Marlowe, Christopher · published 1590 · first performed or written 1588 [1587-1588] (Annals) tragedy · Admiral's (Nottingham's) Men T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.73 · 500 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
A deadly bullet gliding through my side, Lies heavy on my heart, I cannot live. I feel my liver pierced and all my veins, That there begin and nourish every part, Mangled and torn, and all my entrails bathed In blood that straineth from their orifex. Farewell sweet wife, sweet son farewell, I die. Death, whether art thou gone that both we live: Come back again (sweet death) & strike us both: One minute end our days, and one sepulchre Contain our bodies: death, why com'st thou not: Well, this must be the messenger for thee, Now ugly death stretch out thy Sable wings, And carry both our souls, where his remains. Tell me sweet boy, art thou content to die? These barbarous Scythians full of cruelty, And Moores, in whom was never pity found, Will hew us piecemeal, put us to the wheel, Or else invent some torture worse than that, Therefore die by thy loving mother's hand, Who gently now will lance thy ivory throat, And quickly rid thee both of pain and life. Mother dispatch me, or I'll kill myself, For think ye I can live, and see him dead: Give me your knife, good mother) or strike home: The Scythiens shall not tyrannize on me. Sweet mother strike, that I may meet my father. Ah sacred Mahomet, if this be sin, Entreat a pardon of the God of heaven, And purge my soul before it come to thee. How now Madam, what are you doing? Killing myself, as I have done my son, Whose body with his fathers I have burnt, lest cruel Scythians should dismember him. 'twas bravely done, and like a soldiers wife, Thou shalt with us to Tamburlaine the great, Who when he hears how resolute thou wert, Will match thee with a viceroy or a king. My Lord deceased, was dearer unto me, Than any Viceroy, King or Emperor. And for his sake here will I end my days. But Lady go with us to Tamburlaine, And thou shalt see a man greater than Mahomet. In whose high looks is much more majesty Than from the Concave superficies. Of Ioues vast palace the imperial Orb, Unto the shining bower where Cynthia sits, Like lovely thetis in a Crystal rob, That treadeth Fortune underneath his feet, And makes the mighty God of arms his slave: On whom death and the fatal sister's wait, With naked swords and scarlet liveries: Before whom (mounted on a lion's back) Rhammusia bears a helmet full of blood, And strews the way with brains of slaughtered men: By whose proud side the ugly furies run. hearkening when he shall bid them plague the world, Over whose zenith clothed in windy air, And Eagles wings joined to her feathered breast, Fame hovereth, sounding of her golden Trump: That to the adverse poles of that straight line, Which measureth the glorious frame of heaven, The name of mighty Tamburlaine is spread: And him fair Lady shall thy eyes behold. Come.
nodes 1090–1153 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 18 of 36 in this edition
Length
500 words · 671 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.728 (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)
A deadly bullet gliding through my side, Lies heauy on my heart, I cannot liue. I feele my liuer pierc'd and all my vaines, That there begin and nourish euery part, Mangled and torne, and all my entrals bath'd In blood that straineth from their orifex. Farewell sweet wife, sweet son farewell, I die. Death, whether art thou gone that both we liue: Come back again (sweet death) & strike vs both: One minute end our daies, and one sepulcher Containe our bodies: death, why comn'st thou not: Wel, this must be the messenger for thee, Now vgly death stretch out thy Sable wings, And carie both our soules, where his remaines. Tell me sweet boie, art thou content to die? These barbarous Scythians full of cruelty, And Moores, in whom was neuer pitie found, Will hew vs peecemeale, put vs to the wheele, Or els inuent some torture worse than that, Therefore die by thy louing mothers hand, Who gently now wil lance thy Iuory throat, And quickly rid thee both of paine and life. Mother dispatch me, or Ile kil my selfe, For think ye I can liue, and see him dead: Giue me your knife, good mother) or strike home: The Scythiens shall not tyrannise on me. Sweet mother strike, that I may meet my father. Ah sacred Mahomet, if this be sin, Intreat a pardon of the God of heauen, And purge my soule before it come to thee. How now Madam, what are you doing? Killing my selfe, as I haue done my sonne, Whose body with his fathers I haue burnt, Least cruell Scythians should dismember him. Twas brauely done, and like a souldiers wife, Thou shalt with vs to Tamburlaine the great, Who when he heares how resolute thou wert, Wil match thee with a viceroy or a king. My Lord deceast, was dearer vnto me, Than any Viceroy, King or Emperour. And for his sake here will I end my daies. But Lady goe with vs to Tamburlaine, And thou shalt see a man greater n Mahomet. In whose high lookes is much more maiesty Than from the Concaue superficies. Of Ioues vast pallace the imperiall Orbe, Vnto the shinining bower where Cynthia sits, Like louely thetis in a Christall robe, That treadeth Fortune vnderneath his feete, And makes the mighty God of armes his slaue: On whom death and the fatall sisters waite, With naked swords and scarlet liueries: Before whom (mounted on a Lions backe) Rhammusia beares a helmet ful of blood, And strowes the way with braines of slaughtered men▪ By whose proud side the vgly furies run. Harkening when he shall bid them plague the world, Ouer whose zenith cloth'd in windy aire, And Eagles wings ioin'd to her feathered breast, Fame houereth, sounding of her golden Trumpe: That to the aduerse poles of that straight line, Which measureth the glorious frame of heauen, The name of mightie Tamburlain is spread: And him faire Lady shall thy eies behold. Come.