Yarington, Robert · published 1601 · first performed or written 1594 [1594-c.1598] (Annals) tragedy · Unknown T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.84 · 513 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
You cannot bear so great a weight yourself, And 'tis no trusting of another man. Yes well enough, as I will order it, I'll cut him piece-meal, first his head and legs Will be one burden, than the mangled rest, Will be another, which I will transport, Beyond the water in a Ferry boat, And throw it into Paris-garden ditch. Fetch me the chopping-knife, and in the mean I'll move the Faggots that do cover him. Oh can you find in heart to cut and carve, His stone cold flesh, and rob the greedy grave, Of his dissevered blood besprinkled limbs? I marry can I fetch the chopping knife. This deed is worse, than when you took his life. But worse, or better, now it must be so, Better do thus, then feel a greater woe. Here is the knife, I cannot stay to see, This barbarous deed of inhumanity. Ye glorious beams of that bright-shining lamp, That lights the star bespangled firmament, And dimness the glimmering shadows of the night, Why dost thou lend assistance to this wretch, To shamble forth with bold audacity, His limbs, that bears thy maker's semblance. All you the sad spectators of this Act, Whose hearts do taste a feeling pensiveness, Of this unheard of savage Massacre: Oh be far off, to harbour such a thought, As this audacious murderer put in ure, I see your sorrows flow up to the brim, And overflow your cheeks with brinish tears, But though this sight bring surfeit to the eye, Delight your ears with pleasing harmony, That ears may countercheck your eyes, and say, Why shed you tears, this deed is but a play: His work is done, he seeks to hide his sin, I'll wail his woe, before his woe begin. Now will I high me to the water side, And fling this heavy burden in a ditch, Whereof my soul doth feel so great a weight, That it doth almost press me down with fear, Hark Rachel: I will cross the water straight, And fling this middle mention of a man, Into some ditch, then high me home again, To rid my house of that is left behind. Where have you laid the legs & battered head? Under the faggots, where it lay before, Help me to put this trunk into the bag. My heart will not endure to handle it, The sight hereof doth make me quake for fear. I'll do't myself, only dry up the blood, And burn the clothes as you have done before. I fear thy soul will burn in flames of hell, Unless repentance wash away thy sin, With cleansing tears of true contrition: Ah did not nature oversway my will, The world should know this plot of damned ill. I am so weary in this cumbrous wood, That I must needes go sit me downe and rest What were we best to kill him unawares, Or give him notice what we do intend? Why then belike you mean to do your charge And feel no taste of pity in your heart.
nodes 843–906 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 14 of 37 in this edition
Length
513 words · 667 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.835 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T10 · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
You cannot beare so great a waight your selfe, And 'tis no trung of another man. Yes wl enough, as I will order it, Ile cut him peece-meale, fist his head and legs Will be one burthen, then the mangled rest, Will be another, which I will transport, Beyond the water in a Ferry boate, And throw it into Pris-gardn ditch. Fetch me the chopping-knife, and in the meane Ile moue the Fagots that do couer him. Oh can you finde in hart to cut and carue, His stone colde flesh, and rob the greedy graue, Of his disseuered blood besprinckled lims? I mary can I fetch the chopping knife. This deed is worse, thē whē you tooke his life. But worse, or beter, now it must be so, Better do thus, then feele a greater woe. Here is the knife, I cannot stay to see, This barbarous deed of inhumanitie. Yee glorious beames of that bright-shining lampe, That lights the starre bespangled firmament, And dimnes the glimmering shadowes of the night, Why doost thou lend assistance to this wretch, To shamble forth with bolde audacitie, His lims, that beares thy makers semblance. All you the sad spectators of this Acte, Whose harts do taste a feeling pensiuenesse, Of this vnheard of sauadge Massacre: Oh be farre of, to harbour such a thought, As this audacious murtherer put in vre, I see your sorrowes flowe vp to the brim, And ouerflowe your cheekes with brinish teares, But though this sight bring surfet to the eye, Delight your eares with pleasing harmonie, That eares may counterchecke your eyes, and say, Why shed you teares, this deede is but a playe: His worke is done, he seekes to hide his sinne, Ile waile his woe, before his woe begin. Now will I high me to the water side, And fling this heauie burthen in a ditche, Whereof my soule doth feele so great a waight, That it doth almost presse me downe with feare, Harke Rachl: I will crosse the water straight, And fling this middle mention of a man, Into some ditch, then high me home againe, To rid my house of that is left behinde. Where haue you laide the legs & battered head? Vnder the fagots, where it lay before, Helpe me to put this trunke into the bag. My heart will not endure to handle it, The sight hereof doth make me quake for feare. Ile do't my selfe, onely drie vp the blood, And burne the clothes as you haue done before. I feare thy soule will bure in flames of hell, Vnlesse repentance wash away thy sinne, With clensing teares of true contrition: Ah did not nature ouersway my will, The world should know this plot of damned ill. I am so wearie in this combrous wood, That I must needes go sit me downe and rest What were we best to kill him vnawares, Or giue him notice what we doe intend? Whie then belike you meane to do your charge And feele no tast of pittie in your hart.