Marston, John · published 1604 · first performed or written 1604 [1602-1604] (Annals) tragicomedy · Children of the Chapel (second) T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.74 · 508 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
It is too well, my bosom, and my heart, When nothing helps, cut of the rotten part. Who cannot feign friendship, can near produce the effects of hatred: Honest fool Duke, subtle lascivious Duchess, silly novice ferneze; I do laugh at ye, my brain is in labour till it produce mischief, & I feel sudden throes, proofs sensible, the issue is at hand. As bears shape young, so I'll form my device, Which grown proves horrid: Vengeance makes men wise. he's caught, the woodcock's head is i'th' noose, Now treads Ferneze in dangerous path of lust, Swearing his sense is merely deified. The fool grasps clouds, and shall beget centaurs. Aud now in strength of panting faint delight, The Goat bids heaven envy him; good Goose, I can afford thee nothing but the poor comfort of calamity, Pity. Lusts like the plummets hanging on clock lines, Will near a done till all is quite is undone. Such is the course salt sallow lust doth run. Which thou shalt try; I'll be revenged. Duke thy suspect, Duchess thy disgrace, Ferneze thy rivalship, Shall have swift vengeance, nothing so holy, No band of nature so strong, No law of friendship so sacred, But i'll profane, burst, violate Fore i'll endure disgrace: contempt and poverty: Shall I whose very hum, struck all heads bare, Whose face made silence: creaking of whose shoe, Forced the most private passages fly ope, Scrape like a servile dog at some latched door? Learn now to make a leg? and cry beseech ye, Pray ye is such a Lord within? be awed At some odd ushers scoffed formality? First sear my brains: Unde cadis non quo refert. My heart cries perish all, how? how? what fate? Can once avoid revenge, that's desperate, I'll to the Duke, if all should ope, if? tush Fortune still dotes on those who cannot blush. Bless ye cast a Ladies; ha Dipsas, how dost thou old Coal. Old Coal? I old Coal, methinks thou liest like a brand under these billets of green wood. He that will inflame a young wench's heart, let him lay close to her, an old Coal that hath first been fired a panderess, my half burnt lint, who though thou canst not flame thyself yet art able to set a 1000. virgins tapers a fire: and how does January thy husband, my little periwinkle: is a troubled with the cough a the lungs still, does he hawk a-nights still, he will not bite. No by my troth, I took him with his mouth empty of old teeth. And hem took thee with thy belly full of young bones, marry he took his maim by the stroke of his enemy. And I mine by the stroke of my friend: The close stock, o mortal wench: Lady ha' ye now no restoratives for your decayed Iason, look ye, Crabs guts baked, distilled ox-pith, the pulverised hairs of a lions upper lip, jelly of Cock-sparrows, He monkey's marrow, or powder of fox-stones; and whither are all you ambling now?
nodes 245–286 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 7 of 28 in this edition
Length
508 words · 720 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.736 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
It is too well, my bozome, and my hart, When nothing helpes, cut of the rotten part. Who cannot faine friendship, can nere produce the effects of hatred: Honest foole Duke, subtile lasciuious Dutches, silly nouice ferneze; I doe laugh at yee, my braine is in labour till it produce mischiefe, & I feele sudden thro's, proofes sencible, the issue is at hand. As Beares shape young, so Ile forme my deuice, Which growne prooues horrid: Vengeance makes men wise. Hee's caught, the Woodcocks head is i'th noose, Now treads Ferneze in daungerous path of lust, Swearing his sence is meerely deified. The foole grasps clowds, and shall beget Centaures. Aud now in strength of panting faint delight, The Goate bids heauen enuie him; good Goose, I can afforde thee nothing but the poore cōfort of calamity, Pitty. Lusts like the plummets hanging on clock lines, Will nere a done till all is quite is vndone. Such is the course salt sallow lust doth runne. Which thou shalt trie; Ile be reueng'd. Duke thy suspect, Dutches thy disgrace, Ferneze thy riuall-ship, Shall haue swift vengeance, nothing so holy, No band of nature so strong, No law of friendship so sacred, But ile prophane, burst, violate Fore ile indure disgrace: contempt and pouertie: Shall I whose very humme, strooke all heads bare, Whose face made scilence: creaking of whose shooe, Forc'd the most priuate passages flie ope, Scrape like a seruile dog at some latch'd doore? Learne now to make a leg? and cry beseech yee, Pray yee is such a Lord within? be aw'd At some odde vshers scoft formality? First seare my braines: Unde cadis non quo refert. My hart cries perish all, how? how? what fate? Can once auoide reuenge, thats desperate, Ile to the Duke, if all should ope, if? tush Fortune still dotes on those who cannot blush. Blesse ye cast a Ladies; ha Dipsas, how doost thou old Cole. Olde Cole? I old Cole, me thinkes thou liest like a brand vnder these billets of greene wood. He that will inflame a yonge wenches hart, let him lay close to her, an ould Cole that hath first bin fierd a pandresse, my halfe burnt lynt, who though thou canst not flame thy selfe yet art able to set a 1000. virgins tapers a fiar: and how do's Ianiuere thy husband, my little periwincle: is a trobled with the cough a the Lunges still, does he hawke anights still, he will not bite. No by my troth, I tooke him with his mouth emptie of ould teeth. And hē tooke thee with thy belly ful of yong bones, marry he tooke his maime by the stroake of his enemie. And I myne by the stroake of my freinde: The close stock, ô mortall wench: Ladie ha ye now no restoratiues for your decayed Iason, looke yee, Crabs guts bak't, distil'd Oxe-pith, the puluerized haires of a Lyons vpper lip, gelly of Cock-sparrowes, Hee Monkeis marrow, or powder of Foxe-stones; and whither are all you ambling now?