Day, John · published 1608 · first performed or written 1604 [1604-1607] (Annals) comedy · Children of the Queen's Revels T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.73 · 491 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
What is a man? heart a the Devil mere fools, His rich invention, Machiavellian plots: Idle illusive antic fantasies. Apelles' grapes, I had as full a brain, Fertile invention and as forward hopes, As man could father, or his wit bring forth: Yet in a minute in bubbles age, The venomed fury of a bitter spleen, Confounded all, forgetful that I was, Women are moulded out of bashfulness: And must be drawn to kindness by degrees. All this I knew. Neither the Law nor I, Know any reason why Horatio. But mum, Law-tricks as closely as I can, Mine ear shall drink his meditation. Had she survived Time— Might have found us out, Good, firm in Law, I am a fool to doubt, His constant secrecy. But now she's dead. The deepest wit could not have bettered, Our smooth conveyance, but upright and straight, Unknown, unseen, i'll work upon conceit. Had she been living, golden promises, The smooth Attorneys to a lovers tongue Might have in time solicited my suit, Gifts might have pleaded, mournful Elegies, Told her my passions, had she been composed Of steel or flint, nay, made of women's hearts, The most obdurate mettle, Time and Art, But she is dead, oh hell! and in her tomb. My hopes are buried. My conceited brain, Hath an odd crotchet called me back again. To all these bad misfortunes should the corn use any tricks? Ha? a talks of tricks, Of count and tricks, for tricks and count are twins. Yet I regard not. I am right and straight. Say a complain? Suppose he tell the Duke he gave the poison. He contrived her death and cannot wrong me, Fie, I fear him not, He doth but father, what my brain begot. This comfort yet which many want I have, To follow my fair fortunes to the grave. OH, shall I venture? ha, shall I enter? Shield me Apollo, the ground is so hollow That every step I tread upon it, Methinks it sings a dead man's Sonnet. Fates, oh Fates be honest Drabs, Fear gives me ten thousand stabs, I dare not further 'tis wilful murder, Thus late to tread the cloister vaults. For though i'm small, I have great men's faults, Then gentle Fates, take some remorse, I watch an honest, kind, quick course. Grant that no Hobgoblins fright me, No hungry devils rise up and bite me: No Urchin, Elves, or drunkards Ghosts, Shove me against walls or posts, O grant I may no black thing touch, Though many men love to meet such. But here's the tomb, my hopes sufficing, I watch a dainty Ducks uprising, Her cheeks now are chilly, as is the pale lily, (Roses) But when her eye uncloses, they'll look like two fair A light my master? or some sprite, Yet What need Devils have candlelight, 'tis he, all hid, i'll not be seen, For once this tomb shall be my screen.
nodes 1220–1291 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 24 of 31 in this edition
Length
491 words · 679 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.727 (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)
What is a man? hart a the Deuill meere fools, His rich inuention, Machiuilian plots: Idle illuſiue antick phantaſies. Apelles grapes, I had as full a brayne, Fertile inuention and as forward hopes, As man could father, or his wit bring forth: Yet in a minute in bubles age, The venomdfury of a bitter ſpleene, Confounded all, forgetfull that I was, Women are moulded out of baſhfulneſſe: And muſt be drawne to kindneſſe by degrees. All this I knew. Neither the Law nor I, Know any reaſon why Horatio. But mum, Law-tricks as cloſely as I can, Mine eare ſhall drinke his meditation. Had ſhe uruiu'd Time— Might haue found vs out, Good, firme in Law, I am a foole to doubt, His conſtant ſecrecie. But now ſhee's dtad. The deepeſt wit could not haue bettered, Our ſmooth conueyance, but vpright and ſtreight, Vnknowne, vnſeene, ile worke vpon conceit. Had ſhe bene liuing, golden promiſes, The ſmoothe Atturneys to a Louers tongue Might haue in time ſolicited my ſuite, Guiftes might haue pleaded, mournefull Elegies, Told her my paſſions, had ſhe bene compoſde Of ſteele or flint, nay, made of womens hearts, The moſt obdurate mettle, Time and Art, But ſhe is dead, oh hell! and in her tombe. My hopes are buried. My conceited braine, Hath an odde crotchet call'd me backe againe. To all theſe bad miſ-fortunes ſhould the Corn vſe any trickes? Ha? a talkes of trickes, Of count and tricks, for trickes and count are twinns. Yet I regard not. I am right and ſtreight. Say a complaine? Suppoſe he tell the Duke he gaue the poiſon. He contriu'd her death and cannot wrong me, Fie, I feare him not, He doth but father, what my braine begot. This comfort yet which many want I haue, To follow my faire fortunes to the graue. OH, ſhall I venter? ha, ſhall I enter? Shield me Appollo, the groūd is ſo hollow That euerie ſtep I treade vpon it, Methinkes it ſings a dead mans Sonnet. Fates, oh Fates be honeſt Drabs, Feare giues me ten thouſand ſtabs, I dare not further tis wilfull murther, Thus late to treade the cloyſter vaults. For though i'me ſmall, I haue great mens faults, Then gentle Fates, take ſome remorſe, I watch an honeſt, kinde, quick courſe. Graunt that no Hobgoblins fright me, No hungrie deuils riſe vp and bite me: No Vrchin, Elues, or drunkards Ghoaſts, Shoue me againſt walles or poſtes, O graunt I may no black thing touch, Though many men loue to meete ſuch. But heere's the tombe, my hopes ſuffizing, I watch a dainrie Duckes vpriſing, Her cheekes now are chilly, as is the pale lilly, (Roſes) But when her eye vncloſes, theile looke like two faire A light my maiſter? or ſome ſpright, Yet What neede Deuils haue candle-light, Tis he, all hid, ile not be ſeene, For once this tombe ſhall be my ſcreene.