Whetstone, George · published 1578 · first performed or written 1578 [1576-1579] (Annals) comedy · Unacted T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.84 · 508 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Leave moan, sweet wife. I do deserve this death. Farewell, farewell. My loving Lord, farewell, I hope ere long, my soul with thine shall devil. Now, good Madame, leave of this bootless grief. O Polina, sorrow is my relief. Wherefore, sweet wench, help me to rue my woe, With me vile wretch, thy bitter plaints bestow: To hasten lingering death, who wanteth might: I see, alone, to slay, the wretched wight. Nay, first power forth your plaints, to the powers Divine, When hate, doth cloud, all worldly grace, whose mercies still do shine. O, so or not, thy motion doth well, Swan like, in song, to toll my passing Bell. Dear Dames divorce, your minds from joy, help to bewail my woe, Condole with me, whose heavy sights, the pangs of death do shoe; Rend heairs, shed tears, poor wench distressed, to hast the means to die, Whose joy, annoy: relief, whose grief, hath spoiled with cruelty. My brother slain, my husband ah, at point to loose his head, Why live I then unhappy wench, my suckers being dead? O time, O crime, O cause, O laws, that judgd them thus to die: I blame, you all, my shame, my thrall, you hate that harmless try. This Tragedy they have begun, conclude I wretched must, O welcome care, consume the thread, thereto my life doth trust: Sound bell, my knell, away delay, and give me leave to die, Les hope, have scope unto my heart, a fresh for aid to fly. O sweet news, for Polina and Cassandra. Andrugio lives: What doth poor Ganie say? Andrugio lives: and Promos is reprieved. Vain is thy hope, I saw Andrugio dead. Well, then from death, he is again revived. Even now, I saw him, in the market stead. His words are strange. Too sweet, God wots, for true. I pray you, who are these here in your view? The King. Who more? O. I see Andrugio. And I my Lord Promos, adieu sorrow. My good Andrugio? My sweet Polina: lives Andrugio, welcome sweet brother. Cassandra? I How far, my dear Sister? Andrugio, you shall have more leisure. To greet one another: it is our pleasure, That you forthwith, your Fortunes here declare, And by what means, you thus preserved wear. My fall, through love, and judgement for my fault. Lord Promos wrongs, unto my Sister done. My death supposed, dread King, were vain to tell. Cassandra hear, those dealings all hath shown. The rest are these. When I should die, the Jailor moved to ruth, Declared to me, what Promos pleasure was: Amazed whereat, I told him all the truth, What, between Cassandra, and him did pass. He much aggrieved, Lord Promos guilt to hear, Was very loath, me (woeful man) to harm: At length, just God, to set me (wretched) clear, With this defence, his willing mind did arm. Two days afore, to death, were divers done, For several faults, by them committed: So that of them, he took the head from one, And to Cassandra, the same presented:
nodes 1047–1112 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 18 of 19 in this edition
Length
508 words · 749 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.841 (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)
Leaue mone, ſwete wife. I doe deſerue this death. Farewell, farewell. My louing Lorde, farewell, I hope ere long, my ſoule with thine ſhall dwell. Now, good Madame, leaue of this booteleſſe griefe. O Polina, ſorrowe is my reliefe. Wherfore, ſweete wenche, helpe me to rue my woe, With me vyle wretche, thy bytter plaintes beſtowe: To haſten lyngring death, who wanteth might: I ſée, alone, to ſley, the wretched wight. Nay, firſt powre foorth your playnts, to the powers Diuine, When hate, doth clowde, all worldly grace, whoſe mercies ſtyll do ſhine. O, ſo or no, thy motion doeth well, Swan lyke, in ſong, to towle my paſſing Bell. ¶ Deare Dames diuorſe, your minds frō ioy, helpe to bewayle my wo, Condole with me, whoſe heauy ſights, the pangs of death do shoe; Rend heairs, shed teares, poore wēch diſtreſt, to haſt the means to dye, VVhoſe ioye, annoy: reliefe, whoſe griefe, hath ſpoyld with crueltie. My brother ſlaine, my huſband ah, at poynt to loſe his head, VVhy lyue I then vnhappy wench, my ſuckers being dead? O time, O cryme, O cauſe, O lawes, that Iudgd them thus to dye: I blame, you all, my shame, my thrall, you hate that harmeleſſe trye. This Tragidy they haue begun, conclude I vvretched muſt, O vvelcome care, conſume the thread, thereto my life doth truſt: Sound bell, my knell, avvay delaie, and geue mee leaue to dye, Les hope, haue ſcope vnto my hart, a fresh for ayde to flye. O ſwéete newes, for Polina and Caſsandra. Andrugio lyues: What doth poore Ganie ſaye? Andrugio lyues: and Promos is repriu'd. Vaine is thy hope, I ſawe Andrugio dead. Well, then from death, he is againe reuyu'd. Euen nowe, I ſawe him, in the market ſtead. His wordes are ſtraunge. Too ſwéete, God wot, for true. I praye you, who are theſe here in your view? The King. Who more? O. I ſee Andrugio. And I my Lorde Promos, adue ſorrowe. My good Andrugio? My ſwéete Polina: Lyues Andrugio, welcome ſwéete brother. Caſsandra? I. Howe fare, my deare Syſter? Andrugio, you ſhall haue more leyſure. To gréete one another: it is our pleaſure, That you forthwith, your Fortunes here declare, And by what meanes, you thus preſerued weare. My faull, through loue, and iudgement for my faulte. Lorde Promos wronges, vnto my Siſter done. My death ſuppoſde, dreade King, were vaine to tell. Caſſandra heare, thoſe dealinges all hath ſhowne. The reſt are theſe. When I ſhould dye, the Gayler mou'd to ruth, Declard to mée, what Promos pleaſure was: Amazde wherat, I tolde him all the trueth, What, betwene Caſsandra, and him dyd paſſe. He much agrieu'd, Lorde Promos guylt to heare, Was verie lothe, mée (wofull man) to harme: At length, iuſt God, to ſet me (wretched) cleare, With this defence, his wylling minde dyd arme. Two dayes afore, to death, were diuers done, For ſeuerall faultes, by them committed: So that of them, he tooke the head from one, And to Caſsandra, the ſame preſented: