Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Peace, peace, she comweth hereby, I spoke no word of her, no not I, Oh mistress Xantippe, I can tell you needs, The fair wench your dear daughter Dalila, Is dead of the pocks, taken at the stews, And thy son Ishmael, that preaty boy Whom I dare say you loved very well, Is hanged in chains, ever man can tell. Every man saith thy daughter was a strong whore And thy son a strong thief, & a murderer to It must needs grieve you wondrous s●ro, That they died so shamefully both two: Men will taunt you and mock you, for they say now The cause of their death, was even very you● I the cause of their death? Will ye sown, the devil stop thy breath? Thou shalt die (I trow) with more shame I will get me hence out of the way, If the whore should die, men would me blame● That I killed her, knaves should say. Alas alas, and weal aways I may curse the time that I was borne, Never woman had such fortune, I dare say, Alas two of my children be forlorn. My fair daughter Dalila is dead of the pocks, My dear son Ishmael hanged up in chains, Alas the wind waveth his yellow locks, It flayeth my heart, and breaketh my brains. Why should god punish & plague me so sore? To see my children die so shamefully, I will never eat bread in this world more wt this knife wyl A sley my self by & by Beware what ye do, fie mother fye● Will ye spill yourself for your own offence And seem for ever to exclude gods mercy, God doth punish you for your negligence: Wherefore take his correction with patience, And thank him heartily, that of his goodness He bringeth you in knowledge of your trespass. For when my brother & sister were of young age, You saw they were given to idleness and play, Would apply no learning, but live in outrage, And mencomplagned on them every day. Ye winked at their faults, and tidled them always. By maintenance they grew to mischief and ill, So at last god's justice did them both spill. In that god preseruerued me, small thank to you If god had not given me special grace, To avoid evil, and do good, this is true, I had lived and died in as wretched case: As they did, for I had both sufferance and space, But it is an old proverke, you have herd it I think That god will have se, shall not wink. Yet in this we may all take comfort, They took great repentance I heard say, And as for my sister, I am able to report, She lamented for her sins, to her ding day: To repent and believe I exorthed her always,
nodes 462–519 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 9 of 10 in this edition
Length
476 words · 621 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.767 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Peace, peace, she comweth hereby, I spoke no word of her, no not I, Oh Mestres Xantippe, I can tell you nedes, The fayre wenche your dere daughter Dalila, Is dead of the pockes, taken at the stewes, And thy sonne Ismael, that preaty boy Whom I dare say you loued very well, Is hanged in chaynes, euer man can tell. Euery man saith thy daughter was a strong whore And thy sonne a strong thief, & a murderer to It must nedes greue you wonderous sro, That they died so shamefully both two: Men wyl taunt you and mock you, for they say now The cause of their death, was euen verye you I the cause of their death? Will ye sowne, the deuyl stop thy breath? Thou shalt die (I trow) with more shame I wyl get me hence out of the way, If the whore should dye, men would me blame That I killed her, knaues should say. Alas alas, and weale away I may curse the time that I was borne, Neuer woman had suche fortune, I dare say, Alas two of my chyldren be forlorne. My faire daughter Dalila is dead of the pockes, My dere sonne Ismael hanged vp in chaynes, Alas the wynd waueth his yelow lockes, It fleaeth my heart, and breaketh my braynes. Why should god punish & plague me so sore? To se my children dye so shamefully, I wil neuer eate bread in this world more wt this knife wyl A sley my self by & by Beware what ye do, fye mother fye Wyl ye spyl your selfe for your own offence And seme for euer to exclude gods mercy, God doth punysh you for your negligence: Wherfore take his correction with pacience, And thanke him hertely, that of his godnes He bringeth you in knowledge of your trespas. For when my brother & sister were of yonge age, You saw they were geuen to ydlenes and play, Would apply no learnyng, but liue in outrage, And mencomplagned on them euery day. Ye winked at theyr faultes, and tidled them alway. By maintenaune they grew to mischief and yll, So at last gods Iustice did them both spill. In that god preseruerued me, small thanke to you If god had not geuen me speciall grace, To auoyd euil, and do good, this is true, I had liued and dyed in as wretched case: As they did, for I had both suffraunce and space, But it is an olde prouerke, you haue herd it I think That god wyl haue se, shall not wynke. Yet in this we may al take comfort, They toke great repentaunce I heard say, And as for my sister, I am able to report, She lamented for her sinnes, to her dyng day: To repent and beleue I exorthed her alway,