Marston, John · published 1604 · first performed or written 1604 [1602-1604] (Annals) tragicomedy · Children of the Chapel (second) T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.75 · 527 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
A Church man once corrupted, oh avoid A fellow that makes Religion his stalking horse, He breeds a plague: thou shalt poison him. Ho, 'tis wondrous necessary: how? You both go jointly to the Citadel, There sup, there poison him: and Maria, Because she is our opposite, shall bear The sad suspect, on which she dies, or loves us. I run. We that are great, our sole self good still moves us: They shall die both, for their deserts craves more Than we can recompense, their presence still Imbraids our fortunes with beholdingness, Which we abhor, like deed, not door: then conclude, They live not to cry out Ingratitude. One stick burns other, steel cuts steel alone: 'tis good trust few: but O, 'tis best trust none. How do you? how dost Duke? O let the last day fall, drop, drop in our cursed heads! Let heaven unclasp itself, vomit forth flames: O do not rave, do not turn Player, there's more of them, than can well live one by another already. What, art an Infidel still? I am mazde, struck in a swoon with wonder, I am commanded to poison thee. I am commanded to poison thee, at supper. At supper? In the Citadel. In the Citadel. Cross capers, tricks? truth a heaven would discharge us as boys do elder guns, one pellet to strike out another: of what faith art now? All is damnation, wickedness extreme, there is no faith in man. In none but usurers and brokers, they deceive no man, men take 'em for bloodsuckers, and so they are: now God deliver me from my friends. Thy friends? Yes, from my friends, for from mine enemies I'll deliver myself. O, cut-throat friendship is the rankest villainy, mark this Mendozo, mark him for a villain: but heaven will send a plague upon him for a rogue. O world! World? 'tis the only region of Death, the greatest shop of the Devil, the cruelest prison of men, out of the which none pass without paying their dearest breath for a fee, there's nothing perfect in it, but extreme extreme calamity, such as comes yonder. To banishment, led on to banishment. Lady, the blessedness of repentance to you. Why, why, I can desire nothing but death, nor deserve any thing but hell. If heaven should give sufficiency of grace To dear my soul, it would make heaven graceless: My sins would make the stock of mercy poor, Oh they would try heavens goodness to reclaim them: judgement is just yet from that vast villain: But sure he shall not miss sad punishment, For he shall rule on to my Cell of shame. My Cell 'tis Lady, where instead of Masks, Music, Tilts, tourneys, and such Courtlike shows, The hollow murmur of the checkless winds Shall groan again, whilst the unquiet sea Shakes the whole rock with foamy battery: There usherless the air comes in and out, The rheumy vault will force your eyes to weep, Whilst you behold true desolation: A rocky barrenness shall pain your eyes, Where all at once one reaches, where he stands, With brows the roof, both walls with both his hands.
nodes 837–890 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 20 of 28 in this edition
Length
527 words · 714 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.749 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
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)
A Church man once corrupted, oh auoyd▪ A fellow that makes Religion his stawking horse, He breedes a plague: thou shalt poyson him. Ho, tis wondrous necessary: how? You both goe ioyntly to the Citadell, There sup, there poison him: and Maria, Because she is our opposite, shall beare The sad suspect, on which she dies, or loues vs. I runne. We that are great, our sole self good still moues vs: They shall die both, for their deserts craues more Than we can recompence, their presence still Imbraides our fortunes with beholdingnesse, Which we abhorre, like deede, not door: then conclude, They liue not to cry out Ingratitude. One sticke burnes tother, steele cuts steele alone: Tis good trust few: but O, tis best trust none. How doe you? how doost Duke? O let the last day fall, drop, drop in our curssed heads! Let heauen vnclasp itselfe, vomit forth flames: O doe not raue, do not turne Player, theres more of them, than can well live one by an other already. What, art an Infidell still? I am mazde, strucke in a swowne with wonder, I am commaunded to poison thee. I am commaunded to poyson thee, at supper. At supper? In the Citadell. In the Citadell. Crosse capers, trickes? truth a heauen would discharge vs as boyes do elder gunnes, one pellet to strike out another: of what faith art now? Al is damnation, wickednes extreame, there is no faith in man. In none but vsurers and brokers, they deceiue no man, men take vm for blood-suckers, and so they are: now God deliuer me from my friendes. Thy friendes? Yes, from my friends, for from mine ennemies Ile deliuer my selfe. O, cut-thrate friendship is the ranckest villany, marke this Mendozo, marke him for a villaine: but heauen will send a plague vpon him for a rogue. O world! World? Tis the onely region of Death, the greatest shop of the Diuell, the cruelst prison of men, out of the which none passe without paying their dearest breath for a fee, theres nothing perfect in it, but extreame extreame calamitie, such as comes yonder. To banishment, led on to banishment▪ Lady, the blessednesse of repentance to you. Why, why, I can desire nothing but death, nor deserue any thing but hell. If heauen should giue sufficiencie of grace To deere my soule, it would make heauen gracelesse: My sinnes would make the stocke of mercy poore, Oh they would try heauens goodnes to eclaime them: Iudgement is iust yet from that vast villaine: But sure he shall not misse sad punishment, For he shall rule on to my Cell of shame. My Cell tis Lady, where insteede of Maskes, Musique, Tilts, Tournies, and such Courtlike shewes, The hollow murmure of the checklesse windes Shall groane againe, whilst the vnquiet sea Shakes the whole rocke with foamy battery: There Vsherlesse the ayre comes in and out, The reumy vault will force your eyes to weepe, Whilst you behold true desolation: A rocky barrennesse shall paine your eyes, Where all at once one reaches, where he stands, With browes the roofe, both walles with both his handes.