Dekker, Thomas · published 1607 · first performed or written 1606 [c.1606-1607] (Annals) history; allegory · Prince Henry's Men T26 Devils, hell and fiends typicality 0.83 · 503 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T26: devil, hell, devils, sure, soul, fiend, sr, wife, lord, men.
Bring him hither: Lord Florimell, pray call Fideli to vs. Sure 'tis too hot. On rogue! Set it to cool, Hell and damnation, Devils, What's that? The damnedest treason! Dog: you whoreson dog; O blessed maid: let not the toad come near her: What's this? If't be his brewing, touch it not— For 'tis a drench to kill the strongest Devil, That's Drunk all day with brimstone: come suck, Weasel, Suck your own teat, you— pray; Thou art preserved. From what? From whom? Look to that Glister-pipe: One crown does serve thy turn, but here's a thief, That must have 50000. crowns to steal Thy life: Here 'tis in black and white— thy life, Sirrah thou Urinal, Tynoco, Gama, Andrada, and Ibarra, names of Devils, Or names to fetch up Devils: thou knowest these Scarecrows. Oh me! O mercy, mercy! I confess. Well said, thou shalt be hanged then. Have we for this Heaped favours on thee. Heap halters on him: call the Guard: out polecat: He smells, thy conscience stinks Doctor go purge Thy soul, for 'tis diseased. Away with Ropus. Away with him: foh. Here my tale but out. there's too muchout already. Oh me accursed! and most miserable. Goodness of virtue! is my blood so sweet, That they would pay so dear for't To suck Lambs, What would not Wolves do, he that this paper writ, Had never meaning we should finger it. Our a mercy makes them cruel, hunt out these Leopards: Their own spots will betray them: they build caves Even in our parks: to them, him; and the rest, Let death be sent, but sent in such a shape, As may not be too frightful. Alack! what glory Is it to buffet wretches bound in gives? The debt is dearly paid that's paid with lives Oh! leave us all. More Doctors! if this do As well as tother, best to hang him too. Florimell! Stay, But give us liberty. This is the blessed day for which (through want Of those bright rays that sparkle from your eyes) My frozen soul hath languished Goddess complete, If you, a wretch so mean, will bid to speak, I shall unclasp a book whose very first line, (Being not well pointed) is my doom to death: But if your sacred judgement (on the Margin,) Control all wresting comments, All your subjects Will fold me in their bosoms. Give your mind. A Pilgrim have I been on foreign shores, (Your gracious hand allowed it) in my wandering, With Monsters I encountered of strange shape, Some that sucked poison up, and spit it forth, Upon your land: some, that shot forked stings, At your most Godlike person: all were Giants, Fighting against the heaven of your blessed reign: With these (oh pardon me!) with these I held A politic league, the lines of all their treasons, (Drawn from one damned circle) met in me, My heart became the Centre, and the point Was this— I dare not tell it. Speak? To kill you.
nodes 1888–1961 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 31 of 43 in this edition
Length
503 words · 720 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T26 — Devils, hell and fiendscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.829 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T23 · seed 44: T23 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Bring him hither: Lord Florimell, pray call Fideli to vs. Sure 'tis too hot. On roague! Set it to coole, Hell and damnation, Diuels, What's that? The damned'st treason! Dog: you whorsen dog; O blessed mayd: let not the toad come neere her: What's this? If't be his brewing, touch it not— For 'tis a drench to kill the strongest Deuill, That's Druncke all day with brimstone: come sucke, Weezell, Sucke your owne teat, you—pray; Thou art preseru'd. From what? From whome? Looke to that Glister-pipe: One crowne doe's serue thy tourne, but heere's a theefe, That must haue 50000. crownes to steale Thy life: Here 'tis in blacke and white—thy life, Sirra thou Vrinall, Tynoco, Gama, Andrada, and Ibarra, names of Diuels, Or names to fetch vp Diuels: thou knowest these Scar-crowes. Oh mee! O mercy, mercy! I confesse. Well sayd, thou shalt be hang'd then. Haue we for this Heap'd fauours on thee. Heape halters on him: call the Guard: out polecat: He smels, thy conscience stincks Doctor goe purge Thy soule, for 'tis diseas'd. Away with Ropus. Away with him: foh. Here my tale but out. Ther's too muchout already. Oh me accursed! and most miserable. Goodnes ! is my bloud so sweet, That they would pay so deere for't To sucke Lambes, What would not Wolues doe, he that this paper writte, Had neuer meaning we should finger it. Our a mercy makes them cruell, hunt out these Leopards: Their own spots will betray them: they build caues Euen in our parkes: to them, him; and the rest, Let death be sent, but sent in such a shape, As may not be too frightfull. Alacke! what glorie Is it to buffet wretches bound in giues? The debt is derely paid that's payd with liues Oh! leaue vs all. More Doctors! if this doe As well as tother, best to hang him too. Florimell! Stay, But giue vs liberty. This is the blessed day for which (through want Of those bright rayes that sparkle from your eyes) My frozen soule hath languish'd Goddesse compleate, If you, a wretch so meane, will bid to speake, I shall vnclaspe a booke whose very first line, (Being not well pointed) is my doome to death: But if your sacred iudgement (on the Margine,) Controwle all wresting comments, All your subiects Will fold me in their bosomes. Giue your minde. A Pilgrim haue I been on forren shores, (Your gracious hand allow'd it) in my wandring, With Monsters I encountred of straunge shape, Some that suckt poyson vp, and spet it foorth, Vpon your land: some, that shot forked stinges, At your most God-like person: all were Gyants, Fighting against the heauen of your blest raigne: With these (oh pardon me!) with these I held A polliticke league, the lines of all their treasons, (Drawne from one damned circle) met in mee, My heart became the Center, and the point Was this—I dare not tell it. Speake? To kill you.