The Gentleman Usher (Vincentio and Margaret) · chunk 38 of 42
Chapman, George · published 1606 · first performed or written 1606 (Annals) comedy · Children of the Chapel (second) or Children of Paul’s (second) unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 438 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
I wonder how far they pursued my Sonne, That no return of him or them appears, I fear some hapless accident is chanced, That makes the news so loath to pierce mine ears. High heaven vouchsafe no such effect succeed Those wretched causes that from my house flow, But that in harmless love all acts may end. What shall I do? Alas I cannot rule My desperate Niece, all her sweet face is spoiled, And I dare keep her prisoner no more: See, see, she comes frantic and all undressed. Tyrant! behold how thou hast used thy love, See, thief to Nature, thou hast killed and robbed, Killed what myself killed, robbed what makes thee poor. Beauty (a lovers treasure) thou hast lost Where none can find it; all a poore Maides dow Thou hast forced from me: all my joy and hope. No man will love me more; all Dames excel me, This ugly thing is now no more a face, Nor any vile form in all Earth resembled, But thy foul tyranny; for which all the pains Two faithful Lovers feel, that thus are parted, All joys they might have felt, turn all to pains; All a young virgin thinks she does endure, To lose her love and beauty; on thy heart Be heaped and priest down till thy soul depart. Haste Liege, your son is dangerously hurt. Lord Medice contemning your command, By me delivered, as your Highness willed, Set on him with your Guard; who struck him down; And then the coward Lord, with mortal wounds, And slavish insolency, ploughed up his soft breast; Which barbarous fact in part is laid on you, For first enjoining it, and foul exclaims In pity of your son, your subjects breath 'gainst your unnatural fury; amongst whom The good Lord Strozza desperately raves, And vengeance for his friend's injustice craves. See where he comes burning in zeal of friendship. Where is the tyrant? let me strike his eyes Into his brain, with horror of an object. See Pagan Nero; see how thou hast ri Thy better bosom; rooted up that flower, From whence thy now spent life should spring anew, And in him killed (that would have bred thee fresh) Thy mother and thy father. Good friend cease. What hag with child of Monster, would have nursed Such a prodigious longing? But a father Would rather eat the brawn out of his arms Then glut the mad worm of his wild desires With his dear issues entrails. Honoured friend; He is my father, and he is my Prince, In both whose rights he may command my life.
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)
I wonder how farre they pursu'd my Son, That no returne of him or them appears, I feare some haplesse accident is chanc'd, That makes the newes so loath to pierce mine eares. High heauen vouchsafe no such effct succeede Those wretched caes that from my house flow, But that in helesse loue all acts may end. What shall I do? Ala I cannot rule My desprate Neece, all her sweete face is spoylde, And I dare keepe her prisoner no more: See, see, she comes frantike and all vndrest. Tyrant! behod how thou hast vsde thy loue, See, theefe to Nure, thou hast kil'd and rob'd, Kil'd what my selfe kill'd, rob'd what makes thee poore▪ Beautie (a Louers treasure) thou hast lost▪ Where none can find it; all a poore Maides dow Thou hast forc'd from me: all my ioy and hope. No man will loue me more; all Dames excell me, This ougly thing is now no more a face, Nor any vile forme in all Earth resembled, But thy fowle tyrannie; for which all the paines Two faithfull Louers feele, that thus are parted, All ioyes they might haue felt, turne all to paines; All a yong virgin thinks she does endure, To loose her loue and beautie; on thy heart Be heapt and prest downe till thy soule depart. Haste Liege, your sonne is daungerously hurt. Lord contemning your commaund, By me deliuered, as your Highnesse will'd, Set on him with your Guard; who rooke him downe; And thn the coward Lord, with mortall wounds, And insolencie, plow'd vp his soft breast; Which barbarous fct in part is laid on you, For first enioyning it, and owle exclaimes In pittie of your sonne, your subiects breathe Gainst your vnnaturall furie; amongst whom The good Lord Strozza desp'rately raues, And vengeance for his friends iniustice craues. See where he comes burning in zeale of friendship. Where is the tyrant? let me strie his eyes Into his braine, with horror of an obiect. See Pagan Nero; see how thou hast ri Thy bosome; rooted vp that flowre, From whence thy now spent life should spring anew, And in him kild (that would haue bred thee fresh) Thy mother and thy father. Good friend cease. What hag with child of Monster, would haue nurst Such a prodigous longing? But a father Would rather eate the brawne out of his armes Then glut the mad worme of his wilde desires With his deare issues entrailes. Honourd friend; He is my father, and he is my Prince, In both whose rights he ma commaund my life.