Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
O cruel judgement of a rigorous fate! Must I o'erlive myself t'entomb my Fame? All things that I behold upbraid my state; Too many monuments of one man's shame. All (and no more than I) my deeds detest, Yet some not find a friend, I find no foe To rid the world of such a dangerous pest, Borne but to be an instrument of woe. I know what makes all worthy minds refrain The sword against a Caitiff for to stretch, They this opprobrious office do disdain, To be the Deaths-men of so base a wretch. Or must I yet a fouler fact commit, And fill the world with th'horror of my name? Is there some new disaster resting yet, And other funerals famous by my shame? Or would some bastard thought life's cause debate, That in the blasted field of comfort gleans, No, no, in spite of heaven I'll force my fate, One that's resolved to die, cannot want means. Proud tyrant Death, and must thou make it strange? T'involve my wearied soul in further strife, Unless my courage with my fortune change, I can appoint a Period to my life. But this (Ay me) all hope of help devours, What gains my soul by death in those sad times? If potent still in all her wonted powers She must remember of my odious crimes. What though unbodied she the world forsake? Yet cannot from her conscience be divorced, It will but vex her at the shadowy Lake, Till even to groan the god of ghosts be forced. But welcome death, and O would God I had Less famous or more fortunately lived! Then had I never shown myself so mad T'have only been by infamy survived. Ah! have I lived to see my Lady die, And die for me, for me not worth so much; Ah! have I lived (unnatural man) to be My Brother's death, whose love to me was such. Ah! have I lived, with mine own hands to kill A gallant Prince committed to my charge, And do I gaze on the dead body still, And in his Father's sight my shame enlarge. Ah! have I lived (O execrable Monster) To be accounted of a devilish nature, And even by them that best my actions construe, For to be called (and justly called) a Traitor. Yet with my blood this stain away I'll wash, And lest my memory make th'earth detracted, Let my name perish in my Body's ash, And all my life be as a thought unacted. Brave Atis, now I come to plead for grace, Although thou frownest on my affrighted ghost, And to revenge thy wrong this wound embrace; Thus, thus, I toil t'attain the Stygian coast. The man himself doth desperately wound, With leaden lights, weak legs, and head declined, The body in disdain doth beat the ground, That of his members one hath proved unkind:
nodes 1492–1551 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 24 of 46 in this edition
Length
485 words · 637 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.826 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T10 · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
O cruell iudgement of a rigorous fate! Muſt I o're-liue my ſelfe t'entombe my Fame? All things that I behold vpbraid my ſtate; Too many monuments of one mans ſhame. All (and no more then I) my deedes deteſt, Yet ſome not find a friend, I find no foe To rid the world of ſuch a dangerous peſt, Borne but to be an inſtrument of woe. I know what makes all worthie mindes refraine The ſword againſt a Catife for to ſtretch, They this opprobrious office do diſdaine, To be the Deaths-men of ſo baſe a wretch. Or muſt I yet a fouler fact commit, And fill the world with th'horrour of my name? Is there ſome new diſaſter reſting yet, And other funerals famous by my ſhame? Or would ſome baſtard thought lifes cauſe debate, That in the blaſted field of comfort gleanes, No, no, in ſpite of heau'n I'le force my fate, One that's reſolu'd to die, cannot want meanes. Prowd tyrant Death, and muſt thou make it ſtrange? Tinvolue my wearied ſoule in further ſtrife, Vnleſſe my courage with my fortune change, I can appoint a Period to my life. But this (Ay me) all hope of helpe deuours, What gaines my ſoule by death in thoſe ſad times? If potent ſtill in all her wonted powres She muſt remember of my odious crimes. What though vnbodied ſhe the world forſake? Yet cannot from her conſcience be diuorc'd, It will but vexe her at the ſhadowie Lake, Till euen to grone the god of ghoſts be forc'd. But welcome death, and O would God I had Leſſe famous or more fortunately liu'd! Then had I neuer ſhowne my ſelfe ſo mad T'haue only been by infamie ſuruiu'd. Ah! haue I liu'd to ſee my Ladie die, And die for me, for me not worth ſo much; Ah! haue I liu'd (vnnaturall man) to be My Brothers death, whoſe loue to me was ſuch. Ah! haue I liu'd, with mine owne hands to kill A gallant Prince committed to my charge, And do I gaze on the dead body ſtill, And in his Fathers ſight my ſhame enlarge. Ah! haue I liu'd (O execrable Monſter) To be accounted of a diu'liſh nature, And euen by them that beſt my actions conſter, For to be cal'd (and iuſtly cal'd) a Traitour. Yet with my blood this ſtaine away I'le waſh, And leſt my memorie make th'earth detracted, Let my name periſh in my bodies aſh, And all my life be as a thought vnacted. Braue Atis, now I come to pleade for grace, Although thou frown'ſt on my affrighted ghoſt, And to reuenge thy wrong this wound embrace; Thus, thus, I toile t'attaine the Stygian coaſt. The man himſelfe doth deſperately wound, With leaden lights, weake legs, and head declinde, The body in diſdaine doth beate the ground, That of his members one hath prou'd vnkinde: