Marston, John / Webster, 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 · 515 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Command our sudden Letter: not enter? shalt, what place is there in Genoa, but thou shalt, into my heart, into my very heart: come, let's love, we must love, we two▪ soul and body. How didst like the Hermit? a strange Hermit sirrah. A dangerous fellow, very perilcus: he must die. ay, he must die. thou'st kil' him: we are wise, we must be wise. And provident. Yea provident; beware an hypocrite. A Church man once corrupted▪ oh avoid A fellow that makes Religion his stalking horse, He breeds a plague: thou shalt poison him. Ho, this wondrous necessary: how? You both go jointly to the Citadel, There sup there poision 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 weabhorre like deed, not doer: 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 on our cursed heads; Let heaven unclasp itself, vomit forth flames. O do not rend, do not turn player, there's more of them than can well live one by another already. What, art an infidel still? I am amazed, 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, he would discharge us as boys do eldern guns, one pellet to strick 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, cutte-throate friendship is the rankest villainy: Mark this Mendoza, 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 clear my soul, it would make heaven graceless: My sins would make the stock of mercy poor; O they would tyre heavens goodness to reclaim theme judgement is just yet from that vast villain: But sure he shall not miss sad punishment Before he shall rule▪ On. to my cell of shame.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 1056–1106 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 27 of 38 in this edition
Length
515 words · 707 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.743 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
Other seeds
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Command our suddaine Letter: not enter? shat, what place is there in Genoa, but thou shalt, into my heart, into my very heart: come, lets loue, we must loue, we two▪ sole and body. How didst like the Hermite? a strange Hermite sirrah. A dangerous fellow, very perilcus: he must die. I, he must die. Thoust kil' him: we are wise, we must be wise. And prouident. Yea pouident; beware an hypocrite. A Church man once corrupted▪ oh auoide A fellow that makes Religion his stawking horse, He breedes a plague: thou shalt poison him. Ho, tis wondrous necessary: how? You both go ioyntly to the Citadell, There sup there poision him: and Maria, Because shee is our opposite, shall beare The sad suspect, on which she dies, or loues vs. I runne. We that are great, our sole selfe 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 weabhorre like deede, not doer: then conclude, They liue not to cry out ingratitude. One sticke burnes tother steele cuts steele alone: T'is good trust few, but O, t'is best trust none. How do you? how doost Duke? O let the last day fall, drop, drop on our cursed heads; Let heauen vnclape it selfe, vomit forth flames. O do no rand, do not turne plaier, there's more of them than can well liue one by another alreadie. Wht, art an infidell still? I am amazde, strucke in a swowne with wonder: I am commanded to poison thee. I am commanded to poison thee at supper. At supper? In the Citadell. In the Citadell? Crosse capers, trickes, truth a heauen, hee would discharge vs as boyes do elderne gunnes, one pellet to stricke out another: of what faith art now? All 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 friends. Thy friends? Yes, from my friends, for from mine enemies ile deliuer my selfe. O, cutte-throate friendship is the ranckest vilanie: Marke this Mendoza, marke him for a villaine; but heauen will send a plague vpon him for a rogue. O world! World! Tis the only 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, ledde 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 cleere my soule, it would make heauen gracelesse: My sinnes would make the stocke of mercie poore; O they would tire heauens goodnes to reclaim theme Iudgement is iust yet from that vast villane: But sure he shall not misse sad punishment Fore he shall rule▪ On to my cell of shame.