Yarington, Robert · published 1601 · first performed or written 1594 [1594-c.1598] (Annals) tragedy · Unknown T40 Sin, guilt and violent loss within famil typicality 0.91 · 498 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T40: brother, death, life, die, heaven, sin, live, father, blood, soul.
In faith I do not, therefore prithee say, Wilt thou consent to have him made away. Why then in faith, I am ashamed to think, I had my being from so foul a lump Of adulation and unthankfulness, Ah, had their dying prayers no avail Within your heart? no, damned extortion, Hath left no room for grace to harbour in, Audacious sin, how canst thou make him say, Consent to make my brother's son away. Nay if you gin to brawl, withdraw yourself, But utter not the motion that I made, As you love me, or do regard your life. And as you love my safety, and your soul, Let grace, and fear of God, such thoughts control Still prattling, let your grace and fear alone, And leave me quickly to my private thoughts, Or with my sword I'll open wide a gate, For wrath and bloody death to enter in. Better you gave me death and burial, Than such foul deeds should overthrow us all. Still are you wagging that rebellious tongue, I'll dig it out for Crows to feed upon, If thou continue longer in my sight. He loves him better than he loves his life, Here's repetition of my brother's care, Of sister's charge, of grace, and fear of God, fear dastards, cowards, faint heart runaways, I'll fear no colours to obtain my will, Though all the fiends in hell were opposite I'd rather lose mine eye, my hand, my foot, Be blind, want senses, and be ever lame, Then be tormented with such discontent, This resignation would afflict me with, Be blithe my boy, thy life shall sure be done, Before the setting of the morrow sun. Make haste, run headlong to destruction, I like thy temper, that canst change a heart, From yielding flesh, to Flint and Adamant, Thou hitst it home, where thou dost fasten hold, Nothing can separate the love of gold. Fear no relenting, I dare pawn my soul, (And that's no gage, it is the devils due) He shall embrew his greedy griping hands, In the dead bosom of the bloody boy, And wind himself, his son, and harmless wife, In endless folds of sure destruction. Now Homicide, thy looks are like thyself, For blood, and death, are thy companions, Let my confounding plots but go before, And thou shalt wade up to the chin in gore. I find it true, for where thou art let in, There is no scruple made of any sin, The world may see thou art the root of ill, For but for thee, poor Beech had lived still. Oh my dear brother, what a heap of woe, Your rashness hath poured down upon your head: Where shall we hide this trumpet of your shame, This timeless ugly map of cruelty? Brother, if William's do reveal the truth, Than brother, then, begins our scene of ruth. I fear not William's but I fear the boy, Who knew I fetched his master to my house.
seed 43: T37 · seed 44: T36 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
In faith I do not, therefore prethie say, Wil thou consent to haue him made away. Why then in faith, I am ashamde to thinke, I had my being from so foule a lumpe Of adulaion and vnthankfulnesse, Ah, had their dying praiers no auaile Within your hart? no, damnd extorcion, Hath left no roome for grace to harbor in, Audacious sinne, how canst thou make him say, Consent to make my brothers sonne away. Nay if you ginne to brawle, withdraw your selfe, But vtter not the motion that I made, As you loue me, or do regarde your life. And as you loue my saftie, and your soule Let grace, and feare of God, such thoughts controule Still pratling, let your grace and feare alone, And leaue me quickly to my priuate thoughts, Or with my sworde le open wide a gate, For wrath and bloudie death to enter in. Better you gaue me death and buriall, Then such foule deeds should ouerthrow v all. Still are you wagging that rebellious tounge, Ile dig it out for Crowes to feede vpon, If thou continue longer in my sight. He loues him better then he loues his life, Heres repetition of my brothers care, Of sisters chardge, of grace, and feare of God, Fear dastards, cowards, fant hart run-awayes, Ile feare no coulours to obteine my will, Though all the fiends in hell were opposite Ide rather loose mine eye, my hand, my foote, Be blinde, wante sences, and be euer lame, Then be tormented with such discontent, This resignation would afflict me with, Be blithe my boy, thy life shall sure be done, Before the setting of the morrowe sunne. Make hast, runne headlong to destruction, I like thy temper, that canst change a heart, From yeelding flesh, to Flinte and Adamant, Thou hitst it home, where thou doost fasten holde, Nothing can seperate the loue of golde. Feare no relenting, I dare pawne my soule, (And thats no gadge, it is the diuels due) He shall imbrew his greede griping hands, In the dead bosome of the bloodie boy, And winde himselfe, his sonne, and harmlesse wife, In endlesse foldes of sure destruction. Now Homicide, thy lookes are like thy selfe, For blood, and death, are thy companions, Let my confounding plots but goe before, And thou shalt wade vp to the chin in gore. I finde it true, for where thou art let in, There is no scrupule made of any sinne, The world may see thou art the roote of ill, For but for thee, poore Beech had liued still. Oh my deare brother, what a heape of woe, Your rashnesse hath powrd downe vpon your head: Where shall we hide this trumpet of your shame, This timelesse ougly map of crueltie? Brother, if VVilliams do reueale the truth, Then brother, then, begins our sceane of ruthe. I feare not VVilliams but I feare the boy, Who knew I fetcht his maister to my house.