Marlowe, Christopher / Nashe, Thomas · published 1594 · first performed or written 1586 [c.1585-1586; possibly 1591] (Annals) tragedy · Children of the Chapel (first) (Oxford's Boys) T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.85 · 507 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Dido I am, unless I be deceived, And must I rave thus for a runagate? Must I make ships for him to sail away? Nothing can bear me to him but a ship, And he hath all thy fleet, what shall I do But die in fury of this oversight? ay, I must be the murderer of myself: No but I am not, yet I will be straight. Anna be glad, now have I found a mean To rid me from these thoughts of Lunacy: Not far from hence there is a woman famoused for arts, Daughter unto the nymphs Hesperides, Who willed me sacrifice his ticing relics: Go Anna, bid my servants bring me fire. How long will Dido mourn a stranger's flight, That hath dishonoured her and Carthage both? How long shall I with grief consume my days, And reap no guerdon for my truest love? Iarbas, talk not of Aeneas, let him go, Lay to thy hands and help me make a fire, That shall consume all that this stranger left, For I intend a private Sacrifice, To cure my mind that melts for unkind love. But afterwards will Dido grant me love? ay, ay, Iarbas, after this is done, None in the world shall have my love but thou: So, leave me now, let none approach this place. Now Dido, with these relics burn thyself, And make Aeneas famous through the world, For perjury and slaughter of a Queen: Here lie the Sword that in the darksome Cave He drew, and swore by to be true to me, Thou shalt burn first, thy crime is worse than his: Here lie the garment which I clothed him in, When first he came on shore, perish thou to: These letters, lines, and perjured papers all, Shall burn to cinders in this precious flame. And now ye Gods that guide the starry frame, And order all things at your high dispose, Grant, though the traitors land in Italy, They may be still tormented with unrest, And from mine ashes let a Conqueror rise, That may revenge this treason to a Queen, By ploughing up his Countries with the Sword: Betwixt this land and that be never league, Littora littoribus contraria, fluctibus undas Impresor: arma armis: pugnent ipsique nepotes: Live false Aeneas, truest Dido dies, Sic sic juuat ire sub umbras. O help Iarbas, Dido in these flames Hath burnt herself, ay me, unhappy me! Cursed Iarbas, die to expiate The grief that tires upon thine inward soul, Dido I come to thee, ay me Aeneas. What can my tears or cries prevail me now? Dido is dead, Iarbas slain, Iarbas my dear love, O sweet Iarbas, Anna's sole delight, What fatal destiny envies me thus, To see my sweet Iarbas slay himself? But Anna now shall honour thee in death, And mix her blood with thine, this shall I do, That Gods and men may pity this my death, And rue our ends senseless of life or breath: Now sweet Iarbas stay, I come to thee.
nodes 1670–1733 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 27 of 27 in this edition
Length
507 words · 694 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.849 (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)
Dido I am, vnlesse I be deceiu'd, And must I raue thus for a runnagate? Must I make ships for him to saile away? Nothing can beare me to him but a ship, And he hath all thy fleete, what shall I doe But dye in furie of this ouersight? I, I must be the murderer of my selfe: No but I am not, yet I will be straight. Anna be glad, now haue I found a meane To rid me from these thoughts of Lunacie: Not farre from hence there is a woman famoused for arts, Daughter vnto the Nimphs Hesperides, Who wild me sacrifize his ticing relliques: Goe Anna, bid my seruants bring me fire. How long will Dido mourne a strangers flight, That hath dishonord her and Carthage both? How long shall I with griefe consume my daies, And reape no guerdon for my truest loue? Iarbus, talke not of Aeneas, let him goe, Lay to thy hands and helpe me make a fire, That shall consume all that this stranger left, For I entend a priuate Sacrifize, To cure my minde that melts for vnkind loue. But afterwards will Dido graunt me loue? I, I, Iarbus, after this is done, None in the world shall haue my loue but thou: So, leaue me now, let none approach this place. Now Dido, with these reliques burne thy selfe, And make Aeneas famous through the world, For periurie and slaughter of a Queene: Here lye the Sword that in the darksome Caue He drew, and swore by to be true to me, Thou shalt burne first, thy crime is worse then his: Here lye the garment which I cloath'd him in, When first he came on shoare, perish thou to: These letters, lines, and periurd papers all, Shall burne to cinders in this pretious flame. And now ye Gods that guide the starrie frame, And order all things at your high dispose, Graunt, though the traytors land in Italy, They may be still tormented with vnrest, And from mine ashes let a Conquerour rise, That may reuenge this treason to a Queene, By plowing vp his Countries with the Sword: Betwixt this land and that be neuer league, Littora littoribus contraria, fluctibus vndas Impresor: arma armis: pugnent ipsi que nepotes: Liue false Aeneas, truest Dido dyes, Sic sic iuuat ire sub vmbras. O helpe Iarbus, Dido in these flames Hath burnt her selfe, aye me, vnhappie me! Cursed Iarbus, dye to expiate The griefe that tires vpon thine inward soule, Dido I come to thee, aye me Aeneas. What can my teares or cryes preuaile me now? Dido is dead, Iarbus slaine, Iarbus my deare loue, O sweet Iarbus, Annas sole delight, What fatall destinie enuies me thus, To see my sweet Iarbus slay himselfe? But Anna now shall honor thee in death, And mixe her bloud with thine, this shall I doe, That Gods and men may pitie this my death, And rue our ends senceles of life or breath: Now sweet Iarbus stay, I come to thee.