The Famous History of Sir Thomas Wyatt · chunk 10 of 22
Heywood, Thomas / Dekker, Thomas / Chettle, Henry / Webster, John · published 1607 · first performed or written 1602 (Annals) history · Worcester's Men T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.72 · 504 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
God pardon thee, and lay not to thy soul This grievous sin: Farewell. And when thou spendest this ill got gold Remember how thy masters life was sold. Thy Lord that gave thee Lordships, made thee great, Yet thou betrayd'st him as he sat at meat. On to my grave, 'tis time that I were dead, When he that held my heart betrays my head. O God, O God, that ever I was borne, This deed hath made me (slave) to abject scorn. O poor shrimp, how art thou fallen away for want of munching? O Colen cries out most tyrannically, the little gut hath no mercy, what's here victuals? O rare! O good! Feed chops, drink throat, good victuals makes good blood. But stay, whose here? more Sheriffs more searchers? O no, this is Homes that betrayed his honest Master, How, with a Halter about his neck? I hope he doth not mean to hang himself? i'll step aside. This is the place, where I betrayed my Lord, This is the place where oft I have relieved: and villain I, betrayed him to the jaws of death, But here before I further will proceed Here will I bury this enticing gold, Lie there damned fiend never serve humane more, This is rare, now in this mood he would hang himself 'twere excellent. Shall I ask mercy? no it is too late, Heaven will not hear, and I am desperate. So, so, a very good ending, would all false Servants might drink of the same sauce. Gold, you are first mine, you must help To shift myself into some counterfeit suit Of apparel, and then to London: If my old Master be hanged, why so: If not, why rustic and lustick: Yet before I go, I do not care if I throw this Dog in a Ditch: come away dissembler: this cannot choose but be a hundred pound it ways so heavy. By God's assistance, and the power of heaven, after our Troubles we are safely set, In our inheritance, for which we do subscribe The praise and benefit to God, next thanks To you my Lords. Now shall the sanctuary, And the house of the most high be newly built. The ancient honours due unto the Church, Buried within the Ruin monasteries, Shall lift their stately heads, and rise again To astonish the destroyers wandering eyes. Zeal shall be decked in gold, Religion not like a virgin robbed of all her ponipe, But briefly shining in her gems of state, Like a fair bride be offered to the Lord. To build large houses pull no churches down, Rather in rich the Temple with our crown. Better a poor Queen, than the Subjects poor. May it please your grace to give release Unto such ancient Bishops that have lost their Honours in the church affairs. We have given order to the Duke of Norfolk to release them. Your sacred Highness will no doubt be mind full of the late Oath you took at Framingam
Heywood, Thomas / Dekker, Thomas / Chettle, Henry / Webster, John
Publication year (edition)
1607
First performance / composition (Annals)
1602
First performance (BritDrama)
1601 [autumn]
Company (BritDrama)
Worcester's Men
Genre (British Drama)
history
Play type
Adult Professional;Professional
Edition / TCP / DEEP
edition 600 · TCP A20096 · DEEP 499
Edition role
Representative edition — used in the analysis
Position
nodes 570–626 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 10 of 22 in this edition
Length
504 words · 644 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.722 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
God pardon thee, and lay not to thy soule This greeuous inne: Farwell. And when thou spendest this ill got golde Remember how thy Maister life was solde. Thy Lord that gaue thee Lordships, made thee great, Yet thou betraidst him as he sat at meate. On to my graue, tis time that I were dead, When he that held my heart betraies my head. O God, O God, that euer I was borne, This deede hath made me (slaue) to abiect scorne. O poore shrimpe, how art thou falne away for want of mouching? O Colen cries out most tirannically, the little gut hath no mercie, whats heere vittailes? O rare! O good! Feede chops, drinke throate, good victailes makes good blood. But stay, whose heere? more Sheriffes more searchers? O no, this is Homes that betraide his honest Maister, How, with a Halter about his necke? I hope hee doth not meane to hang himselfe? ile step a side. This is the place, where I betraide my Lord, This is the place where oft I haue releeu'd: and villaine I, betraide him to the Iawes of death, But heere before I further will proceede Heere will I burie this inticing gould, Lye there damn'd fiend neuer serue humaine more, This is rare, now in this moode hee would hang himselfe twre excellent. Shall I aske mercie? no it is too late, Heauen will not heare, and I am desperate. So, so, a very good ending, would all falce Seruants might drinke of the same sauce. Gold, you are firstmine, you must helpe To shift my selfe into some counterfeite suite Of apparel, and then to London: If my olde Maister be hanged, why so: If not, why rusticke and lusticke: Yet before I goe, I doe not care if I throwe this Dog in a Ditch: come away dissembler: this cannot chuse but be a hundred pound it wayes so heauy. By Gods asistance, and the power of heauen, after our Troubles we are safely set, In our inheritance, for which we doe subscribe The praise and benefit to God, next thankes To you my Lordes. Now shall the sanctuarie, And the house of the moste high be newly built. The ancient honours due vnto the Church, Buried within the Ruine Monastaries, Shall lift their stately heads, and rise againe To astonish the destroyers wandring eyes. Zeale shall be deckt in golde, Religion not like a virgin robd of all her ponipe, But briefly shining in her Iemmes of state, Like a faire bride be offerd to the Lord. To build large houses pull no churches downe, Rather in rich the Temple with our crowne. Better a poore Queene, then the Subiects poore. May it please your grace to giue release Vnto such ancient Bishops that haue lost their Honours in the church affaires. We haue giuen order to the Duke of Norfolke to release them. Your sacred Highnesse will no doubt be minde full of the late Oath you tooke at