Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Be near us. Thus far I'm safe, heaven is just, and smiles On my design, now all that's powerful To move my spirits, to incite revenge Appear, if not to sight, to memory; Alberto: father: and my dear, dear sister, Poor lost Felicia!— Ha! he groans, I hear him; She sighs poor maid, wrings her hands, cries alas, Look look I see 'em, there, there, sacred shades— Vanished, and I'm deluded; no they're angry At my delay: I'll haste,— for that revenge must needs be just Which punishes two sins, murder, and lust. Happy souls that hither come To enjoy Elysium; robbed of bodies though you be, You're richer by such poverty; For with them youhave put off pain, Making of your loss, your gain: Now your souls may meet and kiss, Bathing in eternal bliss; Nor can you surfeit, each delight Whets, and quiets appetite; Yet the joys you feed upon ne'er increase, nor e'er are done; Freely you may taste, and spend 'em, Yet nor you, nor time can end 'em: Where without a fading ray. Ye enjoy eternal day, Trace these groves, whose every path Myriads of true lovers hath; Where disporting, you may prove A new, but happier, purer love: Such, whose flames, though th'ever shine Yet consume not, but refine. I am too tame Piero, hold me not, Lest in deferring of a punishment, I make the sin mine own; had all malice Dwelled in one tongue, all slander too been housed Under the same roof with it, and both busy To plot the ruin of my own fair name; I could have stood unmoved: but my Charintha! Heavens! ye ought t'inspire me with revenge, Such as you'd call a synod to contrive, That I may meet this hellborn ravisher Of my Charintha's spotless fame, with vengeance As mighty as his crime. Her virtue is itself an antidote against all such poisons; His breath no more can stain that innocent whiteness, Which ever dwelled upon her soul, than he, That in a fond maliciousness would throw Dirt at the Sun, could sully the least ray; Her memory, when he, and's lying marble Consume to dust, and rottenness, shall dwell On earth like a perfume, after the sacrifice, Pleasing to God, and men. If I have used Any immodest braveries, appeared In wanton gaudiness, a hot temptation Toth' youthful flowings of the blood; If I have entertained one looser thought But such as Chastity's cold votaries, When they breathe out a soul into her bosom, Might safely nourish; if I've misemployed One hour, in which with strict endeavour, I Might have gained somewhat to my stock of virtue, (The only dower I'd meet your love withal,) May I be guilty of that sin, my honour, My virgin honour's blasted with, and die A loathed Apostate. Now you grieve, I suffer double; Forgive me Lady, I have wronged you, and Only I. Mock not my tears, they are holy.
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 769–843 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 14 of 38 in this edition
Length
492 words · 700 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.800 (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)
Be neere us. Thus farre I'me ſafe, heaven is juſt, and ſmiles On my deſigne, now all that's powerfull To move my ſpirits, to incite revenge Appeare, if not to ſight, to memory; Alberto: father: and my deare, deare ſiſter, Poore loſt Felicia! — Ha! he groanes, I heare him; Shee ſighs poore maid, wrings her hands, cries alas, Looke looke I ſee 'em, there, there, ſacred ſhades — Vaniſh't, and I'me deluded; no they'r angry At my delay: I'le haſt,—for that revenge muſt needs be juſt Which puniſhes two ſinnes, murder, and luſt. Happy ſoules that hither come To enjoy Elizium; Rob'd of bodies though you be, Y'are richer by ſuch poverty; For with them y'have put off paine, Making of your loſſe, your gaine: Now your ſoules may meete and kiſſe, Bathing in eternall bliſſe; Nor can you ſurfeit, each delight Whets, and quiets appetite; Yet the joyes you feed upon Ne're encreaſe, nor ere are done; Freely you may taſte, and spend 'em, Yet nor you, nor time can end 'em: Where without a fading ray. Yee enjoy eternall day, Trace theſe groves, whoſe every path Myriads of true lovers hath; Where disporting, you may prove A new, but happier, purer love: Such, whoſe flames, though th'ever ſhine Yet conſume not, but refine. I am too tame Piero, hold mee not, Leſt in deferring of a puniſhment, I make the ſinne mine owne; had all malice Dwel't in one tongue, all ſlander too beene hous'd Under the ſame roofe with it, and both buſie To plot the ruine of my owne faire name; I could have ſtood unmov'd: but my Charintha! Heavens! ye ought t'inſpire me with revenge, Such as you'd call a Synode to contrive, That I may meete this hell-borne raviſher Of my Charintha's ſpotleſſe fame, with vengeance As mighty as his crime. Her vertue is It ſelfe an antidote againſt all ſuch poyſons; His breath no more can ſtaine that innocent whiteneſſe, Which ever dwell't upon her ſoule, than hee, That in a ſond maliciouſneſſe would throw Dirt at the Sunne, could ſulley the leaſt ray; Her memory, when hee, and's lying marble Conſume to duſt, and rottenneſſe, ſhall dwell On earth like a perfume, after the ſacrifice, Pleaſing to God, and men. If I have us'd Any immodeſt braveries, appear'd In wanton gaudineſſe, a hot temptation To'th youthfull flowings of the blood; If I have entertain'd one looſer thought But ſuch as Chaſtitie's cold votaries, When they breath out a ſoule into her boſome, Might ſafely nouriſh; if I've miſemploy'd One houre, in which with ſtrict endeavour, I Might have gain'd ſomewhat to my ſtocke of vertue, (The onely dower I'de meete your love withall,) May I be guilty of that ſinne, my honour, My virgin honour's blaſted with, and die A loath'd Apoſtate. Now you grieve, I ſuffer double; Forgive mee Lady, I have wrong'd you, and Onely I. Mocke not my teares, they are holy.