: it was thy love, For to deceive the Law, and give me life: But death you see has reacht me, O, I dye; Blood must have blood, so speakes the Law of Heaven: I slew the Governour, for which rash deed; Heaven, fate, and man, thus make Antonio bleed. Sleepe, sleepe great heart, thy vertue made me ill Authors of vice, 'tis fit the vitious kill: But yet forgive me, Oh, my great heart Dissolves like snow, and lessons to a Rhume, Cold as the envious blasts of Notherne wind: World how I lov'd thee, 'twere a sin to boast; Farewell, I now must leave thee; my life Growes empty with my veines: I cannot stand, my breath Is as my strength, weake; and both seaz'd by death: Farewell ambition catching at a Crowne, Death tript me up, and head-long threw me downe. So falls an exhalation from the sky, And's never mist because unnaturall; A birth begotten by incorporate ill: Whose usher to the gazing World is wonder. Alas good man, thou'rt come unto a sight Will try thy temper, whether joy or griefe Shall Conquer most within thee; joy lyes here Scater'd in many heapes: these when they liv'd, Threatned to teare this balsome from our brow, And rob our Majesty of this Elyxar: I'st not my right? was not I heire to Spaine? You are our Prince, and may you live Long to injoy your right. But now looke here, 'tis plaine griefe has a hand Harder than joy; it presseth out such teares. Nay rise. I doe beseech your Grace not to thinke me Contriver of Antonio's scape from death, 'Twas my disloyall daughters breach of duty. That's long since pardon'd. You're still mercifull. Antonio was thy sonne, I sent for thee For to confirme it, but he is dead: Be mercyfull, and doe not curse the hand That gave it him, though it deserve it. O my griefes, are you not strong enough To breake my heart? pray tell me, tell me true; Can it be thought a sin? or is it so, By my owne hand to ease my breast of woe? Alas poore Lady; rise, thy Father's here. Looke up Aurelia, ha, why doe you kneele? For a blessing. Why she is not Aurelia, doe not mocke me. But he is Sebastiano and your sonne; Late by our hand made happy by injoying The faire Evadne dead Antonio's sister: For whose sake he became a Tayler, And so long liv'd in that meane disguise.