Daniel, Samuel · published 1594 · first performed or written 1593 [revised 1607] (Annals) tragedy T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.74 · 514 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Now not an yielding shrink or touch of fear. Consented to bewray least sense of pain: But still in one same sweet unaltered cheer, Her honour did her dying thoughts retain. Well, now this work is done (saith she,) here ends This act of life, that part of Fates assigned me: What glory or disgrace here this world lends, Both have I had, and both I leave behind me. And now o Earth, the Theater where I Have acted this, witness I die unforced. Witness my soul parts free to Anthony, And now proud Tyrant Caesar do thy worst. This said, she stays, and makes a sudden pause, As 'twere to feel whither the poison wrought: Or rather else the working might be cause That made her stay, as likewise may be thought. For in that instant I might well perceive, The drowsy humour in her falling brow: And how each power, each part oppressed did leave Their former office, and did senseless grow. Look how a new-plucked branch against the Sun, Declines his fading leaves in feeble sort, So her disjoined jointures as undone. Let fall her weak dissolved limbs support. Yet lo that face the wonder of her life, Retains in death, a grace that graceth death, colour so lively, cheer so lovely rife, That none would think such beauty could want breath. And in that cheer, th'impression of a smile Did seem to show she scorned Death and Caesar, As glorying that she could them both beguile, And telling death how much her death did please her. Wonder it was to see how soon she went, She went with such a will, and did so haste it, That sure I think she did her pain prevent, Foregoing pain, or staying not to taste it. And senseless, in her sinking down she wries The Diadem which on her head she wore, Which Charmion (poor weak feeble maid) espies, And hastes to right it as it was before. For Eras now was dead, and Charmion too Even at the point, for both would imitate Their Mistress glory, striving like to do. But Charmion would in this exceed her mate, For she would have this honour to be last, That should adorn that head that must be seen To wear a Crown in death, that life held fast, That all the world might know she dyde a Queen. And as she stood setting if fitly on, Lo in rush Caesar's Messengers in haste, Thinking to have prevented what was done, But yet they came too late, for all was passed. For there they found stretched on a bed of gold, Dead Cleopatra, and that proudly dead, In all the rich attire procure she could, And dying Charmion trimming of her head. And Eras at her feet, dead in like case. Charmion, is this well done? said one of them. Yea, well said she, and her that from the race Of so great Kings descends, doth best become. And with that word, yields too her faithful breath, To pass th'assurance of her love with death.
nodes 1552–1613 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 25 of 26 in this edition
Length
514 words · 657 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.735 (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)
Now not an yeelding shrinke or touch of feare. Consented to bewray least sence of paine: But still in one same sweete vnaltred cheere, Her honor did her dying thoughts retaine. Well, now this work is done (saith she,) here ends This act of life, that part of Fates assign'd mee: What glory or disgrace heere this world lends, Both haue I had, and both I leaue behinde mee. And now ô Earth, the Theater where I Haue acted this, witnes I dye vnforst. Witnes my soule parts free to Anthony, And now proude Tyrant Caesar doe thy worst. This sayd, shee stayes, and makes a suddaine pause, As twere to feele whither the poyson wrought: Or rather els the working might be cause That made her stay, as likewise may be thought. For in that instant I might well perceiue, The drowsie humor in her falling brow: And how each powre, each part opprest did leaue Theyr former office, and did sencelesse grow. Looke how a new-pluckt branch against the Sunne, Declynes his fading leaues in feeble sort, So her disioyned ioyntures as vndonne. Let fall her weake dissolued limmes support. Yet loe that face the wonder of her life, Retaines in death, a grace that graceth death, Couller so liuely, cheere so louely rife, That none wold think such beauty could want breath. And in that cheere, th'impression of a smile Did seeme to shew shee scorned Death and Caesar, As glorying that shee could them both beguile, And telling death how much her death did please her. VVonder it was to see how soone shee went, Shee went with such a will, and did so haste it, That sure I thinke shee did her paine preuent, Fore-going paine, or staying not to taste it. And sencelesse, in her sinking downe shee wryes The Diadem which on her head shee wore, Which Charmion (poore weake feeble mayd) espyes, And hastes to right it as it was before. For Eras now was dead, and Charmion too Euen at the poynt, for both would imitate Theyr Mistres glory, striuing like to doo. But Charmion would in this exceede her mate, For shee would haue this honour to be last, That should adorne that head that must be seene To weare a Crowne in death, that life held fast, That all the world might know shee dyde a Queene. And as shee stood setting if fitly on, Lo in rush Caesars Messengers in haste, Thinking to haue preuented what was doone, But yet they came too late, for all was past. For there they found stretch'd on a bed of gold, Dead Cleopatra, and that proudly dead, In all the riche attyre procure shee could, And dying Charmion trymming of her head. And Eras at her feete, dead in like case. Charmion, is this well doone? said one of them. Yea, well sayd shee, and her that from the race Of so great Kings discends, doth best become. And with that word, yeelds too her faithful breath, To passe th'assurance of her loue with death.