Chapman, George · published 1607 · first performed or written 1607 (Annals) tragedy · Children of Paul's (second) · Paul's unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 484 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
What my Lord? The plague of Herod Feast in his rotten entrails. Will you wreak Your angers just cause given by him, on me? By him? By him my Lord, I have admired You could all this time be at concord with him, That still hath played such discords on your honour. Perhaps 'tis with some proud string of my wives. How's that, my Lord? Your tongue will still admire, Till my head be the miracle of the world. O woe is me. What does your Lordship mean? Madam, be comforted; my Lord but tries you. Madam? Help good my Lord, are you not moved? Do your set looks print in your words, your thoughts? Sweet Lord, clear up those eyes, for shame of Noblesse: Merciless creature; but it is enough, You have shot home, your words are in her heart; She has not lived to bear a trial now. Look up my love, and by this kiss receive My soul amongst thy spirits for supply To thine, chased with my fury. O my Lord, I have too long lived to hear this from you. 'twas from my troubled blood, and not from me: I know not how I fare; a sudden night Flows through my entrails, and a headlong Chaos Murmurs within me, which I must digest; And not drown her in my confusions, That was my lives joy, being best informed: Sweet, you must needs forgive me, that my love (Like to a fire disdaining his suppression) Raged being discouraged; my whole heart is wounded When any least thought in you is but touched, And shall be till I know your former merits: Your name and memory altogether crave In loathed oblivion their eternal grave; And than you must hear from me, there's no mean In any passion I shall feel for you: Love is a razor cleansing being well used, But fetcheth blood still being the least abused: To tell you briefly all; The man that left me When you appeared, did turn me worse than woman, And stabbed me to the heart thus, with his hand. O happy woman! Comes my stain from him? It is my beauty, and that innocence proves, That slew chimera, rescued Peleus From all the savage beasts in Peleon; And raised the chaste Athenian prince from Hell: All suffering with me; they for women's lusts, I for a man's; that the Egean stable Of his foul sin would empty in my lap: How his guilt shunned me? sacred innocence That where thou fear'st, art dreadful; and his face Turned in flight from thee, that had thee in chase: Come, bring me to him: I will tell the serpent Even to his teeth (whence, in mine honours soil, A pitched field starts up twixt my Lord and me) That his throat lies, and he shall curse his fingers, For being so governed by his filthy soul.
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)
What my Lord? The plague of Herod Feast in his rotten entrailes. Will you wreake Your angers iust cause giuen by him, on mee? By him? By him my Lord, I haue admir'd You could all this time be at concord with him, That still hath plaid such discords on your honour. Perhaps tis with some proud string of my wiues. How's that, my Lord? Your tongue will still admire, Till my head be the miracle of the world. O woe is mee. What does your Lordship meane? Madam, be comforted; my Lord but tries you. Madam? Helpe good my Lord▪ are you not mou'd? Doe your set lookes print in your words, your thoughts? Sweete Lord, cleere vp those eies, for shame of Noblesse: Mercilesse creature; but it is enough, You haue shot home, your words are in her heart; She has not liu'd to beare a triall now. Looke vp my loue, and by this kisse receiue My soule amongst thy spirits for supplie To thine, chac'd with my furie. O my Lord, I haue too long liu'd to heare this from you. Twas from my troubled blood, and not from mee: I know not how I fare; a sudden night Flowes through my entrailes, and a headlong Chaos Murmurs within mee, which I must digest; And not drowne her in my confusions, That was my liues ioy, being best inform'd: Sweet, you must needes forgiue me, that my loue (Like to a fire disdaining his suppression) Rag'd being discourag'd; my whole heart is wounded When any least thought in you is but touch't, And shall be till I know your former merits: Your name and memorie altogether craue In loth'd obliuion their eternall graue; And then you must heare from me, ther's no meane In any passion I shall feele for you: Loue is a rasor cleansing being well vs'd, But fetcheth blood still being the least abus'd: To tell you briefly all; The man that left mee When you appear'd, did turne me worse than woman, And stab'd me to the heart thus, with his hand. O happie woman! Comes my staine from him? It is my beautie, and that innocence prooues, That slew Chymaera, rescu'd Peleus From all the sauage beasts in Peleon; And rais'd the chaste Athenian prince from Hell: All suffering with me; they for womens lusts, I for a mans; that the Egean stable Of his foule sinne would emptie in my lappe: How his guilt shunn'd me? sacred innocence That where thou fear'st, art dreadfull; and his face Turn'd in flight from thee, that had thee in chace: Come, bring me to him: I will tell the serpent Euen to his teeth (whence, in mine honors soile, A pitcht field starts vp twixt my Lord and mee) That his throat lies, and he shall curse his fingers, For being so gouern'd by his filthie soule.