Antonio's Revenge (2 Antonio and Mellida) · chunk 23 of 29
Marston, John · published 1602 · first performed or written 1602 (Annals) tragedy · Children of Paul's (second) T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.81 · 487 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
O piteous end of love: o too too rude hand Of unrespective death! Alas, sweet maid. Forbear me heaven. What intend these plaints? The beauty of admired creation, The life of modest unmixed purity, Our sex's glory, Mellida is What? o heaven, what? Dead. May it not sad your thoughts, how? Being laid upon her bed, she grasped my hand, And kissing it, spoke thus; Thou very poor, Why dost not weep? The jewel of thy brow, The rich adornment, that enchased thy breast, Is lost: thy son, my love is lost, is dead. And do I live to say Antonio's dead? And have I lived to see his virtues blurred, With guiltless blots! O world thou art too subtle, For honest natures to converse withal. Therefore I'll leave thee; farewell mart of woe, I fly to clip my love, Antonio. With that her head sunk down upon her breast: Her cheek changed earth, her senses slept in rest: Until my fool, that pressed unto the bed, screeched out so loud, that he brought back her soul, Called her again, that her bright eyes 'gan ope, And stared upon him: he audacious fool, Dared kiss her hand, wished her soft rest, loved bride; She fumbled out, thanks good, and so she died. And so she died: I do not use to weep: But by thy love (out of whose fertile sweet, I hope for as fair fruit) I am deep sad: I will not stay my marriage for all this. Castilio Forobosco, all Strain all your wits, wind up invention Unto his highest bent: to sweet this night, Make us drink Lethe by your quaint conceits; That for two days, oblivion smother grief: But when my daughter's exequies approach, Let's all turn sighers. Come, despite of fate, Sound loudest music, let's pace out in state. I Heaven, thou mayst, thou mayst omnipotence. What vermin bred of putrifacted slime, Shall dare to expostulate with thy decrees! O heaven, thou mayst indeed: she was all thine, All heavenly, I did but humbly beg To borrow her of thee a little time. Thou gav'st her me, as some weak breasted dame Giveth her infant, puts it out to nurse; And when it once goes high-lone, takes it back. She was my vital blood, and yet, and yet, I'll not blaspheme. Look here, behold, I turn my prostrate breast upon thy face, And vent a heaving sigh. O hear but this; I am a poor poor orphan; a weak, weak child, The wrack of splitted fortune, the very Ouze, The quick sand that devours all misery. Behold the valiantest creature that doth breathe. For all this, I dare live, and I will live, Only to numb some others cursed blood, With the dead palsy of like misery. Then death, like to a stifling Incubus, Lie on my bosom. Lo sir, I am sped. My breast is Golgotha, grave for the dead.
nodes 1392–1454 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 23 of 29 in this edition
Length
487 words · 692 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.807 (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)
O pittious end of loue: ô too too rude hand Of vnrespectiue death! Alas, sweete maide. Forbear me heauen. What intend these plaints? The beautie of admir'd creation, The life of modest vnmixt puritie, Our sexes glorie, Mellida is What? ô heauen, what? Deade. May it not sad your thoughts, how? Being laid vpon her bed, she graspt my hād, And kissing it, spake thus; Thou very pore, Why dost not weepe? The Iewell of thy browe, The rich adornement, that inchac't thy breast, Is lost: thy son, my loue is lost, is deade. And doe I liue to say Antonio's deade? And haue I liu'd to see his vertues blurd, With guiltlesse blots! O world thou art too subtile, For honest natures to conuerse withall. Therefore Ile leaue thee; farewell mart of woe, I fly to clip my loue, Antonio. With that her head sunk down vpon her brest: Her cheeke chang'd earth, her senses slept in rest: Vntill my foole, that press'd vnto the bed, Screch't out so lowd, that he brought back her soule, Calde her againe, that her bright eyes gan ope, And starde vpon him: he audatious foole, Dar'd kisse her hand, wisht her soft rest, lou'd bride; She fumbled out, thanks good, and so she dide. And so she dide: I doe not vse to weepe: But by thy loue (out of whose fertile sweete, I hope for as faire fruite) I am deepe sad: I will not stay my mariage for all this. Castilio Forobosco, all Straine all your wits, winde vp inuention Vnto his highest bent: to sweete this night, Make vs drinke Lethe by your queint conceipts; That for two daies, obliuion smother griefe: But when my daughters exequies approach, Let's all turne sighers. Come, despight of fate, Sound lowdest musick, lets pase out in state. I Heauen, thou maist, thou maist omnipotence. What vermine bred of putrifacted slime, Shall dare to expostulate with thy decrees! O heauen, thou maist indeede: she was all thine, All heauenly, I did but humbly beg To borrowe her of thee a little time. Thou gau'st her me, as some weake breasted dame Giueth her infant, puts it out to nurse; And when it once goes high-lone, takes it back. She was my vitall blood, and yet, and yet, Ile not blaspheame. Looke here, beholde, I turne my prostrate breast vpon thy face, And vent a heauing sigh. O heare but this; I am a poore poore Orphant; a weake, weak childe, The wrack of splitted fortune, the very Ouze, The quick sand that deuours all miserie. Beholde the valiant'st creature that doth breath. For all this, I dare liue, and I will liue, Onely to numme some others cursed bloode, With the dead palsie of like misery. Then death, like to a stifling Incubus, Lie on my bosome. Loe sir, I am sped. My breast is Golgotha, graue for the deade.