Heywood, Thomas · published 1607 · first performed or written 1603 [Feb 12-Mar 6, payment] (Annals) tragedy · Worcester's Men unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 506 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
To recompense her wrongs, what canst thou do? Thou hast made her husbandless, and childless to. I have no more to say: speak not for me Yet you may tell your master what you see? I'll do't. I'll speak to her, and comfort her in grief, Oh but her wound cannot be cured with words: No matter though, I'll do my best good will, To work a cure on her whom I did kill. So, now unto my Coach, then to my home, So to my deathbed, for from this sad hour, I never will, nor eat, nor drink, nor taste Of any Cates that may preserve my life: I never will nor smile, nor sleep, nor rest, But when my tears have washed my black soul white, Sweet Saviour to thy hands I yield my sprite. Oh mistress Frankford? Oh for God's sake fly, The Devil doth come to tempt me ere I die: My Coach: this sin that with an angel's face, Courted mine honour till he sought my wrack, In my repentant eyes seems ugly black. What my young master that fled in his shirt, how come you by your clothes again? you have made our house in a sweet pickle, have you not think you? What shall I serve you still, or cleave to the old house? Hence slave, away with thy unseasoned mirth, Unless thou canst shed tears, and sigh, and howl, Curse thy sad fortunes, and exclaim on fate, Thou art not for my turn. Marry and you will not another will: farewell and be hanged, would you had never come to have kept this coil within our doors, we shall ha' you run away like a sprite again. she's gone to death, I live to want and woe, Her life, her sins, and all upon my head, And I must now go wander like a Cain In foreign Countries, and remoted climes, Where the report of my ingratitude Cannot be heard, I'll over, first to France, And so to Germany, and Italy, Where when I have recovered, and by travel. Gotten those perfect tongues, and that these rumours May in their height abate, I will return, And I divine, however now dejected My worth and parts being by some great man praised, At my return I may in Court be raised. Brother, and now my wife, I think these troubles Fall on my head, by justice of the heavens, For being so strict to you in your extremities, But we are now atoned, I would my sister Could with like happiness, o'ercome her griefs, As we Have ours. You tell us master Cranwell wondrous things, Touching the patience of that gentleman, With what strange virtue he demeans his grief. I told you what I was witness of, It was my fortune to lodge there that night. O that same villain Wendoll, 'twas his tongue That did corrupt her, she was of herself. Chaste and devoted well. Is this the house? Yes sir, I take it here your sister lies.
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)
To recompence her wrongs, what canst thou do? Thou hast made her husbandlesse, and childlesse to. I haue no more to say: speake not for me Yet you may tell your maister what you see? Ile doo. Ile speake to her, and comfort her in griefe, Oh but her wound cannot be cur`d with words: No matter though, Ile do my best good will, To wroke a cure on her whom I did kill. So, now vnto my Coach, then to my home, So to my deathbed, for from this sad houre, I neuer will, nor eate, nor drinke, nor tast Of any Cates that may preserue my life: I neuer will nor smile, nor sleepe, nor rest, But when my teares haue washt my blacke soule white, Sweete Sauiour to thy hands I yeeld my sprite. Oh mistris Frankford? Oh for Gods sake fly, The Diuell doth come to tempt me ere I dye: My Coach: this sinne that with an Angels face, Courted mine honor till hee sought my wracke, In my repentant eyes seemes vgly blacke. What my young maister that fled in his shirt, how come you by your clothes againe? you haue made our house in a sweet pickle, haue you not thinke you? What shall I serue you still, or cleaue to the old house? Hence slaue, away with thy vnseasoned mirth, Vnlesse thou canst shed teares, and sigh, and houle, Curse thy sad fortunes, and exclaime on fate, Thou ar not for my turne. Marry and you will not another will: farewell and be hangd, wold you had neuer come to haue kept this quoile within our doores, we shall ha you run away like a sprite againe. Shes gone to death, I liue to want and wo, Her life, her sins, and all vpon my head, And I must now go wander like a Cain In forreine Countries, and remoted clymes, Where the report of my ingratitude Cannot be heard, Ile ouer, first to France, And so to Germany, and Italy, Where when I haue recouered, and by trauell. Gotten those perfect tongues, and that these rumors May in their height abate, I will returne, And I deuine, how euer now deiected My worth and part being by some great man praisd, At my returne I may in Court be raisd. Brother, and now my wife, I thinke these troubles Fall on my hed, by Iustice of the heaueus, For being so strict to yu in your extremitie, But we are now attonde, I would my sister Could with like happinesse, o `recome her griefes, As we Haue ours. You tell vs maister Cranwell wonderous things, Touching the patience of that gentleman, With what strange verue he demenes his griefe. I told you what I was witnesse of It was my fortune to lodge there that night. O that same villen Wendoll, t'was his tongue That did corrupt her, she was of her self. Chast and deuoted well. Is this the house? Yes sir, I take it her your sister lies.