Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
A very rich one madam; I'll ensure you they're about it, with stately columns, curious antics, & glorious imagery. There, let us both be cut in spotless marble, It never shall upbraid us, we were innocent as that; But innocence is no guard, it could not keep The tyrant out: my father's, let his be cut Just as he fell, make a sword pierce his heart, And let it bleed too, yet don't hurt the Statua, I would not have you wound it, when 'tis like My Father, like a King, lest he that does it, Learn thence to be a traitor, and in time Wound you so too, Ferrando. Mercy good heavens! Pray why d'ye weep? we shall all sleep quietly When we are dead, there is no noise of chains, We shall not dream of prisons, racks or whips: But every night shall see the Gods descend On our soft slumbers, and kiss away our miseries. Ladies, you'll see me shrouded decently, When I am dead, down in the mead you, where Grim Pluto stole his Proserpine, are still The flowers she scattered: go, bring 'em hither, And strew me o'er with 'em; she was a virgin chaste, And I have heard that flowers of their gathering, Will never die; quickly make haste, 'tis said we're very noisome after death, I would not Offend then, cause I can't ask forgiveness: Before I die I'll break my heart, and give A piece to every one to wear in's bosom, And you shall have it whole, Ferrando: pray Use it as you would her you loved, while I To quit these miseries will go pray, and die. Now let me alone with her. Die? and let her, what should we do with her here an she be mad? I hope Ladies you have more wit than to die o'th' sullens. Grief dares not be so rude, did you but check it. 'las Sir, our miseries have taught it insolence, Rather your own indulgence, madam. Pleasure's the same in Naples as in Sicily. So are our losses too. The eyes sad flux is tributary due Unto your dead Lords memories, I confess it, It carries virtue in't, but how? whilst it is moderate Pish, let the dead care for themselves: Did you but see how ugly sorrow looks.— And then how fruitless. Yes, where 'tis false, but we Have grief as real as our misery. Fun, thy judgement Fun, what think'st thou of these Ladies? In my judgement, (since your Lordship is pleased to make use of my judgement,) which indeed (my good Lord) is very small. I perceive thou hast one good quality, thou wilt speak truth. Truth (my Lord) is precious; but I say in that little judgement I have: (judgement, (since your Lordship was pleased to term it so) but that's all one,) in my mind they're mightily taken;— With what? A passion (my good Lord,) which the learned call grief. Thy judgement against any man's in Naples.
University/Inns of Court;Closet/Unacted;Nonprofessional
Edition / TCP / DEEP
edition 1153 · TCP A02629 · DEEP 986
Edition role
Representative edition — used in the analysis
Position
nodes 577–629 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 11 of 38 in this edition
Length
500 words · 689 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.829 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
A very rich one Madame; I'le enſure you they're about it, with ſtately columnes, curious antickes, & glorious imagery. There, let us both be cut in ſpotleſſe marble, It never ſhall upbraid us, we were innocent as that; But innocence is no guard, it could not keepe The tyrant out: my father's, let his be cut Juſt as he fell, make a ſword pierce his heart, And let it bleed too, yet don't hurt the Statua, I would not have you wound it, when 'tis like My Father, like a King, leſt hee that do's it, Learne thence to be a traitour, and in time Wound you ſo too, Ferrando. Mercy good heavens! Pray why do'e weepe? wee ſhall all ſleepe quietly When we are dead, there is no noyſe of chaines, We ſhall not dreame of priſons, rackes or whips: But every night ſhall ſee the Gods deſcend On our ſoft ſlumbers, and kiſſe away our miſeries. Ladies, you'le ſee mee ſhrowded decently, When I am dead, downe in the meade you, where Grimme Pluto ſtole his Proſerpine, are ſtill The flowers ſhe ſcatter'd: goe, bring 'em hither, And ſtrew me ore with 'em; ſhe was a virgin chaſt, And I have heard that flowers of their gathering, Will never dye; quickly make haſt, 'tis ſaid we're very noyſome after death, I would not Offend then, cauſe I can't aske forgiveneſſe: Before I die I'le breake my heart, and give A piece to every one to weare in's boſome, And you ſhall have it whole, Ferrando: pray Uſe it as you would her you lov'd, while I To quit theſe miſeries will go pray, and die. Now let me alone with her. Die? and let her, what ſhould wee do with her here an ſhee be mad? I hope Ladies you have more wit than to die o'th ſullens. Griefe dares not be ſo rude, did you but checke it. Las Sir, our miſeries have taught it inſolence, Rather your owne indulgence, Madame. Pleaſure's the ſame in Naples as in Sicily. So are our loſſes too. The eyes ſad flux is tributary due Unto your dead Lords memories, I confeſſe it, It carries vertue in't, but how? whilſt it is moderate Piſh, let the dead care for themſelves: Did you but ſee how ugly ſorrow lookes.— And then how fruitleſſe. Yes, where 'tis falſe, but wee Have griefe as reall as our miſery. Fun, thy judgement Fun, what think'ſt thou of theſe Ladies? In my judgement, (ſince your Lordſhip is pleas'd to make uſe of my judgement,) which indeed (my good Lord) is very ſmall. I perceive thou haſt one good qualitie, thou wilt ſpeake truth. Truth (my Lord) is precious; but I ſay in that little judgement I have: (judgement, (ſince your Lordſhip was pleas'd to terme it ſo) but that's all one,) in my minde they'r mightily taken; — With what? A paſſion (my good Lord,) which the learned call griefe. Thy judgement againſt any mans in Naples.