Tancred and Gismund (Gismond of Salerne) · chunk 26 of 29
Wilmot, Robert / Hatton, Christopher / Noel, HenryAl., G.Stafford, Roderick · published 1591 · first performed or written 1567 [1567-1568; revised 1591] (Annals) tragedy · before the Court T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.85 · 486 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Thine own true heart anon will follow thee, Which panting hasteth for thy company. Thus hast thou run (poor heart) thy mortal race, And rid thy life from fickle fortune's snares, Thus hast thou lost this world, and worldly cares, And of thy foe, to honour thee withal, Received a golden grave, to thy desert, Nothing doth want to thy just funeral, But my salt tears to wash thy bloody wound. Which to the end thou mightst receive, behold My father sends thee in this cup of gold, And thou shalt have them, though I was resolved To shed no tears, but with a cheerful face Once did I think to wet thy funeral Only with blood, and with no weeping eye. This done, forthwith my soul shall fly to thee, For therefore did my father send thee me. Ah my pure heart, with sweeter company, Or more content, how safer may I prove To pass to places all unknown with thee. Why die I not therefore? why do I stay? Why do I not this woeful life forego, And with these hands enforce this breath away? What means this gorgeous glittering head attire How ill beseem these billaments of gold Thy mournful widowhood? away with them, So let thy tresses flaring in the wind Untrimmed hang about thy bared neck: Now hellish furies set my heart on fire, Bolden my courage, strengthen ye my hands Against their kind, to do a kindly deed: But shall I then unwreaken down descend? Shall I not work some just revenge on him That thus hath slain my love? shall not these hands Fire his gates, and make the flame to climb Up to the pinnacles, with burning brands, And on his cinders wreak my cruel teen. Be still (fond girl) content thee first to die, This venomed water shall abridge thy life, This for the same intent provided I, Which can both ease and end this raging strife. Thy father by thy death shall have more woe, Than fire or flames within his gates can bring: Content thee then in patience hence to go, Thy death his blood shall wreak upon the king. Now not alone (a grief to die alone) " The only mirror of extreme annoy, But not alone, thou diest my love, for I Will be copartner of thy destiny. Be merry than my soul, canst thou refuse To die with him, that death for thee did choose? What damned fury hath possessed our Queen Why sit we still beholding her distress? madam forbear, suppress this headstrong rage. Maidens forbear your comfortable words. O worthy Queen, rashness doth overthrow The author of his resolution. Where hope of help is lost what booteth fear? Fear will avoid the sting of infamy. May good or bad reports delight the dead? If of the living yet the dead have care. An easy grief by council may be cured.
Wilmot, Robert / Hatton, Christopher / Noel, HenryAl., G.Stafford, Roderick
Publication year (edition)
1591
First performance / composition (Annals)
1567 [1567-1568; revised 1591]
First performance (BritDrama)
1568 [Apr] [1566 or 1568-1569]
Theater
before the Court;
Genre (British Drama)
tragedy
Play type
University/Inns of Court;Nonprofessional
Edition / TCP / DEEP
edition 178 · TCP A15498 · DEEP 138
Edition role
Representative edition — used in the analysis
Position
nodes 1571–1632 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 26 of 29 in this edition
Length
486 words · 612 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.854 (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)
Thine owne true heart anon will follow thee, Which panting hasteth for thy companie. Thus hast thou run (poore heart) thy mortall race, And rid thy life from fickle fortunes snares, Thus hast thou lost this world, and worldly cares, And of thy foe, to honour thee withall, Receau'd a golden graue, to thy desert, Nothing doth want to thy iust funerall, But my salt teares to wash thy bloudy wound. Which to the end thou mightst receaue, behold My father sends thee in this cup of gold, And thou shalt haue them, though I was resolu'd To shed no teares, but with a chearefull face Once did I think to wet thy funerall Only with bloud, and with no weeping eye. This done, foorthwith my soule shal fly to thee, For therfore did my father send thee me. Ah my pure heart, with sweeter companie, Or more content, how safer may I proue To passe to places all vnknowen with thee. Why die I not therfore? why doe I stay? Why doe I not this wofull life forgoe, And with these hands enforce this breath away? What meanes this gorgeous glittering head attir How ill these billamnts of gold Thy mournfull widdowhood? away with them, So let thy tresses flaring in the winde Vntrimmed hang about thy bared necke: Now hellish furies set my heart on fire, Bolden my courage, strengthen ye my hands Against their kind, to do a kindly deed: But shall I then vnwreaken downe descen d? Shall I not worke some iust reuenge on him That thus hath slain my loue? shall not these hands Fire his gates, and make the flame to climb Vp to the pinnacles, with burning brands, And on his cynders wreake my cruell teene. Be still (fond girle) content thee first to die, This venomd water shall abridge thy life, This for the same intent prouided I, Which can both ease and end this raging strife. Thy father by thy death shall haue more woe, Then fire or flames within his gates can bring: Content thee then in patience hence to go, Thy death his bloud shall wreake vpon the king. Now not alone (a griefe to die alone) "The onely myrror of extreame anoy, But not alone, thou diest my loue, for I Will be copartner o thy destinie. Be merrie then my soule, canst thou refuse To die with him, that death for thee did choose? What damned furie hath possest our Queen Why sit we still beholding her distresse? Madame forbeare, suppresse this headstrong rage. Maidens forbeare your comfortable wordes. O worthy Qu, rashns doth ouerthrowe The author of his resolution. Where hope of help is lost what booteth feare? Feare wilauoyd the sting of infamie. May good or bad reports dlight the dead? If of the liuing yet the dead haue care. An easie griefe by councel may be cur'd.