The Devil's Charter, or Pope Alexander the Sixth · chunk 29 of 45
Barnes, Barnabe · published 1607 · first performed or written 1606 (Annals) tragedy · King's Men · before the Court T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.72 · 496 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
A foul unsavoury loathsome stink chokes up My vital senses and a boiling heat sups up the lively spirit in my lungs. This poison spreads and is incurable, madam receive one precious antidote. What have I caught you Sforza, Who painted my fair face with these foul spots, You see them in my foul deformed blots, Deliver me from that murdered man, He comes to stab my soul I wounded him, Oh Gismond Gismond hide those bleeding wounds, My soul bleeds drops of sorrow for thy sake; Look not so wrathful I am penitent. Love and remorse did harbour in thine heart, What dost thou beckon to me I will come, And follow thee through millions of woes. Sweet Lady will you take a little rest, It will refresh your spirits instantly. No rest until I see my Lord again. Dear Lady do you love your life, take rest, From the pure burning coals of true contrition. methinks I see the lively counterfeit, Of caitiff Cressid in her misery, engendered out of her disloyalty, Ah Moticilla whom I trained up In cunning sleights and snares of filthiness, Forgive me for that sin; live and repent. Oh God forgive me for my sins are great, And if his goodness lend my life some space, I will with penance call on him for grace, And spend the remnant of my life in prayer. I can no more, death summoneth my soul, Open thy bosom father Abraham, Merciful father let thy mercy pass Extend thy mercy where no mercy was. Merciful father for thy sons dear merit Pardon my sinful soul receive my spirit. Now is her soul at rest 'tis very strange, As well the cause as manner of her death, I have been studied in Hipocrates, In books of Galen and old Avecine, Observed the cures of divers learned doctors, In France in Spain and higher Germany, Yet never met with such an accent, Bear in her body I will in all haste, Bring woeful news unto saint Peeters Palace, His Holiness will grievously lament. Fellows in arms after our victories, Had in the first front of our happy war, With men of hardy resolution, Now must we bend our forces against Furly, Where that proud Amazonian Katharine, Dareth defiance in the face of war, And yet our hopes are sure, all passage clear, And she before I lodge this restless head, Shall bear the bondage of this victory. These proud presuming spirits of vain women, Whose bloodless wounds are only bloody words, talk without reason, fight without resistance, But on the face of grim devouring War, With frowning forehead menacing his force, They fall down on their backs as Venus did, When Mars beheld her with a soldiers face, Nay we must fight: I know the puissant spirit Of warlike Kate the pride of Italie, Sforza's brave sister and old Riario's widow, Excellent valour, and deep policy Must win it, if we purchase at her hands.
nodes 1814–1881 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 29 of 45 in this edition
Length
496 words · 648 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.719 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
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)
A foule vnsauorie loathsome stinke choakes vp My vitall sences and a boyling heat suppes vp the liuely spirit in my lungs. This poyson spreads and is incurable, Madame receiue one precious antidote. What haue I caught you Sforza, Who painted my faire face with these foule pots, You see them in my soule deformed blots, Deliuer me from that murthered man, He comes to stab my soule I wounded him, Oh Gismond Gismond hide those bleeding wounds, My soule bleeds drops of sorrow for thy sake; Looke not so wrathfull I am penitent. Loue and remorse did harbour in thine hart, What doest thou becken to me I will come, And follow thee through millions of woes. Sweet Lady will you take a little rest, It will refresh your spirits instantly. No rest vntill I see my Lord againe. Deere Lady doe you loue your life, take rest, From the pure burning coles of true contrition. Me thinkes I see the liuely counterfet, Of catiue Cressed in her misery, Ingenderd out of hir disloyalty, Ah Moticilla whome I trained vp In cunning sleights and snares of filthinesse, Forgiue me for that sinne; liue and repent. Oh God forgiue me for my sinnes are great, And if his goodnesse lend my life some space, I will with pennance call on him for grace, And spend the remnant of my life in prayer. I can no more, death summoneth my soule, Open thy bosome father Abraham, Mercyfull father let thy mercy passe Extend thy mercy where no mercy was. Mercyfull father for thy sonnes deere merrit Pardon my sinnfull soule receiue my spirrit. Now is her soule at rest tis very strange, As well the cause as manner of her death, I haue beene studied in Hipocrates, In bookes of Gallen and olde Auecine, Obseru'd the cures of diuers learned doctors, In France in Spaine and higher Germany, Yet neuer met with such an accicent, Beare in her body I will in all hast, Bring wofull newes vnto saint Peeters Pallace, His Holinesse will grieuiously lament. Fellows in armes after our victories, Had in the first front of our happie warr, With men of hardy resolution, Now must we bend our forces against Furly, Where that prowd Amazonian Katharine, Dareth defiance in the face of warr, And yet our hopes are sure, all passage cleere, And she before I lodge this restles head, Shall beare the bondage of this victori. These proud presuming spirrits of vaine women, Whose bloodlesse woundes are only bloody words, without reason, fight without resistance, But on the face of grimme deuouring Warre, With frowning fore-head menacing his force, They fall downe on their backs as Venus did, When Mars beheld her with a Souldiers face, Nay we must fight: I know the puissant spirit Of warlike Kate the pride of Italie, Sforzaes braue sister and old Riarioes widdow, Excellent valour, and deepe policie Must winne it, if we purchase at her hands.