Antonio's Revenge (2 Antonio and Mellida) · chunk 26 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 0.74 · 495 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T0: duke, lord, duchess, love, court, madam, prince, honour, grace, lady.
HOE, who's above there, hoe? A murrain on all Proverbs. They say, hunger breaks through stone walls; but I am as gaunt, as lean ribbed famine: yet I can burst through no stone walls. O, now sir Geoffrey, show thy valour, break prison, and be hanged. Nor shall the darkest nook of hell contain the discontented sir Balurdo's ghost. Well, I am out well, I have put off the prison to put on the rope. O poor shotten herring, what a pickle art thou in! O hunger, how thou domineer'st in my guts! O, for a fat leg of Ewe mutton in stewed broth; or drunken song to feed on. I could belch rarely, for I am all wind. O cold, cold, cold, cold, cold. O poor knight, o poor sir Geoffrey; sing like an Unicorn, before thou dost dip thy horn in the water of death; o cold, o sing, o cold, o poor sir Geoffrey, sing, sing. VINDICTA. Mellida. Alberto. Antonio. Hath the Duke supped? Yes, and triumphant revels mount aloft. The Duke drinks deep to overdowe his grief. The court is racked to pleasure, each man strains To feign a jocund eye. The Florentine Young Galeatzo? even he is mighty on our part. The States of Venice Like high-swollen floods, drive down the muddy dams Of pent allegiance. O, my lusty bloods, Heaven sits clapping of our enterprise. I have been labouring general favour firm, And I do find the citizens grown sick With swallowing the bloody crudities Of black Piero's acts; they fain would cast And vomit him from off their government. Now is the plot of mischief ripped wide ope: Letters are found twixt Strotzo and the Duke, So clear apparent: yet more firmly strong By suiting circumstance; that as I walked Muffled, to eves-drop speech, I might observe The graver Statesmen whispering fearfully. Here one gives nods & hums, what he would speak: The rumour's got 'mong troup of citizens, Making loud murmur, with confused din: One shakes his head, and sighs; O ill used power: Another frets, and sets his grinding teeth, Foaming with rage; and swears this must not be. Here one complots, and on a sudden starts, And cries; o monstrous, o deep villainy! All knit there nerves, and from beneath swollen brows Appears a gloating eye of much mislike: Whilst swart Piero's lips reek steam of wine, Swallows lust-thoughts, devours all pleasing hopes, With strong imagination of, what not? O, now Vindicta; that's the word we have: A royal vengeance, or a royal grave. Vindicta. I am acold. Who's there? sir Geoffrey? A poor knight, god wot: the nose of thy knighthood is bitten off with cold. O poor sir Geoffrey, cold, cold. What chance of fortune hath tripped up his heels, And laid him in the kennel? ha? I will discourse it all. Poor honest soul, Hadst thou a beaver to clasp up thy face, Thou shouldst associate us in maskery, And see revenge.
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)
HOE, who's aboue there, hoe? A murren on all Prouerbes. They say, hunger breakes thorough stone walles; but I am as gant, as leane ribd famine: yet I can burst through no stone walles. O, now sir Gefferey, shewe thy valour, breake prison, and be hangd. Nor shall the darkest nooke of hell containe the discontented sir Balurdos ghost. Well, I am out well, I haue put off the prison to put on the rope. O poore shotten herring, what a pickle art thou in! O hunger, how thou dominer'st in my guts! O, for a fat leg of Ewe mutton in stewde broth; or drunken song to feede on. I could belch rarely, for I am all winde. O colde, colde, colde, colde, colde. O poore knight, ô poore sir Gefferey; sing like an Vnicorne, before thou dost dip thy horne in the water of death; ô cold, ô sing, ô colde, ô poore sir Geffrey, sing, sing. VINDICTA. Mellida. Alberto. Antonio. Hath the Duke supt? Yes, and tryumphant reuels mount aloft. The Duke drinkes deepe to ouerdowe his griefe. The court is rackt to pleasure, each man straines To faine a iocund eye. The Florentine Young Galeatzo? Euen he is mightie on our part. The States of Venice Like high-swoln floods, driue down the muddie dammes Of pent allegeance. O, my lustie bloods, Heauen sits clapping of our enterprise. I haue beene labouring generall fauour firme, And I doe finde the citizens growne sick With swallowing the bloodie crudities Of black Pieros acts; they faine would cast And vomit him from off their gouernement. Now is the plot of mischiefe ript wide ope: Letters are found twixt Strotzo and the Duke, So cleare apparent: yet more firmely strong By suiting circumstance; that as I walkt Muffled, to eues-drop speech, I might obserue The grauer States-men whispering fearefully. Here one giues nods & hums, what he would speake: The rumour's got 'mong troope of citizens, Making lowde murmur, with confused dinne: One shakes his head, and sighes; O ill vs'd powre: Another frets, and sets his grinding teeth, Foaming with rage; and sweares this must not be. Here one complots, and on a sodaine starts, And cries; ô monstrous, ô deepe villanie! All knit there nerues, and from beneath swoln brows Appeares a gloting eye of much mislike: Whilst swart Pieros lips reake steame of wine, Swallowes lust-thoughts, deuours all pleasing hopes, With strong imagination of, what not? O, now Vindicta; that's the word we haue: A royall vengeance, or a royall graue. Vindicta. I am acolde. Who's there? sir Geffrey? A poor knight, god wot: the nose of thy knighthoode is bitten off with cold. O poore sir Geffrey, cold, cold. What chance of fortune hath tript vp his heels, And laid him in the kennell? ha? I will discourse it all. Poore honest soule, Hadst thou a beuer to clasp vp thy face, Thou shouldst associate vs in masquery, And see reuenge.