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 · 460 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
I must fare well, however: though I die My death consenting with his augury; Should not my powers obey, when she commands My motion must be rebel to my will: My will: to life, If when I have obeyed, Her hand should so reward me: they must arm it, Bind me and force it: or I lay my soul She rather would convert it, many times On her own bosom: even to many deaths: But were there danger of such violence, I know 'tis far from her intent to send: And who she should send, is as far from thought Since he is dead, whose only mean she used whose's there? look to the door: and let him in, Though politic Monsieur, or the violent Guise. Hail to my worthy son. O lying Spirit: welcome loved father How fares my dearest mistress? Well, as ever Being well as ever thought on by her Lord: Whereof she sends this witness in her hand And prays, for urgent cause, your speediest presence. What? writ in blood? ay, 'tis the ink of lovers. O 'tis a sacred witness of her love. So much elixir of her blood as this Dropped in the lightest dame, would make her firm As heat to fire: and like to all the signs, Commands the life confined in all my veins; O how it multiplies my blood with spirit, And makes me apt t'encounter death and hell: But, come kind Father; you fetch me to heaven, And to that end your holy weed was given. Now shall we see, that nature hath no end, In her great works, responsive to their worths, That she who makes so many eyes, and souls, To see and foresee, is stark blind herself: And as illiterate men say Latin prayers By root of heart, and daily iteration; In whose hot zeal, a man would think they knew What they ran so away with, and were sure To have rewards proportioned to their labours; Yet may implore their own confusions For any thing they know, which oftentimes It falls out they incur: So nature lays A mass of stuff together, and by use, Or by the mere necessity of matter, Ends such a work, fills it, or leaves it empty, Of strength, or virtue, error or clear truth; Not knowing what she does; but usually Gives that which we call merit to a man, And believe should arrive him on huge riches, Honour, and happiness, that effects his ruin; Right as in ships of war, whole lasts of powder Are laid (men think) to make them last, and guard them; When a disordered spark that powder taking, Blows up with sudden violence and horror Ships that kept empty, had sailed long with terror.
seed 43: T49 · 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 must fare well, how euer: though I die My death consenting with his augurie; Should not my powers obay, when she commands My motion must be rebell to my will: My will: to life, If when I haue obaid, Her hand should so reward me: they must arme it, Binde me and force it: or I lay my soule She rather would conuert it, many times On her owne bosome: euen to many deaths: But were there danger of such violence, I know tis far from her intent to send: And who she should send, is as far from thought Since he is dead, whose only meane she vsde Whose there? looke to the dore: and let him in, Though politicke Monsieur, or the violent Guise. Haile to my worthy sonne. O lying Spirit: welcome loued father How fares my dearest mistresse? Well, as euer Being well as euer thought on by her Lord: Whereof she sends this witnesse in her hand And praies, for vrgent cause, your speediest presence. What? writ in bloud? I, tis the inke of louers. O tis a sacred witnesse of her loue. So much elixer of her bloud as this Dropt in the lightest dame, would make her firme As heat to fire: and like to all the signes, Commands the life confinde in all my vaines; O how it multiplies my bloud with spirit, And makes me apt t'encounter death and hell: But, come kinde Father; you fetch me to heauen, And to that end your holy weed was giuen. Now shall we see, that nature hath no end, In her great workes, responsiue to their worths, That she who makes so many eies, and soules, To see and foresee, is starke blinde herselfe: And as illiterate men say Latine praiers By roote of heart, and daily iteration; In whose hot zeale, a man would thinke they knew What they ranne so away with, and were sure To haue rewards proportion'd to their labours; Yet may implore their owne confusions For any thing they know, which oftentimes It fals out they incurre: So nature laies A masse of stuffe together, and by vse, Or by the meere necessitie of matter, Ends such a worke, fils it, or leaues it emptie, Of strength, or vertue, error or cleere truth; Not knowing what she does; but vsually Giues that which wee call merit to a man, And beleeue should arriue him on huge riches, Honour, and happinesse, that effects his ruine; Right as in ships of warre, whole lasts of powder Are laid (men thinke) to make them last, and gard them; When a disorder'd sparke that powder taking, Blowes vp with sudden violence and horror Ships that kept emptie, had sail'd long with terror.