Middleton, Thomas · published 1607 · first performed or written 1606 [1605-1606] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men T0 Court life: dukes, favour and honour typicality 0.82 · 480 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T0: duke, lord, duchess, love, court, madam, prince, honour, grace, lady.
That shine makes us all happy. His Grace frowns? Yet we must say he smiles. I think we must. That foul-incontinent Duchess we have banished, The Bastard shall not live: after these Revels I'll begin strange ones; he and the stepsons, Shall pay their lives for the first subsidies, We must not frown so soon, else t'had been now? My gracious Lord please you prepare for pleasure, The mask is not far off. We are for pleasure, Beshrew thee, what art thou? mad'st me start? Thou hast committed treason,— A blazing star. A blazing star, O where my Lord. Spy out. See, see, my Lords, a wondrous-dreadful one. I am not pleased at that ill-knotted fire, That bushing-flaring star,— am not I Duke? It should not quake me now: had it appeared, Before it, I might then have justly feared, But yet they say, whom art and learning Weds: When stars were locks, they threaten great-men's heads, Is it so? you are read my Lords. May it please your Grace, It shows great anger. That does not please our Grace. Yet here's the comfort my Lord, many times. When it seems most it threatens farthest off. Faith and I think so too. Beside my Lord, You're gracefully established with the loves Of all your subjects: and for natural death, I hope it will be threescore years a coming. True, no more but threescore years. fourscore I hope my Lord: And five-score, ay, But 'tis my hope my Lord, you shall near die. Give me thy hand, these others I rebuke, He that hopes so, is sittest for a Duke: Thou shalt sit next me, take your places Lords, We're ready now for sports, let 'em set on. You thing? we shall forget you quite anon! I hear 'em coming my Lord. Ah 'tis well, Brothers, and Bastard, you dance next in hell? Mark, Thunder? Dost know thy cue, thou big-voicest crier? Duke's groans, are thunders watchwords, So my Lords, You have enough. Come let's away, no lingering. Follow, go? No power is angry when the lustful die, When thunderclaps, heaven likes the tragedy. Oh, oh. Whose groan was that? Treason, a guard. How now? all murdered! Murdered! And those his Nobles? Here's a labour saved, I thought to have sped him, 'sblood how came this. Then I proclaim myself, now I am Duke. Thou Duke,! brother thou liest. Slave so dost thou? Base villain hast thou slain my Lord and Master. pistols, treason, murder, help, guard my Lord the Duke. Lay hold upon this Traitors? Oh. Alas, the Duke is murdered. And the Nobles. Surgeons, Surgeons,— heart does he breathe so long. A piteous tragedy, able to wake, An old man's eyes bloodshot; Oh. Look to my Lord the duke— a vengeance throttle him. Confess thou murderous and unhollowed man, Didst thou kill all these? None but the Bastard I,
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)
That shine makes vs all happy. His Grace frounes? Yet we must say he smiles. I thinke we must. That foule-Incontinent Duchesse we haue banisht, The Bastard shall not liue: after these Reuells Ile begin strange ones; hee and the stepsonnes, Shall pay their liues for the first subsidies, We must not frowne so soone, else t'ad beene now? My gratious Lord please you prepare for pleasure, The maske is not far off. We are for pleasure, Beshrew thee, what art thou? madst me start? Thou hast committed treason,—A blazing star. A blazing star, O where my Lord. Spy out. See, see, my Lords, a wondrous-dreadful one. I am not pleasd at that ill-knotted fire, That bushing-flaring star,—am not I Duke? It should not quake me now: had it appeard, Before it, I might then haue iustly feard, But yet they say, whom art and learning Weds: When stars were locks, they threaten great-mens heads, Is it so? you are read my Lords. May it please your Grace, It showes great anger. That dos not please our Grace. Yet here's the comfort my Lord, many times. When it seemes most it threatnes fardest off. Faith and I thinke so too. Beside my Lord, You'r gracefully establisht with the loues Of all your subiects: and for naturall death, I hope it will be threescore years a comming. True, no more but threescore years. Fourescore I hope my Lord: And fiuescore, I, But tis my hope my Lord, you shall nere die. Giue me thy hand, these others I rebuke, He that hopes so, is sittest for a Duke: Thou shalt sit next me, take your places Lords, We're ready now for sports, let 'em set on. You thing? we shall forget you quite anon! I heare 'em comming my Lord. Ah tis well, Brothers, and Bastard, you dance next in hell? Marke, Thunder? Dost know thy kue, thou big-voyc'st cryer? Dukes groanes, are thunders watch-words, So my Lords, You haue ynough. Come lets away, no lingring. Follow, goe? No power is angry when the lust-ful die, When thunder-claps, heauen likes the tragedy. Oh, oh. Whose groane was that? Treason, a guard. How now? all murderd! Murderd! And those his Nobles? Here's a labour sau'd, I thought to haue sped him, Sbloud how came this. Then I proclaime my selfe, now I am Duke. Thou Duke,! brother thou liest. Slaue so dost thou? Base villayne hast thou slaine my Lord and Maister. Pistolls, treason, murder, helpe, guard my Lord the Duke. Lay hold vpon this Traytors? Oh. Alasse, the Duke is murderd. And the Nobles. Surgeons, Surgeons,—heart dos he breath so long. A piteous tragaedy, able to wake, An old-mans eyes bloud-shot; Oh. Looke to my Lord the Duke-a vengeance throttle him. Confesse thou murdrous and vnhollowed man, Didst thou kill all these? None but the Bastard I,