Jack Drum's Entertainment (Katherine and Pasquil) · chunk 27 of 32
Marston, John · published 1601 · first performed or written 1600 (Annals) comedy · Children of Paul's (second) unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 538 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Hit and be lucky, o that 'twere lawful now To pray to God that he were Cuckoled. Dear Brabant I do hate these bombast wits, That are puffed up with arrogant conceit Of their own worth, as if Omnipotence Had hoist them to such unequalled height, That they surveyed our spirits with an eye Only create to censure from above, When good souls they do nothing but reprove. See where a Shallop comes. How now, what news? What might this mean, that Winifrid salutes The blunt tongued Planet, with such private speech? See with what vehemence she seems to urge Some private matter. Planet is my friend, And yet the strongest link of friendship's strained, When female love puts to her mighty strength. Mark, Mark, she offers him Camelia's scarf: Now on my life 'tis so: Planet suppliants my Love. Friend I must leave thee, prithee pardon me, we'll meet at supper soon with the good knight. ay, ay, content: o hell to my delight, My friend will murder me, thin Cobweb Lawn Burst with each little breath of tempting sweets. She entreats you M. Planet, to meet Her at the Cross stile. Ha, at the cross stile, well I'll meet him there. He that's perfidious to me in my love, Confusion take him, and his blood be spilled Without confusion to the murderer. So load it soundly, murders great with me, Go Boy, discharge it, even in planet's breast, Shoot him quite through, & through, thou canst not sin To murder him, that murdered his dear friend With damned breach of friendship, when he is slain Bring me his Cloak and Hat, here I will stay To be embraced in steed of Planet: go, away. I had rather die with blood upon my head, Shame and reproach clogging my heavy hour, Then t'have my friend still wounding of my soul With reprobate apostasism in love. O this Sophisticate friendship, that dissolves With every heat of Fancy, let it melt Even in hell's Forge. Hark, the Pistol is discharged, The Act of gory murder is performed. Have mercy heaven: o my soul is rent With planet's wound. Come Boy the Hat and Cloak, Go post to Scotland, there are crowns for thee, Leave Brabant unto death, and obloquy. Why now the ulcerous swelling of my hate Is broken forth: Oh that these women's beauties, This Nature's witchcraft, should enchant our souls So infinitely unrecoverable, That Hell, death, shame, eternal infamy, Cannot reclaim our desperate resolves, But we will on spite of damnation. Come ye poor garments of my murdered friend, Mourn that you are compelled to hide his limbs That slew you Master. See Camelia comes, I'll stand thus muffled and deceive her sight, When love makes head, friendship is put to flight. Persist not still, o thou relentless youth To scorn my love: what though I scorned thy friend, Do not upbraid me still with hating him, Do not still view me with a loathing eye. For Brabant's sake, do you but love me sweet, And I'll not scorn him. Why shouldst be so nice In keeping laws of friendship? didst thou e'er hear Of any soul that held a friend more dear, Than a fair woman?
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)
Hit and be luckie, ô that twere lawfull now To pray to God that he were Cuckoled. Deare Brabant I do hate these bumbaste wits, That are puft vp with arrogant conceit Of their owne worth, as if Omnipotence Had hoysed them to such vnequald height, That they suruaide our spirits with an eye Only create to censure from aboue, When good soules they do nothing but reproue. See where a Shallop comes. How now, what newes? What might this meane, that Winifrid salutes The blunt tongu'de Planet, with such priuate speech? See with what vehemence she seemes to vrge Some priuate matter. Planet is my friend, And yet the strongest linke of friendship's strainde, When female loue puts to her mightie strength. Marke, Marke, she offers him Camelias scarfe: Now on my life tis so: Planet supplants my Loue. Friend I must leaue thee, preethee pardon mee, Weele meete at supper soone with the good knight. I, I, content: ô hell to my delight, My friend will murder me, thin Cobweb Lawne Burst with each litle breath of tempting sweets. She intreats you M. Planet, to meete Her at the Crosse stile. Ha, at the crosse stile, well I'le meet him there. He thats persidious to me in my loue, Confusion take him, and his bloud be spilt Without confusion to the murderer. So loade it soundly, murders great with me, Goe Boy, discharge it, euen in Planets brest, Shoot him quite through, & through, thou canst not sin To murder him, that murdered his deare friend With damned breach of friendship, when he is slaine Bring me his Cloake and Hat, here I will stay To be imbrac'de in steed of Planet: goe, away. I had rather die with blood vpon my head, Shame and reproach clogging my heauie houre, Then t'haue my friend still wounding of my soule With reprobate Apostacisme in loue. O this Sophisticate friendship, that dissolues With euery heate of Fancie, let it melt Euen in Hells Forge▪ Harke, the Pistoll is discharg'de, The Act of gory murder is performd'e. Haue mercie heauen: ô my soule is rent With Planets wound. Come Boy the Hat and Cloake, Go poste to Scotland, there are crownes for thee, Leaue Brabant vnto death, and obloquie. Why now the vlcerous swelling of my hate Is broken forth: Oh that these womens beauties, This Natures witchcraft, should inchaunt our soules So infinitely vnrecouerable, That Hell, death, shame, eternall infamy, Cannot reclaime our desperate resolues, But we will on spight of damnation. Come ye poore garments of my murdered friend, Mourne that you are compeld to hide his limbes That slew you Maister. See Camelia comes, I'le stand thus muffled and deceiue her sight, When loue makes head, friendship is put to flight. Persist not still, ô thou relentlesse youth To scorne my loue: what tho I scorn'd thy friend, Do not vpbrayd me still with hating him, Do not still view me with a loathing eye. For Brabants sake, do you but loue me sweet, And Ile not scorne him. Why shouldst be so nice In keeping lawes of friendship? didst thou e're heare Of any soule that held a friend more deare, Then a faire woman?