Jonson, Ben · published 1616 · first performed or written 1606 [1605-1606] (Annals) comedy · King's Men T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.87 · 478 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
O! just God. In vain— Forbear, foul ravisher, libidinous swine, Free the forced lady, or thou diest, impostor. But that I am loath to snatch thy punishment Out of the hand of justice, thou shouldst, yet, Be made the timely sacrifice of vengeance, Before this altar, and this dross, thy idol. Lady, let's quit the place, it is the den Of villainy; fear nought, you have a guard: And he, ere long, shall meet his just reward. Fall on me, roof, and bury me in ruin, Become my grave, that wert my shelter. O! I am unmasked, unspirited, undone, Betrayed to beggary, to infamy— WHere shall I run, most wretched shame of men, To beat out my unlucky brains? Here, here. What! dost thou bleed? O, that his well-driven sword Had been so courteous to have cleft me down, Unto the navel; ere I lived to see My life, my hopes, my spirits, my patron, all Thus desperately engaged, by my error. Woe, on thy fortune. And my follies, sir. Th' hast made me miserable. And myself, sir. Who would have thought, he would have hearkened, so? What shall we do? I know not, if my heart Could expiate the mischance, I'd pluck it out. Will you be pleased to hang me? or cut my throat? And I'll requite you, sir. Let's die like Romans, Since we have lived, like Grecians. Hark, who's there? I hear some footing, officers, the Saffi, Come to apprehend us! I do feel the brand Hissing already, at my forehead: now, Mine ears are boring. To your couch, sir, you Make that place good, however. Guilty men Suspect, what they deserve still. signor CORBACCIO! WHy! how now? MOSCA! O, undone, amazed, sir. Your son (I know not, by what accident) Acquainted with your purpose to my patron, Touching your will, and making him your heir; Entered our house with violence, his sword drawn, Sought for you, called you wretch, unnatural, Vowed he would kill you. Me? Yes, and my patron. This act, shall disinherit him indeed: Here is the will. 'Tis well, sir. Right and well. Be you as careful now, for me. My life, sir, Is not more tendered, I am only yours. How does he? will he die shortly, think'st thou? I fear. He'll outlast May. Today? No, last-out May, sir. Couldst thou not gi' him a dram? O, by no means, sir. Nay, I'll not bid you. This is a knave, I see. How, signor VOLTORE! did he hear me? Parasite. Who's that? O, sir, most timely welcome— Scarce, To the discovery of your tricks, I fear. You are his, only? and mine, also? are you not? Who? ay, sir! You, sir. What device is this About a will? A plot for you, sir. Come, Put not your foists upon me, I shall scent 'em. Did you not hear it?
nodes 1979–2060 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 32 of 53 in this edition
Length
478 words · 730 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.873 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T7 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
O! iust God. In vaine— Forbeare, foule rauisher, libidinous swine, Free the forc'd lady, or thou dy'st, impostor. But that I am loth to snatch thy punishment Out of the hand of iustice, thou shouldst, yet, Be made the timely sacrifice of vengeance, Before this altar, and this drosse, thy idoll. Lady, let's quit the place, it is the den Of villany; feare nought, you haue a guard: And he, ere long, shall meet his iust reward. Fall on me, roofe, and bury me in ruine, Become my graue, that wert my shelter. O! I am vn-masqu'd, vn-spirited, vn-done, Betray'd to beggery, to infamy— WHere shall I runne, most wretched shame of men, To beate out my vn-luckie braines? Here, here. What! dost thou bleed? O, that his wel-driu'n sword Had beene so courteous to haue cleft me downe, Vnto the nauill; ere I liu'd to see My life, my hopes, my spirits, my patron, all Thus desperately engaged, by my error. Woe, on thy fortune. And my follies, sir. Th' hast made me miserable. And my selfe, sir. Who would haue thought, he would haue harken'd, so? What shall we do? I know not, if my heart Could expiate the mischance, Il'd pluck it out. Will you be pleas'd to hang me? or cut my throate? And i'le requite you, sir. Let's die like Romanes, Since wee haue liu'd, like Grecians. Harke, who's there? I heare some footing, officers, the Saffi, Come to apprehend vs! I doe feele the brand Hissing already, at my fore-head: now, Mine eares are boring. To your couch, sir, you Make that place good, how euer. Guilty men Suspect, what they deserue still. Signior CORBACCIO! WHy! how now? MOSCA! O, vndone, amaz'd, sir. Your sonne (I know not, by what accident) Acquainted with your purpose to my patron, Touching your will, and making him your heire; Entred our house with violence, his sword drawne, Sought for you, call'd you wretch, vnnaturall, Vow'd he would kill you. Me? Yes, and my patron. This act, shall disinherit him indeed: Here is the will. 'Tis well, sir. Right and well. Be you as carefull now, for me. My life, sir, Is not more tender'd, I am onely yours. How do's he? will he die shortly, think'st thou? I feare. He'll out-last May. To day? No, last-out May, sir. Couldst thou not gi' him a dram? O, by no meanes, sir. Nay, I'le not bid you. This is a knaue, I see. How, signior VOLTORE! did he heare me? Parasite. Who's that? O, sir, most timely welcome— Scarce, To the discouery of your tricks, I feare. You are his, onely? and mine, also? are you not? Who? I, sir! You, sir. What deuice is this About a will? A plot for you, sir. Come, Put not your foist's vpon me, I shall sent 'hem. Did you not heare it?