The Spanish Tragedy (Hieronimo is Mad Again) · chunk 21 of 41
Kyd, Thomas · published 1592 · first performed or written 1587 [1585-1589; revised c.1597(?) and 1601-2] (Annals) tragedy · Unknown T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.71 · 488 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
I have a letter to your Lordship. From whence? From Pedringano that's imprisoned. So, he is in prison then? I my good Lord. What would he with us? He writes us here to stand good L. and help him in distress. Tell him I have his letters, know his mind, And what we may let him assure him of. Fellow, be gone: my boy shall follow thee. This works like wax, yet once more try thy wits, Boy, go convey this purse to Pedringano, Thou knowest the prison, closely give it him: And be advised that none be there about. Bid him be merry still, but secret: And though the martial sessions be today, Bid him not doubt of his delivery. Tell him his pardon is already signed, And thereon bid him boldly be resolved: For were he ready to be turned off, As 'tis my will the uttermost be tried: Thou with his pardon shalt attend him still, Show him this box, tell him his pardons in't, But open't not, and if thou lovest thy life: But let him wisely keep his hopes unknown, He shall not want while Don Lorenzo lives: away. I go my Lord, I run. But sirrah, see that this be cleanly done. Now stands our fortune on a tickle point, And now or never ends Lorenzo's doubts. One only thing is uneffected yet, And that's to see the Executioner, But to what end? I list not trust the Air With utterance of our pretence therein. For fear the privy whispering of the wind, Convey our words amongst unfriendly ears, That lie too open to advantages. Et quel que voglio It nessun le sa, Intendo io quel mi bassara. My Master hath forbidden me to look in this box, and by my troth 'tis likely, if he had not warned me, I should not have had so much idle time: for we men's-kind in our minority, are like women in their uncertainty, that they are most forbidden, they will soonest attempt: so I now. By my bare honesty here's nothing but the bare empty box: were it not sin against secrecy, I would say it were a piece of gentlemanlike knavery. I must go to Pedringano, and tell him his pardon is in this box, nay, I would have sworn it, had I not seen the contrary. I cannot choose but smile to think, how the villain will flout the gallows, scorn the audience, and descant on the hangman, and all presuming of his pardon from hence. Wilt not be an odd jest, for me to stand and grace every jest he makes, pointing my finger at this box: as who would say, mock on, here's thy warrant. Is't not a scurvy jest, that a man should jest himself to death. Alas poor Pedringano, I am in a sort sorry for thee, but if I should be hanged with thee, I cannot weep.
nodes 1308–1347 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 21 of 41 in this edition
Length
488 words · 636 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.715 (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)
I haue a letter to your Lordship. From whence? From Pedring ano that's imprisoned. So, he is in prison then? I my good Lord. What would he with vs? He writes vs heere to stand good L. and help him in distres. Tell him I haue his letters, know his minde, And what we may let him assure him of. Fellow, be gone: my boy shall follow thee. This works like waxe, yet once more try thy wits, Boy, goe conuay this purse to Pedring n, Thou knowest the prison, closely giue it him: And be aduisde that one be there about. Bid him be merry still, but secret: And though the Marshall sessions be to day, Bid him not doubt of his deliuerie. Tell him his pardon is already signde, And thereon bid him boldely be resolued: For were he ready to be turned off, As tis my will the vttermost be tride: Thou with his pardon shalt attend him still, Shew him this boxe, tell him his pardons int, But opent not, and if thou louest thy life: But let him wisely keepe his hopes vnknowne, He shall not want while Don Lorenzo liues: away. I goe my Lord, I runne. But sirra, see that this be cleanely done. Now stands our fortune on a tickle point, And now or neuer ends Lorenzos doubts. One onely thing is vneffected yet, And thats to see the Executioner, But to what end? I list not trust the Aire With vtterance of our pretence therein. For feare the priuie whispring of the winde, Conuay our words amongst vnfreendly eares, That lye too open to aduantages. Et quel que voglio It nessun le sa, Intendo io quel mi bassara. My Maister hath forbidden me to looke in this box, and by my troth tis likely, if he had not warned me, I should not haue had so much idle time: for wee mens-kinde in our minoritie, are like women in their vncertaintie, that they are most forbidden, they wil soonest attempt: so I now. By my bare honesty heeres nothing but the bare emptie box: were it not sin against secrecie, I would say it were a peece of gentlemanlike knauery. I must goe to Pedringno, and tell him his pardon is in this boxe, nay, I would haue sworne it, had I not seene the contrary. I cannot choose but smile to thinke, how the villain wil flout the gallowes, scorne the audience, and descant on the hangman, and al presuming of his pardon from hence. Wilt not be an odde iest, for me to stand and grace euery iest he makes, pointing my finger at this boxe: as who would say, mock on, heers thy warrant. Ist not a scuruie iest, that a man should iest himselfe to death. Alas poore Pedringano, I am in a sorte sorie for thee, but if I should be hanged with thee, I cannot weep.