Middleton, Thomas · published 1607 · first performed or written 1606 [1605-1606] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men unassigned nearest T40 Sin, guilt and violent loss within famil · 488 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T40: brother, death, life, die, heaven, sin, live, father, blood, soul.
I villain, where's this head now? Why here my Lord, Just after his delivery, you both came With warrant from the Duke to behead your brother. ay, our brother, the Duke's son. The Duke's son my Lord, had his release before you came. Whose head's that then? His whom you left command for, your own brothers? Our brothers? oh furies— Plagues. Confusions. Darkness. devils. Fell it out so accursedly? So damnedly. Villain I'll brain thee with it, O my good Lord! The Devil overtake thee? O fatal. O prodigious to our bloods. Did we dissemble? Did we make our tears women for thee? Laugh and rejoice for thee. Bring warrant for thy death. Mock off thy head You had a trick, you had a wile forsooth. A murrain meet 'em, there's none of these wiles that ever come to good: I see now, there is nothing sure in mortality, but mortality, well, no more words shalt be revenged i'faith. Come, throw off clouds now brother, think of vengeance, And deeper settled hate, sirrah sit fast, we'll pull down all, but thou shalt down at last. Hippolito. My Lord: Has your good Lordship ought to command me in? I prithee leave us. How's this? come and leave us? Hippolito. Your honour— I stand ready for any duteous employment. Heart, what mak'st thou here? A pretty Lordly humour: He bids me to be present, to depart; something has stung his honour? be nearer, draw nearer: You're not so good methinks, I'm angry with you. With me my Lord? I'm angry with myself for't. You did prefer a goodly fellow to me, 'twas wittily elected, 'twas, I thought Had been a villain, and he proves a Knave? To me a Knave. I chose him for the best my Lord, 'tis much my sorrow, if neglect in him, breed discontent in you. Neglect, 'twas will: judge of it, Firmly to tell of an incredible Act, Not to be thought, less to be spoken of, Twixt my Stepmother and the Bastard, oh, Incestuous sweets between 'em. Fie my Lord. I in kind loyalty to my father's forehead, Made this a desperate arm, and in that fury, Committed treason on the lawful bed, And with my sword e'en razed my father's bosom, For which I was within a stroke of death. Alack, I'm sorry; 'sfoot just upon the stroke, jars in my brother, 'twill be villainous Music. My honoured Lord. Away prithee forsake us, hereafter we'll not know thee. Not know me my Lord, your Lordship cannot choose. begone I say, thou art a false knave. Why the easier to be known, my Lord. Push, I shall prove too bitter with a word, Make thee a perpetual prisoner, And lay this iron-age upon thee, Mum, for there's a doom would make a woman dumb, Missing the bastard next him, the wind's comes about, Now 'tis my brother's turn to stay mine to go out.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T30 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
I villaine, where's this head now? Why heere my Lord, Iust after his deliuery, you both came With warrant from the Duke to be-head your brother. I, our brother, the Dukes sonne. The Dukes sonne my Lord, had his release before you came. Whose head's that then? His whom you left command for, your owne brothers? Our brothers? oh furies— Plagues. Confusions. Darkenesse. Diuils. Fell it out so accursedly? So damnedly. Villaine Ile braine thee with it, O my good Lord! The Diuill ouer-take thee? O fatall. O prodigious to our blouds. Did we dissemble? Did we make our teares woemen for thee? Laugh and reioyce for thee. Bring warrant for thy death. Mock off thy head You had a trick, you had a wile forsooth. A murren meete 'em, there's none of these wiles that euer come to good: I see now, there is nothing sure in mortalitie, but mortalitie, well, no more words shalt be reuengd ifaith. Come, throw off clouds now brother, thinke of vengeance, And deeper setled hate, sirrah sit fast, Weele pull downe all, but thou shalt downe at last. Hippolito. My Lord: Has your good Lordship ought to command me in? I pre-thee leaue vs. How's this? come and leaue vs? Hippolito. Your honor—I stand ready for any dutious emploiment. Heart, what makst thou here? A pritty Lordly humor: He bids me to bee present, to depart; some-thing has stung his honor? Bee neerer, draw neerer: Ye'are not so good me thinkes, Ime angry with you. With me my Lord? Ime angry with my selfe fort. You did preferre a goodly fellow to me, Twas wittily elected, twas, I thought Had beene a villaine, and he prooues a Knaue? To mee a Knaue. I chose him for the best my Lord, Tis much my sorrow, if neglect in him, breed discontent in you. Neglect, twas will: Iudge of it, Firmely to tell of an incredible Act, Not to be thought, lesse to be spoken of, Twixt my Step-mother and the Bastard, oh, Incestuous sweetes betweene 'em. Fye my Lord. I in kinde loyaltie to my fathers fore-head, Made this a desperare arme, and in that furie, Committed treason on the lawfull bed, And with my sword een rac'd my fathers bosome, For which I was within a stroake of death. Alack, Ime sorry; ssoote iust vpon the stroake, Iars in my brother, twill be villanous Musick. My honored Lord. Away pre-thee forsake vs, heereafter weele not know thee. Not know me my Lord, your Lorship cannot choose. Begon I say, thou art a false knaue. Why the easier to be knowne, my Lord. Push, I shall prooue too bitter with a word, Make thee a perpetuall prisoner, And laye this yron-age vpon thee, Mum, for theres a doome would make a woman dum, Missing the bastard next him, the winde's comes about, Now tis my brothers turne to stay mine to goe out.