Antonio's Revenge (2 Antonio and Mellida) · chunk 12 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 · 517 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
O here, here is a vent to pass my sighs. I have surcharged the dungeon with my plaints. Prison, and heart will burst, if void of vent. I, that is Phoebe, empress of the night, That 'gins to mount; o chastest deity: If I be false to my Antonio, If the least soil of lust smears my pure love, Make me more wretched, make me more accursed Than infamy, torture, death, hell and heaven Can bound with amplest power of thought: if not, Purge my poor heart, with defamations blot. Purge my poor heart from defamations blot! Poor heart, how like her virtuous self▪ she speaks. Mellida, dear Mellida, it is Antonio: Slink not away, 'tis thy Antonio. How found you out, my Lord (alas) I know 'tis easy in this age, to find out woe. I have a suit to you. What is't, dear soul? Kill me, i'faith I'll wink, not stir a jot. For God sake kill me: insooth, loved youth, I am much injured; look, see how I creep. I cannot wreak my wrong, but sigh and weep. May I be cursed, but I credit thee. To morrow I must die. Alas, for what? For loving thee; 'tis true my sweetest breast. I must die falsely: so must thou, dear heart. Nets are a knitting to entrap thy life. Thy father's death must make a Paradise To my (I shame to call him) father. Tell me sweet, Shall I die thine? dost love me still, and still? I do. Then welcome heavens will. Madam, I will not swell like a Tragedian, in forced passion of affected strains. If I had present power of aught but pitying you, I would be as ready to redress your wrongs, as to pursue your love. Throngs of thoughts crowd for their passage, somewhat I will do. Reach me thy hand: think this is honours bent, To live unslaved, to die innocent. Let me entreat a favour, gracious love. Be patient, see me die, good do not weep: Go sup, sweet chuck, drink, and securely sleep. i'faith I cannot, but I'll force my face To palliate my sickness. Give me thy hand. Peace on thy bosom dwell: That's all my woe can breathe: kiss. Thus farewell. Farewell: my heart is great of thoughts, Stay dove: And therefore I must speak: but what? o Love! By this white hand no more: read in these tears, What crushing anguish thy Antonio bears. God night good heart, Thus heat from blood, thus souls from Body's part. He grieves, laugh Strozzo: laugh, he weeps. Hath he tears? o pleasure! hath he tears? Now do I scourge Andrugio with steel whips Of knotty vengeance. Strozzo, cause me straight Some plaining ditty to augment despair. Triumph Piero: hark, he groans, o rare! Behold a prostrate wretch laid on his tomb. His Epitaph, thus; Ne plus vltra. Ho. Let none out, woe me: mine's Herculean woe. MAY I be more cursed than heaven can make me; If I am not more wretched Than man can conceive me. Sore forlorn orphan, what omnipotence can make thee happy?
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)
O here, here is a vent to passe my sighes. I haue surcharg'd the dungeon with my plaints. Prison, and heart will burst, if void of vent▪ I, that is Phoebe, empresse of the night, That gins to mount; ô chastest deitie: If I be false to my Antonio, If the least soyle of lust smeers my pure loue, Make me more wretched, make me more accurst Then infamie, torture, death, hell and heauen Can bound with amplest power of thought: if not, Purge my poore heart, with defamations blot. Purge my poore heart from defamations blot! Poore heart, how like her vertuous selfe▪ she speakes. Mellida, deare Mellida, it is Antonio: Slinke not away, tis thy Antonio. How found you out, my Lord (alas) I knowe Tis easie in this age, to finde out woe. I haue a sute to you. What is't, deare soule? Kill me, I faith Ile winke, not stir a iot. For God sake kill mee: insooth, lou'd youth, I am much iniur'd; looke, see how I creepe. I cannot wreake my wrong, but sigh and weepe. May I be cursed, but I credit thee. To morrowe I must die▪ Alas, for what? For louing thee; tis true my sweetest breast▪ I must die falsely: so must thou, deare heart. Nets are a knitting to intrappe thy life. Thy fathers death must make a Paradice To my (I shame to call him) father. Tell me sweet, Shall I die thine? dost loue mee still, and still? I doe. Then welcome heauens will. Madam, I will not swell like a Tragedian, in forced passion of affected straines. If I had present power of ought but pittying you, I would be as readie to redresse your wrongs, as to pursue your loue. Throngs of thoughts crowde for their passage, somewhat I will doe. Reach me thy hand: thinke this is honors bent, To liue vnslau'd, to die innocent. Let me entreat a fauour, gratious loue. Be patient, see me die, good doe not weepe: Goe sup, sweete chuck, drinke, and securely sleepe. I faith I cannot, but Ile force my face To palliate my sicknesse. Giue me thy hand. Peace on thy bosome dwel: Thats all my woe can breath: kisse. Thus farewell. Farewell: my heart is great of thoughts, Stay doue: And therefore I must speake: but what? ô Loue! By this white hand: eno more: reade in these teares, What crushing anguish thy Antonio beares. God night good harte, Thus heate from blood, thus soules from bodies part. He greeues, laughe Strozzo: laugh, he weepes. Hath he teares? ô pleasure! hath he teares? Now doe I scourge Andrugio with steele whips Of knottie vengeance. Strozzo, cause me straight Some plaining dittie to augment despaire. Tryumph Piero: harke, he groanes, ô rare! Beholde a prostrate wretch laid on his toumbe. His Epitaph, thus; Ne plus vltra. Ho. Let none out▪ woe me: mine's Herculean woe. MAY I be more cursed then heauen can make me; If I am not more wretched Then man can conceiue me. Sore forlorne Orphant, what omnipotence can make thee happie?