The Tragedy of Charles Duke of Byron · chunk 37 of 37
Chapman, George · published 1608 · first performed or written 1608 [1607-1608] (Annals) tragedy · Children of the Queen's Revels T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.88 · 508 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
You wish my quiet, yet give cause of fury: Think you to set rude winds upon the Sea, Yet keep it calm? or cast me in a sleep, With shaking of my chains about mine ears? O honest Soldiers, you have seen me free, From any care, of many thousand deaths! Yet, of this one, the manner doth amaze me. View, view, this wounded bosom, how much bound Should that man make me, that would shoot it through; Is it not pity I should lose my life, By such a bloody and infamous stroke? Now by thy spirit, and thy better Angel, If thou wert clear, the Continent of France, Would shrink beneath the burden of thy death, Ere it would bear are it; whose's that? I say well: And clear your justice, here is no ground shrinks, If he were clear it would: And I say more, clear, or not clear, If he with all his foulness, Stood here in one Scale, and the Kings chief Minion, Stood in another, here: Put here a pardon, Here lay a royal gift, this, this, in merit, Should hoist the other Minion into air: Hence with that frantic: This is some poor witness That my desert, might have outweighed my forfeit: But danger, haunts desert, when he is Greatest; His hearty ills, are proved out of his glances, And Kings suspicions, needs no Balances; So her's a most decretal end of me: Which I desire, in me, may end my wrongs; Commend my love, I charge you, to my brothers, And by my love, and misery command them, To keep their faiths that bind them to the King, And prove no stomachers of my misfortunes; Nor come to Court, till time hath eaten out, The blots, and scars of my opprobrious death; And tell the Earl, my dear friend of D'Auvergne, That my death utterly were free from grief, But for the sad loss of his worthy friendship; And if I had been made for longer life, I would have more deserved him in my service, Beseeching him to know I have not used One word in my arraignment; that might touch him, Had I no other want then so ill meaning: And so farewell for ever: never more Shall any hope of my revival see me; Such is the endless exile of dead men. Summer succeeds the spring; Autumn the Summer, The Frosts of Winter, the fallen leaves of Autumn: All these, and all fruits in them yearly fade, And every year return: but cursed man, Shall never more renew, his vanished face; Fall on your knees, than Statists ere ye fall, That you may rise again: knees bent too late, Stick you in earth like statues: see in me How you are poured down from your clearest heavens; Fall lower yet: mixed with th' unmoved centre, That your own shadows may no longer mock ye. strick, strike, O strike; Fly, fly commanding soul, And on thy wings for this thy Body's breath, Bear the eternal victory of death.
nodes 2317–2380 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 37 of 37 in this edition
Length
508 words · 662 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.881 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T10 · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
You wish my quiet, yet giue cause of fury: Thinke you to set rude windes vpon the Sea, Yet keepe it calme? or cast me in a sleepe, With shaking of my chaines about myne eares? O honest Soldiers, you haue seene me free, From any care, of many thousand deathes! Yet, of this one, the manner doth amaze me. View, view, this wounded bosome, how much bound Should that man make me, that would shoote it through; Is it not pitty I should lose my life, By such a bloody and infamous stroake? Now by thy spirit, and thy better Angell, If thou wert cleere, the Continent of France, Would shrinke beneath the burthen of thy death, Ere it would b are it; Whose that? I say well: And cleere your Iustice, here is no ground shrinks, If he were cleere it would: And I say more, Clere, or not cleere, If he with all his foulenesse, Stood here in one Skale, and the Kings chiefe Mynion, Stood in another, here: Put here a pardon, Here lay a royall gift, this, this, in merit, Should hoyse the other Mynion into ayre: Hence with that franticke: This is some poore witnes That my desert, might haue out-weighed my forfeyt: But danger, hauntes desert, when he is Greatest; His hearty ills, are prou'd out of his glaunces, And Kings suspicions, needes no Ballances; So her's a most decreetall end of me: VVhich I desire, in me, may end my wrongs; Commend my loue, I charge you, to my brothers, And by my loue, and misery command them, To keepe their faiths that bind them to the King, And proue no stomakers of my misfortunes; Nor come to Court, till time hath eaten out, The blots, and skarres of my opprobrious death; And tell the Earle, my deare friend of D'Auergne, That my death vtterly were free from griefe, But for the sad losse of his worthy friendship; And if I had beene made for longer life, I would haue more deseru'd him in my seruice, Beseeching him to know I haue not vsde One word in my arraignement; that might touch him, Had I no other want then so ill meaning: And so farewell for euer: neuer more Shall any hope of my reuiuall see mee; Such is the endlesse exile of dead men. Summer succeeds the spring; Autumne the Summer, The Frosts of Winter, the falne leaues of Autumne: All these, and all fruites in them yearely fade, And euery yeare returne: but cursed man, Shall neuer more renew, his vanisht face; Fall on your knees, then Statists ere yee fall, That you may rise againe: knees bent too late, Stick you in earth like statues: see in me How you are powr'd downe from your cleerest heauens; Fall lower yet: mixt with th' vnmoued center, That your owne shadowes may no longer mocke yee▪ Stricke, stricke, O stricke; Flie, flie commanding soule, And on thy wings for this thy bodies breath, Beare the eternall victory of death.