Middleton, Thomas · published 1607 · first performed or written 1606 [1605-1606] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men T0 Court life: dukes, favour and honour typicality 0.85 · 503 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T0: duke, lord, duchess, love, court, madam, prince, honour, grace, lady.
And let this comfort thee: our Lord and Father Fell sick upon the infection of thy frowns, And died in sadness; be that thy hope of life. o? He had his tongue, yet grief made him die speechless. Puh, 'tis but early yet, now i'll begin To stick thy soul with Ulcers, I will make Thy spirit grievous sore, it shall not rest, But like some pestilent man toss in thy breast- (mark me duke) Thou'rt a renowned, high, and mighty Cuckold. Oh! Thy Bastard, thy bastard rides a hunting in thy brow. Millions of deaths. Nay to afflict thee more, Here in this lodge they meet for damned clips, Those eyes shall see the incest of their lips. Is there a hell besides this, villains? Villain? Nay heaven is just, scorns are the hires of scorns, I near knew yet Adulterer without horns. Once ere they die 'tis quitted. Hark the music, Their banquet is prepared, they're coming— Oh, kill me not with that sight. Thou shalt not lose that sight for all thy dukedom. traitors, murderers? What? is not thy tongue eaten out yet? Then we'll invent a silence? brother stifle the Torch, Treason, murder? Nay faith, we'll have you hushed now with thy dagger Nail down his tongue, and mine shall keep possession About his heart, if he but gasp he dies, we dread not death to quittance injuries;— Brother, If he but wink, not brooking the foul object, Let our two other hands tear up his lids, And make his eyes like Comets shine through blood, When the bad bleeds, then is the Tragedy good, Whist, brother, music's at our ear, they come. Had not that kiss a taste of sin 'twere sweet. Why there's no pleasure sweet but it is sinful. True, such a bitter sweetness fate hath given, Best side to us, is the worst side to heaven. Push, come: 'tis the old Duke thy doubtful Father, The thought of him rubs heaven in thy way, But I protest by yonder waxen fire, Forget him, or i'll poison him. Madam, you urge a thought which near had life, So deadly do I loathe him for my birth, That if he took me hasped within his bed, I would add murder to adultery, And with my sword give up his years to death. Why now thou'rt sociable, let's in and feast, loud'st Music sound: pleasure is Banquet's guest. I cannot brook— The Brook is turned to blood. Thanks to loud Music. 'twas our friend indeed, 'Tis state in Music for a Duke to bleed: The Dukedom wants a head, though yet unknown, As fast as they peep up, let's cut 'em down. Was not his execution rarely plotted? We are the Duke's sons now. I you may thank my policy for that. Your policy, for what? Why was't not my invention brother, To slip the judges, and in lesser compass, Did not I draw the model of his death, Advising you to sudden officers, And e'en extemporal execution.
seed 43: T0 · seed 44: T0 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
And let this comfort thee: our Lord and Father Fell sick vpon the infection of thy frownes, And dyed in sadnesse; be that thy hope of life. Oh? He had his toung, yet greefe made him die speechlesse. Puh, tis but early yet, now ile begin To stick thy soule with Vlcers, I will make Thy spirit grieuous sore, it shall not rest, But like some pestilent man tosse in thy brest-(marke me duke) Thou'rt a renowned, high, and mighty Cuckold. Oh! Thy Bastard, thy bastard rides a hunting in thy browe. Millions of deaths. Nay to afflict thee more, Here in this lodge they meete for damned clips, Those eyes shall see the in cest of their lips. Is there a hell besides this, villaines? Villaine? Nay heauen is iust, scornes are the hires of scornes, I nere knew yet Adulterer with-out hornes. Once ere they dye 'tis quitted. Harke the musicke, Their banquet is preparde, they're comming— Oh, kill me not with that sight. Thou shalt not loose that sight for all thy Duke-doome. Traytors, murderers? What? is not thy tongue eaten out yet? Then weele inuent a silence? brother stifle the Torch, Treason, murther? Nay faith, weele haue you husht now with thy dagger Naile downe his tongue, and mine shall keepe possession About his heart, if hee but gaspe hee dyes, Wee dread not death to quittance iniuries;—Brother, If he but winck, not brooking the foule obiect, Let our two other hands teare vp his lids, And make his eyes like Comets shine through bloud, When the bad bleedes, then is the Tragedie good, Whist, brother, musick's at our eare, they come. Had not that kisse a taste of sinne 'twere sweete. Why there's no pleasure sweet but it is sinfull. True, such a bitter sweetnesse fate hath giuen, Best side to vs, is the worst side to heauen. Push, come: 'tis the old Duke thy doubtfull Father, The thought of him rubs heauen in thy way, But I protest by yonder waxen fire, Forget him, or ile poyson him. Madam, you vrge a thought which nere had life, So deadly doe I loath him for my birth, That if hee tooke mee haspt within his bed, I would adde murther to adultery, And with my sword giue vp his yeares to death. Why now thou'rt sociable, lets in and feast, Lowdst Musick sound: pleasure is Banquests guest. I cannot brooke— The Brooke is turnd to bloud. Thanks to lowd Musick. Twas our friend indeed, 'Tis state in Musicke for a Duke to bleed: The Duke-dome wants a head, tho yet vnknowne, As fast as they peepe vp, lets cut 'em downe. Was not his execution rarely plotted? We are the Dukes sonnes now. I you may thanke my policie for that. Your policie, for what? Why wast not my inuention brother, To slip the Iudges, and in lesser compasse, Did not I draw the modell of his death, Aduizing you to suddaine officers, And een extemporall execution.