Antonio's Revenge (2 Antonio and Mellida) · chunk 6 of 29
Marston, John · published 1602 · first performed or written 1602 (Annals) tragedy · Children of Paul's (second) T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.68 · 518 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
WHO gives these ill-befitting attributes Of chaste, unspotted, bright, to Mellida, He lies as loud as thunder, she's unchaste, Tainted, impure, black as the soul of hell. Dog, I will make the eat thy vomit up, Which thou hast belked 'gainst taintless Mellida. Ram't quickly down, that it may not rise up To embraid my thoughts. Behold my stomach's: Strike me quite through with the relentless edge Of raging fury. Boy, I'll kill thy love Pandulfe Feliche, I have stabbed thy son: Look, yet his lifeblood reeks upon this steel. Albert, you hangs thy friend. Have none of you Courage of vengeance? Forget I am your Duke. Think Mellida is not Piero's blood. Imagine on slight ground, I'll blast his honour. Suppose I saw not that incestuous slave, Clipping the strumpet, with luxurious twines: O, numb my sense of anguish, cast my life In a dead sleep, whilst law cuts off yond main, Yond putrid ulcer of my royal blood. Keep league with reason, gracious Sovereign. There glow no sparks of reason in the world; All are raked up in ashy beastliness. The bulk of man's as dark as Erebus, No branch of reason's light hangs in his trunk: There lives no reason to keep league withal. I ha' no reason to be reasonable. Her wedding eve, linked to the noble blood Of my most firmly reconciled friend, And found even clinged in sensuality! O heaven! O heaven! Were she as near my heart As is my liver, I would rend her off. WHITHER, O whither shall I hurl vast grief? Here, into my breast: 'tis a place built wide By fate, to give receipt to boundless woes. O no; here throb those hearts, which I must cleave With my keen piercing news. Andrugio's dead. Dead? O me most miserable. Dead, alas, how dead? Fut weep, act, feign. Dead, alas, how dead? The vast delights of his large sudden joys Opened his powers so wide, that's native heat So prodigally flowed, t'exterior parts, That thinner Citadel was left unmanned, And so surprised on sudden by cold death. O fatal, disastrous, cursed, dismal! Choke breath and life. I breath, I live too long. Andrugio my Lord, I come, I come. Be cheerful Princess, help Castilio, The lady's swooned, help to bear her in. Slow comfort to huge cares, is swiftest sin. Courage, courage sweet Lady, 'tis sir Geoffrey Balurdo bids you courage. Truly I am as nimble as an Elephant about a Lady. Dead? Dead. Dead? Why now the womb of mischief is delivered, Of the prodigious issue of the night. Ha, ha, ha. My father dead, my love attaint of lust: That's a large lie, as vast as spacious hell: Poor guiltless Lady. O accursed lie. What, whom, whether, which shall I first lament? A dead father, a dishonoured wife. Stand. methinks I feel the frame of nature shake. Cracks not the joints of earth to bear my woes? Sweet Prince, be patient. 'Slid sir, I will not in despite of thee. Patience is slave to fools: a chain that's fixed Only to posts, and senseless log-like dolts.
nodes 316–386 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 6 of 29 in this edition
Length
518 words · 747 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.683 (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)
VVHO giues these il-befitting attributes Of chast, vnspotted, bright, to Mellida, He lies as lowde as thunder, shee's vnchast, Tainted, impure, blacke as the soule of hell. Dog, I will make the eate thy vomit vp, Which thou hast belk't gainst taintlesse Mellida. Ramm't quicklie downe, that it may not rise vp To imbraid my thoughts. Behold my stomack's: Strike me quite through with the relentlesse edge Of raging furie. Boy, Ile kill thy loue Pandulfe Feliche, I haue stabd thy sonne: Looke, yet his lifeblood reekes vpon this steele. Albert, you hangs thy friend▪ Haue none of you Courage of vengeance? Forget I am your Duke. Thinke Mellida is not Pieros bloode. Imagine on slight ground, Ile blast his honour. Suppose I sawe not that incestuous slaue, Clipping the strumpet, with luxurious twines: O, numme my sense of anguish, cast my life In a dead sleepe, whilst lawe cuts off yon maine, Yon putred vlcer of my roiall bloode. Keepe league with reason, gratious Soueraigne. There glowe no sparkes of reason in the world; All are rak't vp in ashie beastlinesse. The bulke of man's as darke as Erebus, No branch of Reasons light hangs in his trunke: There liues no reason to keepe league withall. I ha no reason to be reasonable. Her wedding eue, linkt to the noble blood Of my most firmely reconciled friend, And found euen clingd in sensualitie! O heauen! O heauen! Were she as neare my heart As is my liuer, I would rend her off. VVHITHER, O whither shal I hurle vast griefe? Here, into my breast: tis a place built wide By fate, to giue receipt to boundlesse woes. O no; here throb those hearts, which I must cleaue With my keene pearcing newes. Andrugio's dead. Dead? O me most miserable. Dead, alas, how dead? Fut weepe, act, faine. Dead, alas, how dead? The vast delights of his large sodaine ioyes Opned his powers so wide, that's natiue heate So prodigally flow'd, t'exterior parts, That thinner Citadell was left vnmand, And so surpriz'd onsodaine by colde death. O fatal, disastrous, cursed, dismall! Choake breath and life▪ I breath, I liue too long. Andrugio my Lord, I come, I come. Be cheerefull Princesse, help Castilio, The Ladie's swouned, helpe to beare her in. Slow comfort to huge cares, is swiftest sin. Courage, courage sweet Ladie, tis sir Gefferey Balurdo bids you courage. Truly I am as nimble as an Elephant about a Ladie. Dead? Dead. Dead? Why now the womb of mischiefe is deliuer'd, Of the prodigious issue of the night. Ha, ha, ha. My father dead, my loue attaint of lust: Thats a large lye, as vast as spatious hell: Poore guiltlesse Ladie. O accursed lye. What, whome, whether, which shall I first lament? A deade father, a dishonour'd wife. Stand. Me thinkes I feele the frame of nature shake. Cracks not the ioynts of earth to beare my woes? Sweet Prince, be patient. S'lid sir, I will not in despight of thee. Patience is slaue to fooles: a chaine that's fixt Onely to postes, and senslesse log-like dolts.