Marston, John · published 1604 · first performed or written 1604 [1602-1604] (Annals) tragicomedy · Children of the Chapel (second) T0 Court life: dukes, favour and honour typicality 0.81 · 522 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T0: duke, lord, duchess, love, court, madam, prince, honour, grace, lady.
And those whom Princes do once groundly hate, Let them provide to die; as sure as fate, Prevention is the heart of policy. Shall we murder him. Instantly? Instantly, before he casts a plot, Or further blaze my honours much known blot, Let's murder him? I would do much for you, will ye marry me? I'll make thee Duke, we are of Medici's, Florence our friend, in court my faction Not meanly strength-ful; the Duke then dead, We well prepared for change, the multitude Irresolutely reeling, we in force, Our party seconded, the kingdom mazde, No doubt of swift success all shallbe graced. You do confirm me, we are resolute, Tomorrow look for change, rest confident, 'tis now about the immodest waste of night, The mother of moist dew with pallid light, Spreads gloomy shades about the numbed earth, Sleep, sleep, whilst we contrive our mischief's birth, This man i'll get inhumed, farewell, to bed, I kiss thy pillow, dream, the duke is dead. So, so, good night, how fortune dotes on impudence, I am in private the adopted son of yond good Prince, I must be Duke, why if I must, I must, Most silly Lord, name me? O heaven I see God made honest fools, to maintain crafty knaves: The duchess is wholly mine too; must kill her husband To quit her shame, much: then marry her: ay, O I grow proud in prosperous treachery, As wrestlers clip, so I'll embrace you all, Not to support, but to procure your fall. God arrest thee. At whose suit? At the devils, ha' you treacherous damnable monster, How dost? how dost thou treacherous rogue, Ha ye rascal, I am banish the Court, Sirrah. Prithee let's be acquainted, I do love thee faith. At your service, by the Lord law, shall's go to supper, Let's be once drunk together, and so unite a most virtuously strengthened friendship, shall's Huguenot, shall's? Wilt fall upon my chamber tomorrow morn. As a Raven to a dunghill, they say there's one dead here pricked for the pride of the flesh. Fernez: there he is, pray thee bury him. O most willingly, I mean to turn pure Rochelle Churchman, I. Thou Churchman, why? why? Because i'll live lazily, fail upon authority, deny king's supremacy in things indifferent, and be a Pope in mine own parish. Wherefore dost thou think Churches were made? To scour Plough shares I ha' seen ox plough up Altars: Strange. Nay monstrous, I ha' seen a sumptuous steeple turned to a stinking privy: more beastly, the sacredst place made a dogs kennel: nay most inhuman, the stoned coffins of long dead Christians burst up, and made Hogs-troughs. Shall I ha some sack, and cheese at thy chamber, Good night, good mischiuous incarnate diuill, godnight Mendozo, ha, yee Inhumain villaine godnight, night fub: God night: tomorrow morn. ay, I will come friendly Damnation, I will come, I do descry cross-points, honesty, and courtship, straddle as far asunder, as a true Frenchman's legs. O! Proclamations, more proclamations. O a Surgeon. Hark lust cries for a surgeon, what news from Limb How does the grand cuckold Lucifer.
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)
''And those whome Princes doe once groundly hate, ''Let them prouide to dye; as sure as fate, ''Preuention is the hart of pollicie. Shall we murder him. Instantly? Instantly, before he casts a plot, Or further blaze my honours much knowne blot, Lets murther him? I would do much for you, will ye marry me? Ile make thee Duke, we are of Medices, Florence our friend, in court my faction Not meanly strength▪ full; the Duke then dead, We well prepar'd for change, the multitude Irresolutely reeling, we in force, Our partie seconded, the kingdome mazde, No doubt of swift successe all shalbe grac'd. You do confirme me, we are resolute, To morrow looke for change, rest confident, Tis now about the immodest waste of night, The mother of moist dew with palld light, Spreds gloomy shades about the nummed earth, Sleepe, sleepe, whilst we contriue our michiefes birth, This man ile get inhum'de, farewell, to bed, I kisse thy pillow▪ dreame, the duke is dead. So, so, good night, how fortune dotes on impudence, I am in priuate the adopted sonne of yon good Prince, I must be Duke, why if I must, I must, Most silly Lord, name me? O heauen I see God made honest fooles, to maintaine craftie knaues: The dutches is wholy mine too; must kill her husband To quit her shame, mutch: then marry her: I, O grow prowd in prosperous trecherie, As wrestlers clip, so ile imbrac you all, Not to support, but to procure your fall. God arrest thee. At whose suite? At the diuels, ha you treacherous damnable monster, How doost▪ how doost thou treacherous roage, Ha ye rascall, I am banish the Court, Sirra. Pethee lets be acquainted, I do loue thee faith. At your seruice, by the Lord law, shals go to supper, Lets be once drunke together▪ and so vnite a most vertuously strengtned friendship, shals Hgonot, shals? Wilt ll vpon my chamber to morrow morne. As a Rauen to a dunghill, they say ther's one dead here pickt for the pride of the flesh. Fernez: there he is, prey thee bury him. O most willingly, I meane to turne pure Rochell Churchman, I. Thou Churchman, why? why? Because ile liue lazely, faile vpon authoritie, deny Kings supremacie in things indifferent, and bee a Pope in mine owne parish. Wherefore doo'st thou thinke Churches were made? To scoure Plough shar plough vp Altars: Strange. Nay monstrous, I ha seene a sumptuous steeple turned to a stinking priuie: more beastly, the sacredst place made a Doggs kenill: nay most inhumane, the ston'd coffins of long dead Christians burst vp, and made Hogstroughs. Shall I ha some sack, and cheese at thy chamber, Good night, good mischiuous incarnate diuill, godnight Mendozo, ha, yee Inhumain villaine godnight, night fub: God night: to morrow morne. I, I will come friendly Damnation, I will come, I doe discrie crosse-poynts, honesty, and court-ship, straddle as farre a sunder, as a true Frenchmans legges. O! Proclamations, more proclamations. O a Surgion. Hark lust cries for a surgion, what news from Limbe How does the graund cuckold Lucifer.