Antonio's Revenge (2 Antonio and Mellida) · chunk 14 of 29
Marston, John · published 1602 · first performed or written 1602 (Annals) tragedy · Children of Paul's (second) T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.79 · 524 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
And call thee brother, mount thee straight to state, Make thee of counsel; tut, tut, what not, what not? Think on't, be confident, pursue the plot. Look here's a troop, a true rogues lips are mute. I do not use to speak, but execute. So, so; run headlong to confusion: Thou slight brained mischief, thou art made as dirt, To plaster up the bracks of my defects. I'll wring what may be squeezed from out his use: And good night Strozzo. Swell plump bold heart. For now thy tide of vengeance rolleth in: O now Tragoedia Cothurnata mounts▪ Piero's thoughts are fixed on dire exploits. pell-mell: confusion, and black murder guides The organs of my spirit: shrink not heart. Capienda rebus in malis praeceps via est. THE black jades of swart night trot foggy rings 'bout heavens brow. (12) 'tis now stark dead night. Is this Saint Marks Church? It is, my Lord. Where stands my father's hearse? Those streamers bear his arms. ay, that is it. Set tapers to the tomb, & lamp the Church. Give me the fire, Now depart and sleep. I purify the air with odorous fume. graves, vaults, and tombs, groan not to bear my weight, Cold flesh, bleak trunks, wrapped in your half-rot shrouds, I press you softly, with a tender foot. Most honoured sepulchre, vouchsafe a wretch, Leave to weep o'er thee, tomb, I'll not be long Ere I creep in thee, and with bloodless lips Kiss my cold father's cheek. I pray thee, grave, Provide soft mould to wrap my carcase in. Thou royal spirit of Andrugio, where ere thou hover'st (Airy intellect) I heave up tapers to thee (view thy son) In celebration of dew obsequies. Once every night, I'll dew thy funeral hearse With my religious tears, O blessed father of a cursed son, Thou diedst most happy, since thou livedst not To see thy son most wretched, and thy wife Pursued by him that seeks my guiltless blood. O, in what orb thy mighty spirit soars, Stoop and beat down this rising fog of shame, That strives to blur thy blood, and gird defame About my innocent and spotless brows. Non est mori miserum, sed miserè mori. Thy pangs of anguish rip my cerecloth up: And lo the ghost of old Andrugio Forsakes his coffin. Antonio, revenge. I was empoisoned by Piero's hand: Revenge my blood; take spirit gentle boy: Revenge my blood. Thy Mellida, is chaste: Only to frustrate thy pursuit in love, Is blazed unchaste. Thy mother yields consent To be his wife, & give his blood a son, That made her husbandless, and doth complot To make her sonless: but before I touch The banks of rest, my ghost shall visit her. Thou vigour of my youth, juice of my love, Seize on revenge, grasp the stern bended front Of frowning vengeance, with unpeised clutch. Alarum Nemesis, rouse up thy blood, Invent some stratagem of vengeance: Which but to think on, may like lightning glide, With horror through thy breast; remember this. Scelera non ulcisceris, nisi vincis. WHERE left you him? show me good boys, away. God's me, your hair.
nodes 819–886 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 14 of 29 in this edition
Length
524 words · 775 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.792 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
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)
And call thee brother, mount thee straight to state, Make thee of counsell; tut, tut, what not, what not? Thinke ont, be confident, pursue the plot. Looke here's a troop, a true rogues lips are mute▪ I doe not vse to speake, but execute. So, so; run headlong to confusion: Thou slight brain'd mischiefe, thou art made as durt, To plaster vp the bracks of my defects. Ile wring what may be squeas'd from out his vse: And good night Strozzo. Swell plump bold heart. For now thy tide of vengeance rowleth in: O now Tragoedia Cothurnata mounts▪ Piero's thoughts are fixt on dire exploites. Pell mell: confusion, and black murder guides The organs of my spirit: shrinke not heart. Capienda rebus in malis praeceps via est. THE black iades of swart night trot foggy rings Bout heauens browe. (12) Tis now starke deade night. Is this Saint Markes Church? It is, my Lord. Where stands my fathers hearse? Those streamers beare his armes. I, that is it. Set tapers to the toumbe, & lampe the Church. Giue me the fire, Now depart and sleepe. I purifie the ayre with odorous fume. Graues, valts, and toumbes, groane not to beare my weight, Colde flesh, bleake trunkes, wrapt in your half-rot shrowdes, I presse you softly, with a tender foote. Most honour'd sepulchre, vouchsafe a wretch, Leaue to weepe ore thee, Toumb, Ile not be long Ere I creepe in thee, and with bloodlesse lips Kisse my cold fathers cheeke. I pree thee, graue, Prouide soft mould to wrap my carcasse in. Thou royal spirit of Andrugio, where ere thou houerst (Ayrie intellectt) I heaue vp tapers to thee (viewe thy son) In celebration of dewe obsequies. Once euery night, Ile dewe thy funerall hearse With my religious teares, O blessed father of a cursed son, Thou diedst most happie, since thou liuedst not To see thy sonne most wretched, and thy wife Pursu'd by him that seekes my guiltlesse blood. O, in what orbe thy mightie spirit soares, Stoop and beat downe this rising fog of shame, That striues to blur thy blood, and girt defame About my innocent and spotlesse browes. Non est mori miserum, sed miserè mori. Thy pangs of anguish rip my cerecloth vp: And loe the ghoast of ould Andrugio Forsakes his coffin. Antonio, reuenge. I was impoyson'd by Piero's hand: Reuenge my bloode; take spirit gentle boy: Reuenge my bloode. Thy Mellida, is chaste: Onely to frustrate thy pursuite in loue, Is blaz'd vnchaste. Thy mother yeelds consent To be his wife, & giue his bloode a sonne, That made her husbandlesse, and doth complot To make her sonlesse: but before I touch The banks of rest, my ghost shall visite her. Thou vigor of my youth, iuyce of my loue, Seize on reuenge, graspe the sterne bended front Of frowning vengeance, with vnpaized clutch. Alarum Nemesis, rouze vp thy blood, Inuent some stratageme of vengeance: Which but to thinke on, may like lightning glide, With horor through thy breast; remember this. Scelera non vlcisceris, nisi vincis. VVHERE left you him? shewe mee good boyes, away. Gods mee, your haire.