Antonio's Revenge (2 Antonio and Mellida) · chunk 9 of 29
Marston, John · published 1602 · first performed or written 1602 (Annals) tragedy · Children of Paul's (second) unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 495 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
I'll seem to wind you fool with kindest arm. He that's ambitious minded, and but man, Must have his followers beasts, dubbed slavish sots: Whose service is obedience, and whose wit Reacheth no further than to admire their Lord, And stare in adoration of his worth. I love, a slave raked out of common mud Should seem to sit in counsel with my heart. High honoured blood's too squeamish to assent, And lend a hand to an ignoble act. Poison from roses who could ere abstract? How now Pandulfo, weeping for thy son? NO no, Piero, weeping for my sins: Had I been a good father, he had been a gracious son. Pollution must be purged. Why taint'st thou then the air with stench of flesh, And human putrefactions noisome sent? I pray his body. Who less boon can crave, Than to bestow upon the dead, his grave? Grave? why? think'st thou he deserves a grave, That hath defiled the temple of Peace, peace: methinks I hear a humming murmur creep From out his gelid wounds. Look on those lips, Those now lawn pillows, on whose tender softness, Chaste modest speech, stealing from out his breast, Had wont to rest itself, as loath to post From out so fair an Inn: look, look, they seem to stir, And breath defiance to black obloquy. Thinkest thou thy son could suffer wrongfully? A wise man wrongfully, but never wrong Can take: his breast's of such well tempered proof, It may be razed, not pierced by savage tooth Of foaming malice: showers of darts may dark Heavens ample brow: but not strike out a spark; Much less pierce the sun's cheek. Such songs as these, I often dittied till my boy did sleep: But now I turn plain fool (alas) I weep. Fore heaven he makes me shrug: would a were dead: He is a virtuous man. What has our court to do With virtue, in the devils name! Pandulpho, hark. My lustful daughter dies: start not, she dies. I pursue justice, I love sanctity, And an undefiled temple of pure thoughts. Shall I speak freely? Good Andrugio's dead: And I do fear a fetch; but (umh) would I durst speak. I do mistrust; but (umh) death: is he all, all man: Hath he no part of mother in him, ha? No irish womanish inquisitiveness? Andrugio's dead! ay, and I fear, his own unnatural blood, To whom he gave life, hath given death for life. How could he come on, I see false suspect Is vicde; wrung hardly in a virtuous heart. Well, I could give you reason for my doubts. You are of honoured birth, my very friend. You know how godlike 'tis to root out sin. Antonio is a villain. Will you join In oath with me, against the traitor's life, And swear, you knew, he sought his father's death? I loved him well, yet I love justice more: Our friends we should affect, justice adore.
seed 43: T7 · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Ile seeme to winde you foole with kindest arme. He that's ambitious minded, and but man, Must haue his followers beasts, dubd slauish sots: Whose seruice is obedience, and whose wit Reacheth no further then to admire their Lord, And stare in adoration of his worth. I loue, a slaue rak't out of common mud Should seeme to sit in counsell with my heart. High honour'd blood's too squemish to assent, And lend a hand to an ignoble act▪ Poyson from roses who could ere abstract? How now Pandulfo, weeping for thy sonne? NO no, Piero, weeping for my sinnes: Had I bin a good father, he had bin a gratious sonne. Pollution must be purg'd. Why taintst thou then the ayre with stench of flesh, And humane putrifactions noysome sent? I pray his bodie. Who lesse boone can craue, Than to bestowe vpon the deade, his graue? Graue? why? think'st thou he deserues a graue, That hath defil'd the temple of Peace, peace: Me thinks I heare a humming murmur creepe From out his gelli'd wounds. Looke on those lips, Those now lawne pillowes, on whose tender softnesse, Chaste modest speach, stealing from out his breast, Had wont to rest it selfe, as loath to poast From out so faire an Inne: look, look, they seeme to stir, And breath defyance to black obloquie. Think'st thou thy sonne could suffer wrongfully? A wise man wrongfully, but neuer wrong Can take: his breast's of such well tempered proofe, It may be rac'd, not pearc't by sauage tooth Of foaming malice: showers of dartes may darke Heauens ample browe: but not strike out a sparke; Much lesse pearce the Suns cheek. Such songs as these, I often dittied till my boy did sleepe: But now I turne plaine foole (alas) I weepe. Fore heauen he makes me shrug: wold a were deade: He is a vertuous man. What has our court to doe With vertue, in the diuels name! Pandulpho, harke. My lustfull daughter dies: start not, she dies. I pursue iustice, I loue sanctitie, And an vndefiled temple of pure thoughts. Shall I speake freely? Good Andrugio's dead: And I doe feare a fetch; but (vmh) would I durst speake. I doe mistrust; but (vmh) death: is he all, all man: Hath he no part of mother in him, ha? No licorish womanish inquisitiuenesse? Andrugio's deade! I, and I feare, his owne vnnaturall blood, To whome he gaue life, hath giuen death for life. How could he come on, I see false suspect Is vicde; wrung hardly in a vertuous heart. Well, I could giue you reason for my doubts. You are of honour'd birth, my very friende. You know how god-like tis to roote out sin. Antonio is a villaine. Will you ioyne In oath with me, against the traitors life, And sweare, you knewe, he sought his fathers death? I lou'd him well, yet I loue iustice more: Our friends we should affect, iustice adore.