Jack Drum's Entertainment (Katherine and Pasquil) · chunk 11 of 32
Marston, John · published 1601 · first performed or written 1600 (Annals) comedy · Children of Paul's (second) T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.78 · 510 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
When I prove false, Hell shall be Paradise. My life shall be maintained by thy kind breath. Thy love shall be my life, thy hate my death. Oh when I die let me embrace thy waste. In death let me be counted thine and chaste. heavens grant, being dead my soul may live nigh thee One kiss shall give thee mine eternally. In fair exchange vouchsafe my heart to take. With all my mind, wear this Ned for my sake, But now no more, bright day malings our love, Farewell, yet stay, but 'tis no matter too, My Father knows I think, what must ensue. Adieu, yet hark, nay faith, adieu, adieu. Peace to thy passions, till next interview. Now monsieur be but confident, and hold There is the price of blood, this way he comes, Strike home bold arm, and thou shalt want no crowns. Fear you noting, when he is die, me bring you word. He, by gour brave crown, brave money, Me have here a patent to take up, one, two, threescore Vench: fine Crown, fine vench, unreasonably fine, Dis money is my bawd. Me send a French crown To fetch a fine vench, de French crown fetch de Fine vench, de fine vench take de French crown, And give me de French pox. He excellent, you see Me kill a man, you see me hang like de Burgullian, He no poine: He by Gour, me have much vitt, Ang me much bald, and me ang much bald wit. Here come de Gentleman metre Pasquill. Is't possible that sisters should so thwart In native humours? one's as kind and fair, As constant, virtuous, and as debonair, As is the heart of goodness: the other, proud, Inconstant, fantastic, and as vain in loves, As travelers in lies: blessed Katherine, Camelia's not thy sister, if she be, she's bastard to the sweets that shine in thee. Boniour Metre Pasquill, sance jest, me am hired to kill you, monsieur Mammon, Messier: jounck, jounck, give me money to stab you, but me know there is a God that hate blood, derfore, me no kill, me know dear is a vench, that love Crown, derefore me keep de money. Unhallowed villain, that with gold and blood, Thinks that almighty love can be withstood. Hold monsieur, there are more Crowns, only do this, return to Mammon, tell him the deed is done, and bring him hither, that he may vainly triumph in my blood, I have some painting which I found by chance in loose Camelia's chamber, with that I'll stain my breast, go and return with speed. He, by gour I smell a rat, me fly, me fly, by gour. Lewd miscreant, that through the throat of hell, Wouldst mount to heaven, and enjoy love, Invaluably precious: no rank churl, Thou wast not made to slaver her fair lips With thy dead rheumy chops, nor clip her waste, With thy shrunk bloodless arm, I hear him come. Now Pasquill feign, o thou eternal light, Mourn that thy creatures should in blood delight.
nodes 486–534 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 11 of 32 in this edition
Length
510 words · 730 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.784 (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)
When I proue false, Hell shall be Paradice. My life shall be maintaind by thy kind breath. Thy loue shall be my life, thy hate my death. Oh when I die let me imbrace thy waste. In death let me be counted thine and chaste. Heauens graunt, being dead my soule may liue nie thee One kisse shal giue thee mine eternally. In faire exchaunge vouchsafe my hart to take. With all my mind, weare this Ned for my sake, But now no more, bright day malings our loue, Farewell, yet stay, but tis no matter too, My Father knowes I thinke, what must ensue. Adieu, yet harke, nay faith, adieu, adiew. Peace to thy passions, till next enterview. Now Mounsieur be but confident, and hold There is the price of blood, this way he comes, Strike home bold arme, and thou shalt want no crowns. Feare you noting, when he is die, me bring you word. Hee, by gor braue crowne, braue monney, Me haue here a patent to take vp, one, two, treescore Vench: fine Crowne, fine vench, vnreasonably fine, Dis monney is my baude. Me send a French crowne To fetch a fine vench, de French crowne fetch de Fine vench, de fine vench take de French crowne, And giue me de French poc. Hee excellent, you see Mee kill a man, you see mee hang like de Burgullian, Hee no poine: Hee by Gor, mee haue much vitt, Ang me much bald, and me ang much bald wit. Here come de Gentleman metre Pasquill. Ist possible that sisters should so thwart In natiue humours? one's as kind and fayre, As constant, vertuous, and as debonayre, As is the heart of goodnesse: the other, proud, Inconstant, fantasticke, and as vaine in loues, As trauellers in lies: blest Katherine, Camelia's not thy sister, if she bee, Shees basterd to the sweetes that shine in thee. Boniour Metre Pasquill, sance Iest, me am hired to kill you, Mounsieur Mamon, Messier: Iounck, Iounck, giue me money to stab you, but me know there is a God that hate bloud, derfore, me no kil, me know dere is a vench, that loue Crowne, derefore me keepe de money. Vnhallowed villaine, that with gold and bloud, Thinkes that almighty loue can be withstood. Hold Mounsieur, there are more Crownes, onely do this, returne to Mamon, tell him the deed is done, and bring him hither, that he may vainely triumph in my bloud, I haue some painting which I found by chaunce in loose Camelias chamber, with that Ile staine my breast, go and returne with speed. Hee, by gor I smell a rat, me flie, me flie, by gor. Leaud miscreant, that through the throat of hel, Wouldst mount to heauen, and enioy loue, Invaluably pretious: no rancke churle, Thou wast not made to slauer her faire lips With thy dead rewmy chops, nor clip her waste, With thy shrunke bloudlesse arme, I heare him come. Now Pasquill faigne, ô thou eternall light, Mourne that thy creatures should in bloud delight.