Dekker, Thomas / Chettle, Henry / Haughton, William · published 1603 · first performed or written 1600 [Oct 16-Dec 29, payment] (Annals) comedy · Admiral's (Nottingham's) Men unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 518 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
It never touched my heart, adversity Dwells still with them that dwells with misery, But mild content hath eased me of that yoke, Patience hath borne the bruise and I the stroke. Give him his silks they shall not touch my back What strife is there, what aileth Laureo? I will not wear proud trappings like a beast, Yet hourly feel the scornful rider's spur, Cloth old Ianicola in rich attire, Do, load me, for to bear is my desire. Do ye repine, nay then i'll vex you more, Grissel I will receive this second wife From none but from thy hands: come give her me, I here present you with an endless bliss, Rich honour, beauteous virtue, virtuous youth, Long live my Lord with her contentedly. Marg patience there Gwenthyan see you thade. Grissel dost thou deliver me this maid, As an untainted flower which I shall keep, Despite of envies canker, till the rust, Of all consuming death finish her life? I do my dear Lord, and as willingly As I delivered up my maiden youth. What says Ianicola? I say but thus, Great men are Gods, and they have power over us, Grissel hold fast the right hand of my bride, Thou wear'st a willow wreath and she a crown, True bride take thou the crown and she the wreath, My gracious Lord you do mistake yourself. Peace peace, thou sycophant Grissel receive Large interests for thy love and sufferance. Thou gav'st me this fair maid, I in exchange, Return thee her: and this young Gentleman Thy Son and daughter kiss with patience, And breathe thy virtuous spirit into their souls. Owe Sir Owen mark you now, the man is yielded to her Latie, learn now Sir owen learn, learn Knight your duty, see you thade? Why stands my wronged Grissel thus amazed? joy fear, love hate, hope doubts encompass me. Are these my children I supposed slain? Are these my nephews that were murdered? Blessing distill on you like morning dew, My soul knit to your souls, knows you are mine. They are, & I am thine: Lords look not strange, These two are they, at whose births envies tongue, Darted envenomed stings, these are the fruit Of this most virtuous tree, that multitude, That many headed beasts, nipped their sweet hearts, With wrongs, with bitter wrongs, all you have wronged her, myself have done most wrong, for I did try To break the temper of true constancy: But these whom all thought murdered are alive, My Grissel lives, and in the book of Fame, All worlds in gold shall register her name. Most dreaded Lord. Arise flatterers get you gone, Your souls are made of black confusion. Father Ianicola. Oh pardon me, Though dumb betwixt my grief and joy I be. Who stands thus sad, what brother Laureo? Pardon me my gracious Lord, for now I see, That Scholars with weak eyes, poor on their books, But want true souls to judge on Majesty: None else but Kings can know the hearts of Kings, Hence forth my pride shall fly with humbler wings.
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)
It neuer toucht my heart, aduersity Dwels still with them that dwels with misery, But milde content hath eas'd me of that yoake, Patience hath borne the bruize and I the stroke. Giue him his silkes they shal not touch my back What strife is there, what aileth Laureo? I will not weare proud trappings like a beast, Yet hourelie feele the scornfull riders spurre, Cloth olde Ianicola in rich attire, Doe, load me, for to beare is my desire. Doe ye repine, nay then ile vex you more, Grissill I will receiue this second wife From none but from thy hands: come giue her mée, I heere present you with an endlesse blisse, Rich honour, beautious vertue, vertuous youth, Long liue my Lord with her contentedly. Marg patience there Gwenthyan see you thade▪ Grissill dost thou deliuer me this maide, As an vntainted flower which I shall keepe, Despite of enuies canker, till the rust, Of all consuming death finish her lilfe? I doe my deare Lord, and as willingly As I deliuered vp my maiden youth. What saies Ianicola? I say but thus, Great men are Gods, and they haue power ore vs, Grissill hold fast the right hand of my bride, Thou wearst a willow wreath and she a crowne, True bride take thou the crowne and she the wreath, My gratious Lord you doe mistake your selfe. Peace peace, thou Siccophant Grissil receiue Large interests for thy loue and sufferance. Thou gau'st me this faire maide, I in exchange, Returne thee her: and this young Gentleman Thy Sonne and daughter kisse with patience, And breath thy vertuous spirit into their soules. Owe Sir Owen marg you now, the man is yéelded to her Latie, lerne now Sir owen learne, learne Knight your duetie, see you thade? Why stands my wronged Grissil thus amazed? Ioy feare, loue hate, hope doubts incompasse me. Are these my children I supposed slaine? Are these my nephewes that were murdred? Blessing distill on you like morning deaw, My soule knit to your soules, knowes you are mine. They are, & I am thine: Lords looke not strange, These two are they, at whose birthes enuies tongue, Darted enuenom'd stings, these are the fruite Of this most vertuous tree, that multitude, That many headed beastes, nipt their sweet hearts, With wrongs, with bitter wrongs, al you hane wrong'd her, My selfe haue done most wrong, for I did try To breake the temper of true constancie: But these whom all thought murdred are aliue, My Grissill liues, and in the booke of Fame, All worldes in golde shall register her name. Most dreaded Lord. Arise flatterers get you gone, Your soules are made of blacke confusion. Father Ianicola. Oh pardon me, Though dumbe betwixt my griefe and ioy I be. Who stands thus sad, what brother Laureo? Pardon me my gratious Lord, for now I see, That Schollers with weake eyes, pore on their bookes, But want true soules to iudge on Maiestie: None else but Kings can know the hearts of Kings, Hence foorth my pride shall fly with humbler wings.