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 0.82 · 527 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.
I thank you; boy, what dost thou dream of now? Of a dry summer my Lord, for here's a hot world towards: but my Lord, I had a strange dream last night. What strange dream? Why me thought I pleased you with singing, and then I dreamt you gave me that short sword. Prettily begged: hold thee, i'll prove thy dream true, take't. My duty: but still I dreamt on my Lord, and me thought, and 't shall please your excellency, you would needs out of your royal bounty give me that jewel in your hat. O thou didst but dream boy, do not believe it, dreams prove not always true, they may hold in a short sword, but not in a jewel. But now sir, you dreamt you had pleased me with singing, make that true as I have made the other. Faith my Lord, I did but dream, and dreams you say prove not always true: they may hold in a good sword, but not in a good song: the truth is, I ha' lost my voice. Lost thy voice, how? With dreaming faith, but here's a couple of Sirenical rascals shall enchant ye: what shall they sing my good Lord? Sing of the nature of women, and then the song shall be surely full of variety; old crotchets and most sweet closes, it shallbe humorous, grave, fantastic, amorous, melancholy, sprightly, one in all, and all in one. All in one? Birlady too many; sing, my speech grows culpable of unthrifty idleness, sing. A, so, so, sing, I am heavy, walk off, I shall talk in my sleep; walk off. Brief, brief, who? the Duke? good heaven that fools should stumble upon greatness! do not sleep Duke, give ye good morrow: you must be brief Duke; I am feed to murder thee, start not: Mendoza, Mendoza hired me, here's his gold, his pistol, crossbow, and sword, 'tis all as firm as earth: O fool, fool, choked with the common maze of easy idiots, Credulity, made him thine heir: what thy sworn murderer? O can it be? Can? Discovered he not Ferneze? Yes; but why, but why, for love to thee; much, much, to be revenged upon his rival, who had thrust his jaws awry, who being slain, supposed by thine own hands; defended by his sword, made thee most loathsome, him most gracious with thy loose Princess, thou closely yielding egress and regress to her, madest him heir, whose hot unquiet lust straight towzde thy sheets, and now would seize thy state, politician, wise man, death to be led to the stake like a bull by the horns, to make even kindness cut a gentle throat; life, why art thou numbed? thou foggy dullness, speak: lives not more faith in a home●hiusting tongue, than in those fencing tip tap Courtiers? Lord Malevole, if this be true. If? come shade thee with this disguise, if? thou shalt handle it, he shall thank thee for killing thyself, come follow my directions, and thou shalt see strange sleights. World whither wilt thou? Why to the devil: come, the morn grows late, Astedi● quickens is the soul of state.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 887–910 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 23 of 38 in this edition
Length
527 words · 728 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T0 — Court life: dukes, favour and honourcross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.815 (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)
I thanke you; boy, what doost thou dreame of now? Of a drie summer my Lord, for heere's a hote worlde towardes: but my Lord, I had a strange dreame last night. What strange dreame? Why me thought I pleased you with singing, and then I dreamt you gaue me that short sword. Prettily begd: hold thee, ile prooue thy dreame true, tak't. My duetie: but still I dreamt on my Lord, and mee thought, and 't shall please your excellencie, you would needs out of your royall bounty giue me that jewell in your hat. O thou didst but dreame boy, do not beleeue it, dreames prooue not alwayes true, they may hold in a short sword, but not in a jewell. But now sir, you dreamt you had pleased mee with singing, make that true as I haue made the other. Faith my Lord, I did but dreame, and dreames you say prooue not alwayes true: they may hold in a good sword, but not in a good song: the trueth is, I ha lost my voyce. Lost thy voyce, how? With dreaming faith, but heere's a couple of Syrenicall rascalls shall inchaunt yee: what shall they sing my good Lorde? Sing of the nature of women, and then the song shall be surely full of varietie; olde crochets and most sweete closes, it shalbe humorous, graue, fantastike, amorous, melancoly, sprightly, one in all, and all in one. All in one? Birlady too many; sing, my speech growes culpable of vnthrifty idlenesse, sing. A, so, so, sing, I am heauie, walke off, I shall talke in my sleep; walke off. Briefe, briefe, who? the Duke? good heauen that fooles should stumble vpon greatnesse! do not sleepe Duke, giue yee good morrow: you must be brife Duke; I am feeed to murther thee, start not: Mendoza, Mendoza hired mee, heere's his gold, his pistoll, crossebow, and sword, tis all as firme as earth: O foole, foole, choakt with the common maze of easie ideots, Credulitie, mae him thine heire: what thy sworne murtherer? O can it be? Can? Discouered he not Ferneze? Yes; but why, but why, for loue to thee; much, much, to be reuenged vpon his riuall, who had thrust his jawes awrie, who being slaine, supposed by thine owne handes; defended by his sword, made thee most loathsome, him most gratious with thy loose Princesse, thou closely yeelding egrsse and regresse to her, madest him heire, whose hote vnquiet lust strait towzde thy sheetes, and now would seize thy state, polititian, wise man, death to be led to the stake like a bull by the hornes, to make euen kindnesse cutte a gentle throate; lfe, why art thou nummed? thou foggie dulnesse, speake: liues not more faith in a homehiusting tongne, than in thse fencing tip tap Courtiers? Lord Maleuole, if this be true. If? come shade thee with this disguise, if? thou shalt handle it, he shall thanke thee for killing thy selfe, come follow my directions, and thou shalt see strange sleights. World whither wilt thou? Why to the diuell: come, the morne growes late, Astedi quickenes is the soule of state.