Marston, John / Webster, 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 0.89 · 508 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T0: duke, lord, duchess, love, court, madam, prince, honour, grace, lady.
Ignoble villain, did I for this bestride Thy wounded limbs; for this? O God for this? Sunk all my hopes, and with my hopes my life, Ripped bare my throat unto the hangman's axe. Thou most dishonoured trunk— Emillia. By life I know her not— Emillia. Did you believe him? Pardon me, I did. Did you? and thereupon you graced him. I did. took him to favour, nay even clasped with him. Alas I did. This night? This night. And in your lustful twines the Duke took you▪ A most sad truth. O God O God how we dull honest souls, Heavy brained men are swallowed in the bogs Of a deceitful ground, whilst nimble bloods, Light jointed spirits spent, cut good men's throats, And scape; alas, I am too honest for this age, Too full of phlegm, and heavy steadiness: Stood still whilst this slave cast a noose about me; Nay then to stand in honour of him and her, Who had even sliced my heart. Come, I did err, and am most sorry, I did err. Why we are both but dead, the Duke hates us. 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 strengthfull; the Duke then dead, We well prepared for change: the multitude Irresolutely reeling, we enforce: Our party seconded, the kingdom mazde, No doubt of swift success, all shall be graced. You do confirm me, we are resolute, To morrow 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 mischiefs birth; This man I'll get inhumde; farewell, to bed; I 〈◊〉 the 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 seely 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: I, 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; ah you treacherous damnable monster! How dost? how dost, thou treacherous rogue? Ah ye rascal, I am banished 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?
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 601–668 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 16 of 38 in this edition
Length
508 words · 731 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T0 — Court life: dukes, favour and honourcross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.892 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
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)
Ignoble villaine, did I for this bestride Thy wounded limbes; for this? O God! for this? Sunke all my hopes, and with my hopes my life, Ript bare my throte vnto the hangmans axe. Thou most dishonour'd trunke—Emillia. By life I know her not—Emillia. Did you beleeue him? Pardon me, I did. Did you? and thereupon you graced him. I did. Tooke him to fauour, nay euen clasp'd with him. Alas I did. This night? This night. And in your lustfull twines the Duke tooke you▪ A most sad truth. O God! O God! how we dull honest soules, Heauie brainde men are swallowed in the bogs Of a deceitfull ground, whilest nimble bloods, Light ioynted spirits spent, cut good mens throates, And scape; alas, I am too honest for this age, Too full of fleame, and heauie steddinese: Stood still whilst this slaue cast a noose about me; Nay then to stand in honour of him and her, Who had euen slic'd my heart. Come, I did erre, and am most sorry, I did erre. Why we are both but dead, the Duke hates vs. "And those whom Princes do once groundly hate, "Let them prouide to die, as sure as fate, "Preuention is the heart of pollicie. Shall we murder him? Instantly. Instantly? before he castes a plot? Or further blaze my honours much knowne blot. Lets murther him. I would do much for you, will yee marry me? Ile make thee duke: we are of Medices. Florence our friend, in court my faction Not meanely strengthfull; the Duke then dead, We well preparde for change: the multitude Irresolutely reeling, we inforce: Our partie seconded, the kingdome mazde, No doubt of swift successe, all shall be grac'd. You do conirme 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 pallide light, Spreads gloomie shades about the nummed earth. Sleepe, sleepe, whilst we contriue our mischiefes birth; This man Ile get inhumde; farewell, to bed; I the 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 eely Lord, name me? O heauen! I see God made honest fooles, to maintaine crafty knaues: The Dutchesse is wholy mine too; must kill her husband To quit her shame; much; then marry her: I, O I grow prowd in prosperous treachery! As wrastlers clip, so ile embrace you all, Not to support, but to procure your fall. God arrest thee. At whose suite? At the diuels; ah you treacherous damnable monster! How doost? how doost, thou treacherous roague? Ah yee rascall, I am banisht the Court sirra. Prethee lets be acquainted, I doe loue thee faith. At your seruice, by the Lord law, shall's goe to supper, let's be once drunke together, and so vnite a most vertuously strengthened friendship, shall's Hugonot, shall's?