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 0.77 · 489 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.
But is not Marshal Make-rome my servant in reversion, a proper gentleman. Yes in reversion as he had his office, as in truth he hath all things in reversion: he has his Mistress in reversion, his clothes in reversion, his wit in reversion: and indeed is a suitor to me, for my dog in reversion: but in good verity la, he is as proper a gentleman in reversion as: and indeed, as fine a man as may be, having a red beard and a pair of wrapped legs. But I saith I am most monstrously in love with count Quidlibet in Quodlibet, is he not a pretty dapper unydle gallant? He is even one of the most busy fingered Lords, he will put the beauties to the squeak most hideously. Room, make a lane there, the Duke is entring●stand handsomely for beauty's sake, take up the Ladies there. So, cornets, cornets. Madam, with gentle ear receive my suit, A kingdoms' safety should o'er poise flight rites, Marriage is merely Nature's policy: Then, since unless our royal beds be joined, Danger and civil tumult frights the state. Be wise as you are fair, give way to fate. What wouldst thou, thou affliction to our house? Thou ever devil, 'twas thou that banishedst my truly nobleLord. I? ay, by thy plots, by thy black stratagems, Twelve Moons have suffered change since I beheld The loved presence of my dearest Lord. O thou far worse than death, he parts but soul From a weak body: but thou, soul from soul Disseverest, that which Gods own hand did knit. Thou scant of honour, full of devilish wit. we'll check your too intemperate lavishness I can will. What Canst? Go to, in banishment thy husband dies. He ever is at home that's ever wise, Youst never meet more, reason should love controuble, Not meet? She that dear loves, her love's still in her soul. You are but a woman Lady, you must yield, O save me thou innated bashfulness, Thou only ornament of woman's modesty. Modesty, Death I'll torment thee, Do, urge all torments, all afflictions try, I'll die my Lords, as long as I can die, Thou obstinate, thou shalt die. Captain, that Lady's life is forteified to justice, we have axamined her, And we do find, she hath empoisoned The reverend hermit: therefore we command Severest custody. Nay, if you'll does no good, Youst does no harm, a tyrants peace is blood. O thou art merciful, O gracious devil, Rather by much let me condemned be For seeming murder, than be damned for thee. I'll mourn no more, come girt my brows with flowers, revel and dance; soul, now thy wish thou hast, Die like a Bride, poor heart thou shalt die chaste. Life is a frost of could felicity, And death the thaw of all our vanity, Wast not an honest Priest that wrote so? Who let her in? Forbear. Forbear
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 1395–1446 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 36 of 38 in this edition
Length
489 words · 688 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T0 — Court life: dukes, favour and honourcross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.766 (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)
But is not Marshall Make-rome my seruant in reuersion, a proper gentleman. Yes in reuersion as he had his office, as in truth he hath all things in reuersion: hee haz his Mistris in reuersion, his cloathes in reuersion, his wit in reuersion: and indeede is a suter to me, for my dogge in reuersion: but in good verity la, he is as proper a gentleman in reuersion as: and indeede, as fine a man as may be, hauing a red beard and a pair of wrapt legges. But I saith I am most monstrously in loue with count Quidlibet in Quodlibet, is he not a pretty dapper vnydle gallant? He is euen one of the most busy fingered Lordes, he will put the beauties to the squeake most hiddeously. Roome, make a lane there, the Duke is entringstand handsomely for beauties sake, take vp the Ladyes there. So, cornets, cornets. Madam, with gentle eare receiue my sute, A kindomes safety should o're paize flight rites, Marriage is meerely Natures policy: Then, since vnlesse our royall beds be ioynd, Danger and ciuill tumult frights the state. Be wise as you are fair, giue way to fate. What wouldst thou, thou affiction to our house? Thou euer diuell, twas thou that banishedst my truely nobleLord. I? I, by thy plottes, by thy blacke stratagems, Twelue Moones haue suffred change since I beheld The loued presence of my deerest Lord. O thou far worse than death, he parts but soule From a weake body: but thou, soule from soule Disseuerest, that which Gods owne hand did knit. Thou scant of honor, full of diuelish wit. Weele checke your too intemperate lauishnesse I can will. What Canst? Go to, in banishment thy husband dies. He euer is at home that's euer wise, Youst neuer meete more, reason should loue controuble, Not meete? Shee that deere loues, her loue's still in her soule. You are but a woman Lady, you must yeeld, O saue me thou innated bashfulnes, Thou onely ornament of womans modesty. Modesty, Death Ile torment thee, Do, vrge all torments, all afflictions trie, Ile die my Lords, as long as I can die, Thou obstinate, thou shalt die. Captaine, that Ladies life is forteified to Iustice, we haue axamined her, And we do finde, she hath impoysoned The reuerend Hermi: therefore we commaund Seuerest custodie. Nay, if youle dooes no good, Youst dooes no harme, a Tirants peace is bloud. O thou art mercifull, O gratious diuell, Rather by much let me condemned be For seeming murder, than be damn'd for thee. Ile mourne no more, come girt my browes with floures, Reul and daunce; soule, now thy wish thou hast, Die like a Bride, poore heart thou shalt die chast. Life is a frost of coulde felicitie, And death the thaw of all our vanity, Wast not an honest Priest that wrote so? Who let her in? Forbeare. Forbear