Antonio's Revenge (2 Antonio and Mellida) · chunk 2 of 29
Marston, John · published 1602 · first performed or written 1602 (Annals) tragedy · Children of Paul's (second) T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.76 · 542 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
What had so please? Unseasoned Sycophant, Piero Sforza is no numbed Lord, Senseless of all true touch; stroke not the head Of infant speech, till it be fully borne. Go to. How now? Fut, I'll not smother your speech. Nay, right thine eyes: 'twas but a little spleen: (Huge plunge! sin's grown a slave, and must observe slight evils. Huge villains are enforced to claw all devils.) Pish, sweet thy thoughts, and give me Stroke not the head of infant speech? Go to? Nay, calm this storm. I ever held thy breast More secret, and more firm in league of blood, Then to be struck in heat with each slight puff. Give me thy ears; Huge infamy Press down my honour; if even then, when His fresh act of prowess bloomed out full, I had ta'en vengeance on his hated head Why it had Could I avoid to give a seeming grant Unto fruition of Antonio's love? No. And didst thou ever see, a Iudas kiss, With a more covert touch of fleering hate? No. And having clipped them with pretence of love, Have I not crushed them with a cruel wring? Yes. Say, faith, didst thou ere hear, or read, or see Such happy vengeance, unsuspected death? That I should drop strong poison in the bowl, Which I myself caroused unto his health, And future fortune of our unity, That it should work even in the hushed of night, And strangle him on sudden; that fair show Of death, for the excessive joy of his fate, Might choke the murder? Ha Strotzo, is't not rare? Nay, but weigh it. Then Feliche stabbed (Whose sinking thought frighted my conscious heart) And laid by Mellida, to stop the match, And hale on mischief. This all in one night? Is't to be equalled thinkst thou? O, I could eat Thy fumbling throat, for thy lagged censure. Fut, Is't not rare? Yes. No? yes? nothing but no, and yes, dull lump? Canst thou not honey me with fluent speech, And even adore my topless villainy? Will I not blast my own blood for revenge? Must not thou straight be perjured for revenge? And yet no creature dream 'tis my revenge. Will I not turn a glorious bridal morn Unto a Stygian night? Yet nought but no, and yes? I would have told you, if the incubus, That rides your bosom, would have patience: It is reported, that in private state, Maria, Genoa's Duchess, makes to Court, Longing to see him, whom she near shall see, Her Lord Andrugio. Belike she hath received The news of reconciliation: Reconciliation with a death? Poor Lady shall but find poor comfort in't. O, let me swoon for joy. By heaven, I think I ha' said my prayers, within this month at least; I am so boundless happy. Doth she come? By this warm reeking gore, I'll marry her. Look I not now like an inamorate? Poison the father, butcher the son, & marry the mother; ha! Strotzo, to bed: snort in securest sleep: For see, the dapple grey coursers of the morn Beat up the light with their bright silver hooves, And chase it through the sky. To bed, to bed. This morn my vengeance shall be amply fed.
nodes 69–142 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 2 of 29 in this edition
Length
542 words · 754 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.760 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
What had so please? Vnseasoned Sycophant, Piero Sforza is no nummed Lord, Senselesse of all true touch; stroake not the head Of infant speach, till it be fully borne▪ Goe to. How now? Fut, Ile not smother your speach. Nay, right thine eyes: twas but a little splene: (Huge plunge! Sinn's growne a slaue, and must obserue slight euils. Huge villaines are inforc't to clawe all diuels.) Pish, sweete thy thoughts, and giue me Stroake not the heade of infant speach? Goe to? Nay, calme this storme. I euer held thy breast More secret, and more firme in league of blood, Then to be struck in heate with each-slight puffe. Giue me thy eares; Huge infamie Presse downe my honour; if euen then, when His fresh act of prowesse bloom'd out full, I had tane vengeance on his hated head Why it had Could I auoyde to giue a seeming graunt Vnto fruition of Antonios loue? No. And didst thou euer see, a Iudas kisse, With a more couert touch of fleering hate? No. And hauing clipt them with pretence of loue, Haue I not crusht them with a cruell wring? Yes. Say, faith, didst thou ere heare, or reade, or see Such happie vengeance, vnsuspected death? That I should drop strong poyson in the boawle, Which I my selfe carous't vnto his health, And future fortune of our vnitie, That it should worke even in the husht of night, And strangle him on sodaine; that faire showe Of death, for the excessiue ioy of his fate, Might choake the murder? Ha Strotzo, is't not rare? Nay, but waigh it. Then Feliche stabd (Whose sinking thought frighted my conscious hart) And laid by Mellida, to stop the match, And hale on mischiefe. This all in one night? Is't to be equall'd thinkst thou? O, I could eate Thy fumbling throat, for thy lagd censure. Fut, Is't not rare? Yes. No? yes? nothing but no, and yes, dull lumpe? Canst thou not hony me with fluent speach, And euen adore my toplesse villany? Will I not blast my owne blood for reuenge? Must not thou straight be periur'd for reuenge▪ And yet no creature dreame tis my reuenge. Will I not turne a glorious bridall morne Vnto a Stygian night? Yet naught but no, and yes? I would haue told you, if the incubus, That rides your bosome, would haue patience: It is reported, that in priuate state, Maria, Genous Dutchesse, makes to Court, Longing to see him, whom she nere shall see, Her Lord Andrugio. Belike she hath receiu'd The newes of reconciliation: Reconciliation with a death? Poore Ladie shall but finde poore comfort in't. O, let me swoone for ioy. By heauen, I thinke I ha said my prayers, within this month at least; I am so boundlesse happie. Doth she come? By this warme reeking goare, Ile marrie her. Looke I not now like an inamorate? Poyson the father, butcher the son, & marry the mother; ha! Strotzo, to bed: snort in securest sleepe: For see, the dapple gray coursers of the morne Beat vp the light with their bright siluer hooues, And chase it through the skye. To bed, to bed. This morne my vengeance shall be amply fed.