Heywood, Thomas · published 1608 · first performed or written 1607 [1606-1608] (Annals) tragedy · Queen Anne's Men · Red Bull T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.82 · 508 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Nothing, nay nothing: oh you powerful Gods, That should have Angels guardent on your throne, To protect innocence and chastity! oh why Suffer you such inhuman massacre On harmless virtue? wherefore take you charge, On sinless souls to see them wounded thus: With Rape or Violence? forgive white innocence, Armour of proof 'gainst sin: or by oppression Kill Virtue quite, & guerdon base transgression? Is it my fate above all other women? Or is my sin more heinous than the rest, That amongst thousands, millions, infinites, I, only I, should to this shame be borne, To be a stain to women, nature's scorn? oh! What ails you Madam, troth you make me weep To see you shed salt tears: what hath oppressed you? Why is your chamber hung with mourning black? Your habit sable, and your eyes thus swollen With ominous tears: alas what troubles you? I am not, thou didst deceive thy self, I did not weep, there's nothing troubles me, But wherefore dost thou blush? Madam not I. Indeed thou didst, and in that blush my guilt thou didst betray How cam'st thou by the notice of my sin? What sin? My blot, my scandal and my shame: Oh Tarquin! thou my honour didst betray, Disgrace no time, no age can wipe away, oh! Sweet Lady cheer yourself, i'll fetch my viol And see if I can sing you fast asleep, A little rest would wear away this passion. Do what thou wilt, I can command no more, Being no more a woman, I am now Devote to death, and an inhabitant Of th'other world: these eyes must ever weep, Till fate hath closed them with eternal sleep. Brutus! Lucretius! Father! Lucrece! Collatine! How cheer you Madam? how is't with you cousen? Why is your eye deject and drowned in sorrow? Why is this funeral black, and ornaments Of widowhood? resolve me cousen Lucrece. How fare you Lady? What's the matter girl? Why how is't with you Lucrece, tell me sweet? Why dost thou hide thy face? & with thy hand Darken those eyes that were my Suns of joy, To make my pleasures flourish in the Spring? Oh me! Whence are these sighs and tears? How grows this passion? Speak Lady you are hemmed in with your friends, girt in a pale of safety, and environed and circled in a fortress of your kindred, Let not those drops fall fruitless to the ground, Nor let your sighs add to the senseless wind. Speak, who hath wrong you? Ere I speak my woe, Swear you'll revenge poor Lucrece on her foe. Be his head arched with gold. Be his hand armed with an imperial Sceptre. Be he great as Tarquin throne in an imperial seat Be he no more than mortal, he shall feel The vengeful edge of this victorious steel. Then seat you Lords, whilst I expose my wrong. Father, dear husband, and my kinsmen, Lords Hear me, I am dishonoured and disgraced, My reputation mangled, my renown disparaged, but my body, oh my body
nodes 1624–1696 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 32 of 40 in this edition
Length
508 words · 698 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.819 (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)
Nothing, nay nothing: oh you powerfull Gods, That should haue Angels guardent on your throne, To protect innocence and chastitie! oh why Suffer you such inhumane massacre On harmeles vertue? wherefore take you charge, On sinles soules to see them wounded thus: With Rape or Violence? forgiue white innocence, Armor of proofe gainst sinne: or by oppression Kill Vertue quite, & guerdon base transgression? Is it my far aboue all other women? Or is my sinne more haynous then the rest, That amongst thousands, millions, infinites, I, only I, should to this shame borne, To be a staine to women, natues scorne? oh! What ailes you Madam, troth you make me weepe To see you shead salt teares: what hath opprest you? Why is your chamber hung with mourning blacke? Your habit sable, and your eyes thus swolne With ominous teares: alas what troubles you? I am not, thou didst deceiue thy felfe, I did not weepe, theres nothing troubles me, But wherefore dost thou blush? Madam not I. Indeede thou didst, and in that blush my guilt thou didst betray How cam'st thou by the notice of my sinne? What sinne? My blot, my scandall and my shame: Oh Tarquin! thou my honour didst betray, Disgraceno time, no age wipe away, oh! Sweete Lady cheere your selfe, ile fetch my Vyol And see if I can sing you fast a sleepe, A little rest would weare away this passion. Doe what thou wilt, I can commaund no more, Being no more a woman, I am now Deuote to death, and an inhabitant Of th'other world: these eyes must euer weepe, Till fate hath closde them with eternall sleepe. Brutus! Lucretius! Father! Lucrece! Collatine! How cheare you Madam? how ist with you cousen? Why is your eye deiect and drown'd in sorrow? Why is this funerall black, and ornaments Ofwiddow-hood? resolue me cousen Lucrece. How fare you Lady? What's the matter girle? Why how i'st with you Lucrece, tell me sweete? Why doost thou hide thy face? & with thy hand Darken those eies that were my Sunnes ofioy, To make my pleasures florish in the Spring? Oh me! Whence are these sig hes and teares? How growes this passion? Speake Lady you are hm'd in with your friendes, in a pale of safety, and and cirkled in a fortresse of your kinred, Let not those drops fall fruiteles to the ground, Nor let your sighes ad to the sencelesse winde. Speake, who hath wrong you? Ere I speake my woe, Sweare youle reuenge poore Lucrece on her . Be his head archt with golde. Behis hand ard with an imperiall Scepter. Be he great as Tarquin throand in an imperial seat Be he no morethen mortall, he shall feele The vengefull edge of this victorious steele. Then seate you Lords, whilst I expose my wrong. Father, deere husband, and my kinsmen, Lords Heare me, I am dishonour'd and disgrac'd, My reputation mangled, my renown disparaged, but my body, oh my body