Whetstone, George · published 1578 · first performed or written 1578 [1576-1579] (Annals) comedy · Unacted T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.86 · 493 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Farewell my Lord, but in this suit, you bootless wast your wind: Cassandra, O most unhappy, subject to every woe, What tongue can tell, what thought conceive, what pen thy grief can show? Whom to scourge, Nature, heaven & earth, do heaps of thrall ordain, Whose words in waste, whose works are lost, whose wishes are in vain. That which to others comfort yields, doth 'cause my heavy cheer, I mean my beauty breeds my bale, which many hold so dear. I would to God that kind else where, bestowed had this blaze, My virtues then had wrought regard, my shape now gives the gaze: This form so Promos fires with Love, as wisdom can not quench, His hot desire, till he lust, in Venus' seas hath drenched. Mistress Cassandra, my Master longs to hear of your good speed, Poor Ganio his death-alas, fierce Fortune hath decreed: His death: God forbid, all his hope should turn to such success, For God's sake, go and comfort him, I sorrow his distress. I needs must go, although with heavy cheer. Sir, your sister Cassandra is here. My Cassandra what news, good sister show? All things conclude thy death Andrugio: Prepare thyself, to hope it ware in vain. My death, alas what raised this new disdain? Not justice zeal, in wicked Promos sure: Sweet, show the cause, I must this doom endure? If thou dost live I must my honour loose, Thy ransom is, to Promos fleshly will That I do yield: than which I rather chose, With torments sharp, myself he first should kill: Thus am I bend, thou seest thy death at hand, O would my life, would satisfy his ire, Cassandra then, would cancel soon thy band. And may it be a judge of his account, Can spot his mind, with lawless love or lust? But more, may he doom any fault with death? When in such fault, he finds himself injust. Sister, that wise men love we often see, And where love rules, 'gainst thorns doth reason spurn. But who so loves, if he rejected be, His passing love, to peevish hate will turn. Dear sister then, note how my fortune stands, That Promos love, the like is often in use: And sith he crave, this kindness, at your hands, Think this, if you his pleasure do refuse. I in his rage (poor wretch) shall sing Peccavi. Here are two evils, the best hard to digest, But where as things are driven unto necessity, There are we bid, of both evils choose the lest: And of these evils, the lest, I hold is death, To shun whose dart, we can no mean device, Yet honour lives, when death hath done his worst, Thus fame then life is of far more emprise: Nay Cassandra, if thou thyself submit, To save my life, to Promos fleshly will, justice will say, thou dost no crime commit: For in forced faults is no intent of ill.
nodes 529–582 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 11 of 21 in this edition
Length
493 words · 657 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)
Farewel my Lord, but in this ſute, you bootles waſt your wind: Caſſandra, O moſt vnhappy, ſubiect to euerie woe, What tōgue can tel, what thought cōceiue, what pen thy griefe can ſhow? Whom to ſcurge, Nature, heauē & earth, do heapes of thral ordain, Whoſe words in waſte, whoſe works are loſt, whoſe wiſhes are in vain. That which to others cōfort yéelds, doth cauſe my heuy chéer, I meane my beautie bréedes my bale, which many hold ſo deere. I woulde to God that kinde elſe where, beſtowed had this blaſe, My vertues then had wrought regard, my ſhape now giues ye gaſe: This forme ſo Promos fiers with Loue, as wiſdom can not quench, His hote deſire, tyll he luſt, in Venus ſeas hath drencht. Miſtres Caſſandra, my Maſter lōgs to heare of your good ſpéed, Poore Ganio his death-alas, fierce Fortune hath decréed: His death: God forbyd, all his hope ſhould turne to ſuch ſucceſſe, For Gods ſake, go and comfort him, I ſorrowe his diſtreſſe. I néedes muſt go, although with heauy chéere. Sir, your ſyſter Caſſandra is here. My Caſſandra what newes, good ſiſter ſhowe? All thinges conclude thy death Andrugio: Prepare thy ſelfe, to hope it ware in vaine. My death, alas what rayſed this new diſdayne? Not Iuſtice zeale, in wicked Promos ſure: Swéete, ſhow the cauſe, I muſt this dome indure? If thou doſt liue I muſt my honor loſe, Thy raunſome is, to Promos fleſhly wyll That I do yelde: then which I rather choſe, With torments ſharpe, my ſelfe he firſt ſhould kyll: Thus am I bent, thou ſéeſt thy death at hand, O would my life, would ſatiſfie his yre, Caſſandra then, would cancell ſoone thy band. And may it be a Iudge of his account, Can ſpot his minde, with lawles loue or luſt? But more, may he doome any fault with death? When in ſuch faute, he findes himſelfe iniuſt. Syſter, that wiſe men loue we often ſée, And where loue rules, gainſt thornes doth reaſon ſpurne. But who ſo loues, if he reiected be, His paſſing loue, to péeuiſh hate will turne. Deare ſiſter then, note how my fortune ſtands, That Promos loue, the like is oft in vſe: And ſith he craue, this kindneſſe, at your hands, Thinke this, if you his pleaſure do refuſe. I in his rage (poore wretch) ſhall ſing Peccaui. Here are two euyls, the beſt harde to digeſt, But where as things are driuen vnto neceſſity, There are we byd, of both euyls chooſe the leaſt: And of theſe euils, the leaſt, I hold is death, To ſhun whoſe dart, we can no meane deuiſe, Yet honor lyues, when death tath done his worſt, Thus fame then lyfe is of farre more empriſe: Nay Caſſandra, if thou thy ſelfe ſubmyt, To ſaue my life, to Promos fleaſhly wyll, Iuſtice wyll ſay, thou doſt no cryme commit: For in forſt faultes is no intent of yll.