The Spanish Tragedy (Hieronimo is Mad Again) · chunk 15 of 41
Kyd, Thomas · published 1592 · first performed or written 1587 [1585-1589; revised c.1597(?) and 1601-2] (Annals) tragedy · Unknown unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 451 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
My husband's absence makes my heart to throb, Hieronimo. Here Isabella, help me to lament, For sighs are stopped, and all my tears are spent. What world of grief, my son Horatio? O where's the author of this endless woe. To know the author were some ease of grief, For in revenge my heart would find relief. Then is he gone? and is my son gone too? O gush out tears, fountains and floods of tears, Blow sighs and raise an everlasting storm. For outrage fits our cursed wretchedness. Sweet lovely Rose, ill plucked before thy time, Fair worthy son, not conquered but betrayed: I'll kiss thee now, for words with tears are stained. And i'll close up the glasses of his sight, For once these eyes were only my delight, Seest thou this handkercher besmeared with blood, It shall not from me till I take revenge: Seest thou those wounds that yet are bleeding fresh, I'll not entomb them till I have revenged: Then will I joy amidst my discontent, Till then my sorrow never shallbe spent. The heavens are just, murder cannot be hid, Time is the author both of truth and right. And time will bring this treachery to light. meanwhile good Isabella cease thy plaints, Or at the least dissemble them a while, So shall we sooner find the practice out, And learn by whom all this was brought about. Come Isabell now let us take him up, And bear him in from out this cursed place, I'll say his dirge, singing fits not this case. O aliquis mihi quas pulcbrum var educet herbas. Misceat & nostro detur, medicina dolori: Aut siquifaciunt annum oblimia succos, Prebeat, ipse metum magnam quicunque per orbem, Gramina Sol pulcbras effecit inluminis oras. Ipse bibam quicquid meditatur saga veneri, Quicquid & irrani evecaca menia nectit. Omnia perpetiar, letbum quoque dum semel omnis, Noster in extincto moriatur pectora sensus: Ergo tuos occulos nunquam (mea vita) videbo. Et ua perpetuus sepeliuit lumina soius: Emoriar tecum Sic, sic juuat Ire sub umbras, Attamen absistam proper 〈…〉, Ne mortem vindicta tuam iam nulla sequatur. Here he throws it from him and bears the body away. brought'st thou me hither to increase my pain? I looked that Balthazar should have been slain: But 'tis my friend Horatis that is slain, And they abuse fair Bel-imperia. Or whom I doted more than all the world, Because she loved me more than all the world. Thou talkest of harvest when the corn is green, The end is crown of every work well done: The Sickle comes not till the corn be ripe. Be still, and ere I lead thee from this place, I'll show thee Balthazar in heavy case.
seed 43: T10 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
My husbands absence makes my hart to throb, Hieronimo. Heere Isabella, helpe me to lament, For sighes are stopt, and all my teares are spent. What world of griefe, my sonne Horatio? O wheres the author of this endes woe. To know the author were some ease of greefe, For in reuenge my hart would finde releefe. Then is he gone? and is my sonne gone too? Ogush out teares, fountains and louds of teares, Blow sighes and raise an euerlasting storme. For outrage fits our cursed wrechednes. Sweet louely Rose, ill pluckt before thy time, Faire worthy sonne, not conquerd but betraid: Ile kisse thee now, for words with teares are stainde. And ile close vp the glasses of his sight, For once these eyes were onely my delight, Seest thou this handkercher beserd with blood, It shall not from me till I take reuenge: Seest thou thoss wounds that yet are bleeding fresh, Ile not intombe them till I haue reueng'd: Then will I ioy amidst my discontent, Till then my sorrow neuer shalbe spent. The heauens are iust, murder cannot be hid, Time is the author both of truth and right. And time will bring this trecherie to light. Meane while good Isabella cease thy plaints, Or at the least dissemble them a while, So shall we sooner finde the practise out, And learne by whom all this was brought about. Come Isabell now let vs take him vp, And beare him in from out this cursed place, Ile say his dirge, singing fits not this case. O aquis mihi quas pulcbrum var educet herbas. Misceat & nostro detur, medicina dolori: Aut siquifaciunt annum oblimia succos, Prebeat, ipse tum magnam quicunque per orbem▪ Gramina Sol pulcbras effecit inluminis oras. Ipse bibam quicqud meditatur saga veneri, Quicquid & irrai euecaca menia nectit. Omnia perpetiar, lebu quoque dum scmlmnis, Noster in extincto pctra sensus: Ergo tuos occulos nunquam (mea vita) videb. Et ua perpetuus sepeliuit lumina soius: Emoriar tecum Sic, sic sub vmbras, Attamen absistam proper , Ne mortem vindicta tuam iam nulla sequatur. Heere he throwes it from him and beares the body away. Broughtst thou me hether to increase my paine? I lookt that Balthazar should haue been slaine: But tis my freend Horatis that is slaine, And they abuse faire Bel-imperia. Or whom I doted more then all the world, Because she lou'd me more then all the world. Thou talkest of haruest when the corne is greene, The end is crowne of euery worke well done: The Sickle comes not till the corne be ripe. Be still, and ere I lead thee from this place, Ile shew thee Balthazar in heauy case.