Yarington, Robert · published 1601 · first performed or written 1594 [1594-c.1598] (Annals) tragedy · Unknown unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 474 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
I Have in vain passed through each stately street, And blindfold turning of this happy town, For wealth, for peace, and goodly government, Yet can I not find out a mind, a heart For blood and causeless death to harbour in; They all are bent with virtuous gainful trade, To get their needments for this mortal life, And will not soil their well addicted hearts: With rape, extortion, murder, or the death, Of friend or foe, to gain an Empery. I cannot glut my blood delighted eye; With mangled bodies which do gasp and groan, Ready to pass to fair Elysium, Nor bathe my greedy hands in reeking blood, Of fathers by their children murdered: When all men else do weep, lament and wail, The sad exploits of fearful tragedies, It glads me so, that it delights my heart, To ad new torments to their bleeding smarts. But here comes Avarice, as if he sought, Some busy work for his pernicious thought: Whether so fast all griping Avarice? Why what hearst thou, I seek for one I miss. I may supply the man you wish to have. Thou seems to be a bold audacious knave, I do not like intruding company, That seek to undermine my secrecy. Mistrust me not I am thy faithful friend. Many say so, that prove false in the end. But turn about and thou wilt know my face, It may be so, and know thy want of grace, What Homicide thou art the man I seek: I reconcile me thus upon thy cheek. Hadst thou named blood and damned iniquity, I had forborne to bite so bitterly. know'st thou a heart wide open to receive, A plot of horrid desolation, Tell me of this, thou art my chiefest good, And I will quaff thy health in bowls of blood. I know two men, that seem two innocents, Whose looks surveyed with judicial eyes: Would seem to bear the marks of honesty, But snakes find harbour 'mongst the fairest flowers, Then never credit outward semblances: I know their hearts relentless merciless, And will perform through hope of benefit: More dreadful things then can be thought upon. If gain will draw, I prithee then allure, Their hungry hearts with hope of recompense, But tie despair unto those moving hopes, unleashed a deed of murder farther it, Than blood on blood, shall overtake them all, And we will make a bloody festival. The plots are laid, the keys of golden coin, Hath oped the secret closets of their hearts, Inter, insult, make captive at thy will, Themselves, and friends, with deeds of damned ill: Yonder is truth, she cometh to bewail, The times and parties that we work upon. Why let her weep, lament, and morn for me, We are right bred of damned iniquity, And will go make a twofold Tragedy.
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)
I Haue in vaine past through each stately streete, And blinde-fold turning of this happie towne, For wealh, for peace, and goodlie gouernement, Yet can I not finde out a minde, a heart For blood and causelesse death to harbour in; They all are bent with vertuous gainefull trade, To get their needmentes for this mortall life, And will not soile their well addicted harts: With rape, extortion, murther, or the death, Of friend or foe, to gaine an Empery. I cannot glut my blood delighted eye; With mangled bodies which do gaspe and grone, Readie to passe to faire Elizium, Nor bath my greedie handes in reeking blood, Of fathers by their children murthered: When all men else do weepe, lament and waile, The sad exploites of fearefull tragedies, It glads me so, that it delightes my heart, To ad new tormentes to their bleeding smartes. But here comes Auarice, as if he sought, Some busie worke for his pernicious thought: Whether so fast all griping Auarice? Why what arst thou, I seeeke for one I misse. I may supplie the man you wish to haue. Thou seemes to be a bold audatious knaue, I doe not like intruding companie, That seeke to vndermine my secrecie. Mistrust me not I am thy faithfull friend. Many say so, that proue false in the end. But turne about and thou wilt know my face, It may be so, and know thy want of grace, What Homicide thou art the man I seeke: I reconcile me thus vpon thy cheeke. Hadst thou nam'd blood and damn'd iniquitie, I had for borne to bight so bitterlie. Knowst thou a hart wide open to receiue, A plot of horred desolation, Tell me of this, thou art my cheefest good, And I will quaffe thy health in bowles of blood. I know two men, that seeme two innocents, Whose lookes surueied with iuditiall eyes: Would seeme to beare the markes of honestie, But snakes finde harbour mongst the fairest flowers, Then neuer credit outward semblaunces: I know their harts relentlesse mercilesse, And will performe through hope of benefit: More dreadfull things then can be thought vpon. If gaine will draw, I prethy then allure, Their hungrie harts with hope of recompence, But tye dispaire vnto those moouing hopes, Vnleast a deed of murther farther it, Then blood on blood, shall ouertake them all, And we will make a bloodie feastiuall. The plots are laide, the keyes of golden coine, Hath op'd the secret closets of their harts, Inter, insult, make captiue at thy will, Themselues, and friends, with deedes of damned ill: Yonder is truth, she commeth to bewaile, The times and parties that we worke vpon. Why let her weepe, lament, and morne for me, We are right bred of damn'd iniquitie, And will go make a two-folde Tragedie.