Greene, Robert · published 1630 · first performed or written 1589 [1586-1590] (Annals) comedy · Queen Elizabeth's Men T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.75 · 475 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Thou seest I single thee the field, And what I spoke, I'll maintain with my sword: Stand on thy guard, I cannot scold it out. And if thou kill me, think I have a son, That lives in Oxford in the Broadgate's hall, Who will revenge his father's blood with blood. And Serlsby, I have there a lusty boy, That dares at weapon buckle with thy son, And lives in Broadgate's too as well as thine; But draw thy Rapier: for we'll have a bout. Now lusty younkers, look within the glass, And tell me if you can discern your sires. Serlsby, 'tis hard, thy father offers wrong, To combat with my father in the field. Lambert, thou liest, my father's is the abuse, And thou shalt find it, if my father have harm. How goes it, sirs? Our fathers are in combat hard by Fressingfield. Sit still, my friends, and see the event. Why standst thou, Serlsby, doubtst thou of thy life? A veny, man, fair Marg'ret craves so much. Then this for her. Ah, well thrust. But mark the ward. Oh, I am slain. And I, Lord have mercy on me. My father slain, Serlsby ward that. And so is mine, Lambert, I'll 'quite thee well. O strange stratagem! See, friar, where the fathers both lie dead. Bacon, thy magic doth effect this massacre: This glass prospective worketh many woes, And therefore seeing these lusty Brutes, These friendly youths did perish by thine Art. End all thy magic and thine Art at once: The poniard that did end the fatal lives, Shall break the cause efficiat of their woes, So fade the glass, and end with it the shows, That necromancy did infuse the crystal with. What means learned Bacon thus to break his glass? I tell thee, Bungay, it reputes me sore, That ever Bacon meddled in this Art, The hours I have spent in pyromantic spells, The fearful tossing in the latest night, Of papers full of necromantic charms, Conjuring and adjuring Devils and Fiends, With Stole and Albe, and strange Pentaganon, The wresting of the holy Name of God, As Sother, Eleanor, and Adonai, Alpha, Manoth, and Tetragrammaton, With praying to the fivefold powers of heaven, Are instances that Bacon must be damned, For using Devils to countervail his God. Yet, Bacon, cheer thee, drown not in despair, Sins have their salves, repentance can do much: Think mercy sits where justice holds her seat, And from those wounds those bloody Jews did pierce, Which by thy magic oft did bleed afresh, From thence for thee the dew of mercy drops, To wash the wrath of high Jehovah's ire, And make thee as a newborn babe from sin. Bungay, I'll spend the remnant of my life In pure devotion, praying to my God, That he would save what Bacon vainly lost.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 1568–1631 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 29 of 33 in this edition
Length
475 words · 676 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.745 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
Other seeds
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Thou ſeeſt I ſingle thee the field, And what I ſpake, Ile maintaine with my ſword: Stand on thy guard, I cannot ſcold it out. And if thou kill me, thinke I haue a ſonne, That liues in Oxford in the Brodgates hall, Who will reuenge his fathers blood with blood. And Serlsby, I haue there a luſty boy, That dares at weapon buckle with thy ſonne, And liues in Brodgates too as well as thine; But draw thy Rapier: for weele haue a bout. Now luſty yonkers, looke within the glaſſe, And tell me if you can diſcerne your ſires. Serlsby, tis hard, thy father offers wrong, To combat with my father in the field. Lambert, thou lieſt, my fathers is the abuſe, And thou ſhalt finde it, if my father haue harme. How goes it, ſirs? Our fathers are in combat hard by Freſingfield. Sit ſtill, my friends, and ſee the euent. Why ſtandſt thou, Serlsby, doubtſt thou of thy life? A veny, man, faire Margret craues ſo much. Then this for her. Ah, well thruſt. But marke the ward. Oh, I am ſlaine. And I, Lord haue mercy on me. My father ſlaine, Serlsby ward that. And ſo is mine, Lambert, Ile quite thee well. O ſtrange ſtratagem! See, Fryer, where the fathers both lye dead. Bacon, thy magicke doth effect this maſſacre: This glaſſe proſpectiue worketh many woes, And therefore ſeeing theſe luſty Brutes, Theſe friendly youths did periſh by thine Art. End all thy magicke and thine Art at once: The poniard that did end the fatall liues, Shall breake the cauſe efficiat of their woes, So fade the glaſſe, and end with it the ſhowes, That Nigromancy did infuſe the chriſtall with. What meanes learned Bacon thus to breake his glaſſe? I tell thee, Bungay, it repeuts me ſore, That euer Bacon meddled in this Art, The houres I haue ſpent in Piromanticke ſpels, The fearefull toſſing in the lateſt night, Of papers full of Nigromanticke charmes, Coniuring and adiuring Deuils and Fiends, With Stole and Albe, and ſtrange Pentaganon, The wreſting of the holy Name of God, As Sother, Eloim, and Adonai, Alpha, Manoth, and Tetragrammaton, With praying to the fiue-fold powers of heauen, Are inſtances that Bacon muſt be damn'd, For vſing Deuils to counteruaile his God. Yet, Bacon, cheere thee, drowne not in deſpaire, Sinnes haue their ſalues, repentance can doe much: Thinke mercy ſits where Iuſtice holds her ſeate, And from thoſe wounds thoſe bloody Iewes did pierce▪ Which by thy magicke oft did bleed afreſh, From thence for thee the dew of mercy drops, To waſh the wrath of hie Iehouahs ire, And make thee as a new-borne babe from ſinne. Bungay, Ile ſpend the remnant of my life In pure deuotion, praying to my God, That he would ſaue what Bacon vainly loſt.