Dekker, Thomas · published 1600 · first performed or written 1599 [Nov 9-30, payment] (Annals) romance · Admiral's (Nottingham's) Men · before the Court T19 Virtue, Fortune and Vice as abstractions typicality 0.78 · 470 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T19: virtue, fortune, virtues, honour, fame, vice, envy, world, pride, great.
But this sad night will make an end of me. Brother, farewell, grief, famine, sorrow, want, Have made an end of wretched Ampedo. Where is the wishing Hat? Consumed in fire. Accursed be those hands that did destroy it, That would redeem us, did we now enjoy it. Wanton farewell, I faint, death's frozen hand Congeals life's little River in my breast. No man before his end is truly blessed. O miserable, miserable soul. Thus a foul life makes death to look more foul. Thus shall this golden purse divided be, One day for you, another day for me. Of days anon, say, what determine you, Shall they have liberty, or shall they die? Die sure: and see, I think the elder's dead. ay, murderers, he is dead. O sacred wisdom, Had Fortunatus been enamoured Of thy celestial beauty, his two sons Had shined like two bright Suns. Pull hard, Montrosse. Come you to strangle me? are you the hangman? Hellhounds you're damned for this impiety. Fortune, forgive me, I deserve thy hate, myself have made myself a reprobate: Virtue, forgive me, for I have transgressed Against thy laws, my vows are quite forgot, And therefore shame is fallen to my sins lot. Riches and knowledge are two gifts divine. They that abuse them both as I have done, To shame, to beggary, to hell must run. O conscience hold thy sting, cease to afflict me. Be quick, tormentors, I desire to die. No death is equal to my misery. Cyprus, vain world, and Vanity farewell. Who builds his heaven on earth, is sure of hell. He's dead: in some deep vault let's throw their bodies. First let us see the purse, Lord Longavile. Here 'tis, by this we'll fill this tower with gold. Frenchman, this purse is counterfeit. Thou liest. Scot, thou hast cozened me, give me the right, Else shall thy bosom be my weapon's grave. Villain, thou shalt not rob me of my due. Lay hands upon the murderers, strike them down. Surrender up this purse, for this is mine. I'll these two devils, of some powers divine? O, see, see, O my two masters, poor Shadows substances; what shall I do? whose body shall Shadow now follow? Peace, Idiot, thou shalt find rich heaps of fools, That will be proud to entertain a Shadow. I charm thy babbling lips from troubling me. You need not hold them, see, I smite them down Lower than hell: base souls, sink to your heaven. I do arrest you both my prisoners. Stand not amazed, you gods of earth, at this, She that arresteth these two fools is Vice, They have broke Virtues laws, Vice is her sergeant, Her jailer and her executioner. Look on those Cypriots, Fortunatus sons, They and their Father were my minions, My name is Fortune.
seed 43: T13 · seed 44: T16 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
But this sad night will make an end of me. Brother, farwell, griefe, famine, sorrow, want, Haue made an end of wretched Ampedo. Where is the wishing Hat? Consum'd in fire. Accursed be those hands that did destroy it, That would redéeme vs, did we now enioy it. Wanton farwel, I faint, deaths frozen hand Congeales lifes little Riuer in my brest. No man before his end is truely blest. O miserable, miserable soule. Thus a foule life makes death to looke more foule. Thus shall this golden purse diuided be, One day for you, another day for me. Of daies anon, say, what determine you, Shall they haue libertie, or shall they die? Die sure: and sée, I thinke the elder's dead. I, murderers, he is dead. O sacred wisdome, Had Fortunatus béene enamored Of thy celestiall beautie, his two sonnes Had shind like two bright Sunnes. Pul hard, Montrosse. Come you to strangle me? are you the hangman? Hell-hounds y'are dam'd for this impietie. Fortune, forgiue me, I deserue thy hate, My selfe haue made myselfe a reprobate: Uertue, forgiue me, for I haue transgrest Against thy lawes, my vowes are quite forgot, And therefore shame is falne to my sinnes lot. Riches and knowledge are two gifts diuine. They that abuse them both as I haue done, To shame, to beggerie, to hell must runne. O conscience hold thy sting, cease to afflict me. Be quicke, tormentors, I desire to die. No death is equall to my miserie. Cyprus, vaine world, and Uanitie farwell. Who builds his heauen on earth, is sure of hell. He's dead: in some déepe vault lets throw their bodies. First let vs sée the purse, Lord Longauyle. Here tis, by this wéele fill this towre with gold. Frenchman, this purse is counterfeit. Thou lyest. Scot, thou hast cozend me, giue me the right, Els shall thy bosome be my weapons graue. Villaine, thou shalt not rob me of my due. Lay hands vpon the murderers, strike them downe. Surrender vp this purse, for this is mine. Ie these two diuels, of some powers diuine? O, see, sée, O my two masters, poore Shaddowes substances; what shall I doe? whose body shall Shaddow now follow? Peace, Ideot, thou shalt find rich heapes of fooles, That will be proud to entertaine a Shaddow. I charme thy babling lips from troubling me. You need not hold them, sée, I smite them downe Lower then hell: base soules, sincke to your heauen. I doe arrest you both my prisoners. Stand not amazde, you gods of earth, at this, Shée that arresteth these two fooles is Uice, They haue broke Vertues laws, Vice is her serfeant, Her Iayler and her executioner. Looke on those Cypriots, Fortunatus sonnes, They and their Father were my minions, My name is Fortune.