Antonio's Revenge (2 Antonio and Mellida) · chunk 25 of 29
Marston, John · published 1602 · first performed or written 1602 (Annals) tragedy · Children of Paul's (second) T0 Court life: dukes, favour and honour typicality 0.71 · 464 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T0: duke, lord, duchess, love, court, madam, prince, honour, grace, lady.
Have I an arm, a heart, a sword, a soul? Were you but private unto what we know I'll know it all; first let's inter the dead: Let's dig his grave, with that shall dig the heart, Liver, and entrails of the murderer. Wilt sing a Dirge boy? No, no song: 'twill be vile out of tune. Indeed he's hoarse: the poor boy's voice is cracked. Why cuz? why should it not be hoarse & cracked, When all the strings of nature's symphony Are cracked, & jar? why should his voice keep tune, When there's no music in the breast of man? I'll say an honest antic rhyme I have; (Help me good sorrow-mates to give him grave.) Death, exile, plaints, and woe, Are but man's lackeys, not his foe. No mortal scapes from fortune's war, Without a wound, at least a scar. Many have led these to the grave: But all shall follow, none shall save. Blood of my youth, rot and consume, Virtue, in dirt, doth life assume: With this old saw, close up this dust; Thrice blessed man that dieth just. The gloomy wing of night begins to stretch His lazy pinion over all the air: We must be stiff and steady in resolve. Let's thus our hands, our hearts, our arms involve. Now swear we by this Gordian knot of love, By the fresh turned up mould that wraps my son; By the dead brow of triple Hecate: Ere night shall close the lids of you bright stars, we'll sit as heavy on Piero's heart, As Aetna doth on groaning Pelorus. Thanks good old man. we'll cast at royal chance. Let's think a plot; then pell-mell vengeance. Venit dies, tempúsque, quo reddat suis Animam squallentem sceleribus. The fist of strenuous vengeance is clutched, And stern Vindicta towereth up aloft, That she may fall with a more weighty poise, And crush lives sap from out Piero's veins. Now 'gins the leprous cores of ulcered sins Wheal to a head: now is his fate grown mellow, Instant to fall into the rotten jaws Of chap-fallen death. Now down looks providence, T'attend the last act of my son's revenge. Be gracious, Observation, to our scene: For now the plot unites his scattered limbs Close in contracted bands. The Florence Prince (Drawn by firm notice of the Duke's black deeds) Is made a partner in conspiracy. The States of Venice are so swollen in hate Against the Duke, for his accursed deeds (Of which they are confirmed by some odd letters Found in dead Strotzo's study, which had passed Betwixt Piero and the murdering slave) That they can scarce retain from bursting forth In plain revolt. O, now triumphs my ghost; Exclaiming, heaven's just; for I shall see, The scourge of murder and impiety.
seed 43: T0 · seed 44: T0 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Haue I an arme, a heart, a sword, a sowle? Were you but priuate vnto what we know Ile knowe it all; first let's interre the dead: Let's dig his graue, with that shall dig the heart, Liuer, and intrals of the murderer. Wilt sing a Dirge boy? No, no song: twill be vile out of tune. Indeede he's hoarce: the poore boyes voice is crackt. Why cuz? why shold it not be hoarce & crackt, When all the strings of natures symphony Are crackt, & iar? why should his voice keepe tune, When ther's no musick in the breast of man? Ile say an honest antick rime I haue; (Helpe me good sorrow-mates to giue him graue.) Death, exile, plaints, and woe, Are but mans lackies, not his foe. No mortall scapes from fortunes warre, Without a wound, at least a scarre. Many haue led these to the graue: But all shall followe, none shall saue. Bloode of my youth, rot and consume, Virtue, in dirt, doth life assume: With this ould sawe, close vp this dust; Thrice blessed man that dyeth iust. The gloomie wing of night begins to stretch His lasie pinion ouer all the ayre: We must be stiffe and steddie in resolue. Let's thus our hands, our hearts, our armes inuolue. Now sweare we by this Gordian knot of loue, By the fresh turnd vp mould that wraps my sonne; By the deade browe of triple Hecate: Ere night shall close the lids of you bright stars, Weele sit as heauie on Pieros heart, As Aetna doth on groning Pelorus. Thanks good old man. Weele cast at royall chaunce. Let's thinke a plot; then pell mell vengeance. Venit dies, tempúsque, quo reddat suis Animam squallentem sceleribus. The fist of strenuous vengeance is clutcht, And sterne Vindicta towreth vp aloft, That she may fal with a more waightie paise, And crush liues sap from out Pieros vaines. Now gins the leprous cores of vlcered sins Wheale to a heade: now is his fate growne mellow, Instant to fall into the rotten iawes Of chap-falne death. Now downe lookes prouidēce, T'attend the last act of my sons reuenge. Be gratious, Obseruation, to our sceane: For now the plot vnites his scattred limbes Close in contracted bands. The Florence Prince (Drawne by firme notice of the Dukes black deeds) Is made a partner in conspiracie. The States of Venice are so swolne in hate Against the Duke, for his accursed deeds (Of which they are confirm'd by some odde letters Found in dead Strotzos studie, which had past Betwixt Piero and the murdring slaue) That they can scarce retaine from bursting foorth In plaine reuolt. O, now tryumphes my ghost; Exclaiming, heauen's iust; for I shal see, The scourge of murder and impietie.