Whetstone, George · published 1578 · first performed or written 1578 [1576-1579] (Annals) comedy · Unacted T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.77 · 536 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Promise's is debt, and I my vow have past, Andrugio's Tomb, to wash with daily tears: Which Sacrifice (although God wots in waste) I will perform, my Altar is of cares. Of fuming sighs, my offering incense is, My piteous plaints, in steed of Prayers are: Yea, would to God in penance of my miss. I with the rest, my loathed life might share. But O in vain, I wish this welcomde end, Death is to slow, to slay the wretched wight: And all to soon, he doth his forces bend, To wound their hearts, which wallow in delight. Yet in my care, still goes, my passing Bell, So oft as I Andrugio's death do mind: So oft as men, with pointed fingers tell, Their friends, my faults, which by my weeds they find. But O the cause, with Death, which threats me most, I wish to die, I die through wretched woe, My dying heart, desires to yield the ghost, My trances strange, a present death foreshow. But as the reed doth bow at every blast. To break the same, when rowghest storms lacks might, So wretched I, with every woe do waste, Yet care wants force, to kill my heart out right. O gracious God and is my gilt so great. As you the same, with thousand deaths must wreak? You will it so, else care I could entreat? With half these woes, my third of life, to break. But what meanest thou Polina, most accursed, To muse, why God, this penance joins thee to Whose correction, although we take at worst, To our great good he doth the same bestow. So that, sith grése can not relieve my friend, sith scorching sighs my sorrows cannot dry: sith care himself, lacks force my life to end. Sith still I live that every hour do die: sith mighty God appoints my penance so, In mournful song I will my patience show, A Mid my bale, the lightning joy, that pining care doth bring, With patience cheers my heavy heart, as in my woes I sing, I know my Gilded, I feel my scourge: my ease is death I see: And care (I find) by piecemeal wears, my heart to set me free. O care, my comfort and refuge, fear not to work thy will, With patience I thy corfives bide, feed on my life thy fill. Thy appetite with sighs and tears, I daily will procure. And wretched I, will vail to death, throw when thou wilt thy Lure. I Have at length (though weary come in troth) Obtained a fight of Iulios stately walls, A King's message, can not be done with sloth: Whom he bids goé, must run through mire and dirt, And I am sent to Lord Promos in post. To tell him that the king will see him straight. But much I fear that Promos needs not boast: Of any gain by his sovereigns receit, But Holla tongue of lavish speech beware, Though subjects often in Prince's meaning pry, They must their words, and not their minds declare. Unto which course I will my tongue apply, Lord Promos shall my princes coming know. My prince himself, the cause thereof shall show.
nodes 0–59 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 1 of 19 in this edition
Length
536 words · 741 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.773 (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)
PRomiſe is debt, and I my vowe haue paſt, Andrugios Tombe, to waſh with daylie teares: Which Sacrifice (although God wot in waſte) I wyll performe, my Alter is of cares. Of fuming ſighes, my offring incenſe is, My pittious playntes, in ſteede of Prayers are: Yea, woulde to God in penaunce of my mys. I with the reſt, my loathed lyfe might ſhare. But O in vaine, I wiſh this welcomde ende, Death is to ſlowe, to ſlaye the wretched wight: And all to ſoone, he doth his forces bende, To wounde their hartes, which wallowe in delight. Yet in my care, ſtyll goes, my paſſing Bell, So ofte as I. Andrugios death doo minde: So ofte as men, with poynted fingers tell, Their friendes, my faultes, which by my weedes they finde. But O the cauſe, with Death, which threates me moſt, I wyſh to dye, I dye through wretched woe, My dying harte, deſires to yéelde the ghoſt, My traunces ſtraunge, a preſent death foreſhowe. But as the reede doth bow at euery blaſt. To breake the ſame, when rowgheſt ſtormes lackes might, So wretched I, with euery woe doe waſte, Yet care wants force, to kyll my hart out ryght. O gratious God and is my gilt ſo great. As you the ſame, with thouſand deathes muſt wreake? You will it ſo, elſe care I could intreate? With halfe theſe woes, my thryd of lyfe, to breake. But what meanſt thou Polina, moſt accurſt, To muſe, why God, this pennaunce ioynes thée to Whoſe correction, although we take at worſt, To our great good he doth the ſame beſtow. So that, ſyth gréſe can not relyue my friend, Syth ſcorching ſyghes my ſorrowes cannot drye: Syth care himſelfe, lackes force my lyfe to ende. Syth ſtyll I lyue that euery howre doe dye: Syth mighty God appoyntes my pennaunce ſo, In mornefull ſong I wyll my patience ſhow, A Myd my bale, the lightning ioy, that pyning care doth bring, VVith patience cheares my heauy hart, as in my vvoes I ſing, I knovv my Gilt, I feele my ſcurge: my eaſe is death I ſee: And care (I fynde) by peecemeale vveares, my hart to ſet mee free. O care, my comfort and refuge, feare not to worke thy vvyll, VVith patience I thy corfiues byde, feede on my life thy fyll. Thy appetyte vvith ſyghes and teares, I dayly vvyl procure. And wretched I, wil vaile to death, throw when thou wilt thy Lure. I Haue at length (though wéery come in troth) Obtaynd a fight of Iulios ſtately walles, A Kings meſſage, can not be done with floth: Whome he bids goé, muſt runne through myre and dyrt, And I am ſent to Lord Promos in poſt. To tel him that the king wyll ſée him ſtrayght. But much I feare that Promos néedes not boſt: Of any gayne by his ſoueraygnes receyte, But Holla tongue of lauyſh ſpéeche beware, Though ſubiects oft in Princes meaning prye, They muſt their words, and not their myndes declare. Vnto which courſe I wyll my tongue apply, Lord Promos ſhall my princes comming know. My prince himſelfe, the cauſe thereof ſhall ſhow.