Shirley, James · published 1640 · first performed or written 1640 (Annals) not in BritDrama · Ogilby's Men unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 483 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
I felt a beard. A beard? that's strange. You shall feel: some else too. Why that unkind blow, Madam? What means my servant? Now to my other gamester. Oh, I could dwell for ever in this bosom, But is there nothing else for us to taste? Hold. What's the matter? Something has almost torn away my nose. Endarius? What says my brother? Did you pull me by the nose? I moved not hence. Did you kick me, brother? We have troubled fools sure, here's nobody But ourselves; the doors, you say, are safe. won't that prompt you to something else? I dare not understand you. What blood is that upon your face? You want a beard, young Gentleman. Mine? Blood; I felt something that like a fly Glanced o'my cheek: Brother, your nose bled you that fine beard. You need not blush a' one side, brother, ha, ha. Is not this strange, sister; how came our servants So bloody? Again. I prithee leave this fooling with my face, I shall be angry. I touched you not. Another wipe for for you. Some spirit sure: I cannot contain laughter: what a raw head my servant has? Mine has the same complexion. Put me to keep the door another time. I ha' kept 'em honest, and now I will be visible again. Rodamant. Here: I was asleep, but this noise waked me. ha' you done with the Ladies? Open the doors. We are undone, my Lords, the King is coming In fury back again, with full resolve To break these images, his son is slain, And burnt to ashes since, in Milcho's house, And he will be revenged upon the gods, He says, that would not save his dearest son: I fear he will turn Christian: Archimagus Is under guard, and brought along to see This execution done, no art can save you. We are lost too for ever, in our honours. Break down the Temple doors. He's come already, we are all lost, Madam. Tear off these antic habits quickly, brother, Do you the same. More blood upon our faces. Oh, my Fedella, something may preserve us To meet again: Endarius, so, so: open. Ha! keep off, more horrors to affright me, I must confess I did command your deaths Unjustly, now my son is murdered for it. Oh do not pull more wrath from heaven upon you. Love innocence, the gods have thus revenged In your son's tragedy: Draw not a greater Up on yourself and this fair Island, by Threatening the temples, and the gods themselves, Look on them still with humble reverence, Or greater punishments remain for you To suffer; and our ghosts shall never leave To fright thy conscience, and with thousand stings Afflict thy soul to madness and despair: Be patient yet and prosper, and let fall Thy anger on the Christians, that else Will poison thy fair kingdom.
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)
I felt a beard. A beard? that's strange. You shall feele: some else too. Why that unkind blow, Madam? What meanes my servant? Now to my other gamester. Oh, I could dwell for ever in this bosome, But is there nothing else for us to taste? Hold. What's the matter? Something has almost torne away my nose. Endarius? What sayes my brother? Did you pull me by the nose? I mov'd not hence. Did you kick me, brother? We have troubled foles sure, here's no body But our selves; the doores, you say, are safe. Wonot that prompt you to something else? I dare not understand you. What bloud is that upon your face? You want a beard, young Gentleman. Mine? Bloud; I felt something that like a flie Glanc'd o'my cheeke: Brother, your nose bld you that . You ned not blushd one side, brother▪ ha, ha. Is not this strange, sister; how came our servants So bloudy? Agen. I prethee leave this fooling with my face, I shall be angrie. I touch'd you not. Another wipe for for you. Some spirit sure: I cannot containe laughter: what a raw head my servant has? Mine has the same complexion. Put me to keep the doore another time. I ha kept 'em honest, and now I will be visible agen. Rodamant. Here: I was a sleep, but this noyse wak'd me. Ha you done with the Ladies? Open the doores. We are undone, my Lords, the King is coming In furie back againe, with full resolve To break these images, his son is slaine, And burnt to ashes since, in Milcho's house, And he will be reveng'd upon the gods, He sayes, that would not save his dearest son: I feare he will turne Christian: Archimagus Is under guard, and brought along to see This execution done, no art can save you. We are lost too for ever, in our honours. Break downe the Temple doores. He's come already, we are all lost, Madam. Teare off these antick habits quickly, brother, Doe you the same. More bloud upon our faces. Oh, my Fedella, something may preserve us To meet agen: Endarius, so, so: open. Ha! keep off, more horrours to affright me, I must confesse I did command your deaths Unjustly, now my son is murdor'd for it. Oh do not pull more wrath from heaven upon you. Love innocence, the gods have thus reveng'd In your sonnes tragedy: Draw not a greater Vp on your self and this faire Iland, by Threatning the temples, and the gods themselves, Looke on them still with humble reverence, Or greater punishments remaine for you To suffer; and our ghosts shall never leave To fright thy conscience, and with thousand stings Afflict thy soule to madnesse and despaire: Be patient yet and prosper, and let fall Thy anger on the Christians, that else Will poyson thy faire kingdome.