Yarington, Robert · published 1601 · first performed or written 1594 [1594-c.1598] (Annals) tragedy · Unknown unassigned nearest T40 Sin, guilt and violent loss within famil · 489 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T40: brother, death, life, die, heaven, sin, live, father, blood, soul.
Thus shades are caught when substances are fled, Indeed they have my garments, but myself, Am close enough from their discovery, But not so close but that my very soul, Is racked with torments for Pertillo's death; I am Actaeon, I do bear about My horns of shame and inhumanity, My thoughts, like hounds which late did flatter me: With hope of great succeeding benefits. Now 'gin to tear my care-tormented heart, With fear of death and torturing punishment, These are the stings whenas our consciences, Are stuffed and clogged with close concealed crimes, Well I must smother all these discontents, And strive to bear a smother countenance: Then rugged care would willingly permit, I'll to the Court to see Alenso free, That he may then relieve my poverty. Who would have thought of all the men alive, That Thomas Merry would have done this deed: So full of ruth and monstrous wickedness. Of all the men that live in London walls. I would have thought that Merry had been free, Is this the fruits of Saintlike Puritans, I never like such damned hypocrisy. He would not lose a sermon for a pound, An oath he thought would rend his jaws in twain, An idle word did whet God's vengeance on: And yet two murders were not scrupulous, Such close illusions God will bring to light, And overthrow the workers with his might. This is the house, come let us knock at door, I see a light they are not all in bed: How now fair maid, is your brother up? He's not within sir, would you speak with him? You do but lest, I know he is within, And I must needs go up and speak with him. In deed good sir, he is in bed asleep, And I was loath to trouble him tonight. Well sister, I am sorry for your sake, But for your brother, he is known to be A damned villain and an hypocrite, Rachel, I charge thee in her highness name, To go with us to prison presently. To prison sir, alas what have I done? You know that best, but every one do know, You and your brother murdered master Beech, And his poor boy that dwelled at Lambert hill. I murdered, my brother knows that I Did not consent to either of their deaths. That must be tried, where doth your brother lie? Here in his bed, methinks he's not asleep. Now master Merry, are you in a sweat. No verily, I am not in a sweat. Some sudden fear affrights you, what's the cause? Nothing but that you waked me unawares. In the queen's name I do command you rise, And presently to go along with us. With all my heart, what do you know the cause? We partly do, when saw you master Beech? I do not well remember who you mean. Not Beech the chandler upon Lambert hill.
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)
Thus shades are caught when substances are fled, Indeede they haue my garments, but my selfe, Am close enough from their discouerie, But not so close but that my verie soule, Is ract with tormentes for Pertillos death; I am Acten, I doe beare about My hornes of shame and inhumanitie, My thoughts, like hounds which late did flatter me: With hope of great succeeding benefits. Now gin to teare my care-tormented heart, With feare of death and tortring punishment, These are the stings when as our consciences, Are stufd and clogd with close concealed crimes, Well I must smoather all these discontentes, And striue to beare a smoother countenaunce: Then rugged care would willingly permit, Ile to the Court to see Alenso free, That he may then relieue my pouertie. Who would haue thought of all the men aliue, That Thomas Merry would haue done this deede: So full of ruth and monstrous wickednesse. Of all the men that liue in London walles. I would haue thought that Merry had bin free, Is this the fruites of Saint-like Puritans, I neuer like such damn'd hipocrisie. He would not loase a sermon for a pound, An oath he thought would rend his iawes in twaine, An idle word did whet Gods vengeance on: And yet two murthers were not scripulous, Such close illusions God will bring to light, And ouerthrowe the workers with his might. This is the house, come let vs knocke at dore, I see a light they are not all in bed: How now faire maide, is your brother vp? He's not within sir, would you speake with him? You doe but lest, I know he is within, And I must needes go vppe and speake with him. In deede good sir, he is in bed a sleepe, And I was loath to trouble him to night. Well sister, I am sorry for your sake, But for your brother, he is knowne to be A damned villaine and an hipocrite, Rachell, I charge thee in her highnesse name, To go with vs to prison presently. To prison sir, alas what haue I done? You know that best, but euery one doe know, You and your brother murthered maister Bech, And his poore boy that dwelt at Lambert hill. I murthered, my brother knowes that I Did not consent to either of their deathes. That must be tride, where doth your brother lye? Here in his bed, me thinks he's not a sleepe. Now maister Merry, are you in a sweate. No verily, I am not in a sweate. Some sodaine feare affrights you, whats the cause? Nothing but that you wak'd me vnawares. In the Queenes name I doe commaund you rise, And presently to goe along with vs. With all my hart, what doe you know the cause? We partly doe, when saw you maister Beech? I doe not well remember who you meane. Not Beech the chaundler vpon Lambert hill.