Markham, Gervase / Machin, Lewis · published 1608 · first performed or written 1608 [1607-1608] (Annals) tragicomedy · Children of the King's Revels T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.77 · 500 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
As lightly burdened with the weight of crimes, As spotesse infants, or poor harmless lambs, Thus I ascend my heaven, this first step lower, Mounts to this next, this, thus and thus hath brought My bodies frame unto its highest throne; Hear doth her office end, and hence my soul With golden wings of thought shall mount the sky, And reap a palace of pure sanctity. Farewell my soveragine, madame within your thoughts Make me a tomb, and love my memory. Brother farewell, nay do not mourn my death, It is not I that die to spot our house, Or make you live in after obloquy. Then weep no more, but take my last adieu, My virtues not my faults preserve with you. Lastly, to you that are my last of hope, Nay do not hide your eyes, I love them still: To part friends now is greatest charity. O be thy days as fruitful in delights, As Eden in choice flowers, thine honours such As all the world may strive to imitate. Be master of thy wishes: only this, When the sad nurse to still the wrangling babe, Shall sing the careful story of my death, Give me a sigh, from thy heart's purest breath: And so farewell. Madame kneel here, forgive me for your death. With all my heart, thou art but laws poor hand, Thus to my death I bow, and yet arise, Angels protect my spirits in the skies. Hold, or thine own hand shall be thine own destruction. Never did music sound with better voice. Unbind the Lady. The fear of death hath brought her to a swoon. Endeavour her recovery. Sister, dear sister call thy spirits back; Sister, O sister, hearken to my woes, Recover breath and live with happiness. She stirs, give way to air that she may breathe. Speak Mariana, thy woes are canceled: You are not charitable unto my moans, Thus to afflict me with a double punishment: One death for one poor fault might well suffice, They are most wretched who twice lives and dies. Madam to save your life I kill my soul: And speckle that which was immaculate. Black perjury that open eyed disease, Which is the plague sore of society, Brands me with mischief, and protests I hold Nothing within me but unworthiness: And all these ills are your creation. Which to wash off; lo here I yield myself An humble sacrifice to love and thee: All my best hopes, my fortunes and my love, My faith, my service, and my loyalty, Shall as thy slaves attend on thy commands, And make me famous in my suffrages. Receive her Philocles, for it pleaseth us. But not me my thrice royal sovereign. I'll rather wed a sooty blackamoor, A leper, monster, Incubus or hag, A wretch deformed in nature, loathed of men Then her that hath bemonstered my pure soul, Her scorn and pride had almost lost her life, A maid so faulted, seldom proves ' good wife.
nodes 892–956 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 18 of 37 in this edition
Length
500 words · 656 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.769 (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)
As lightly burdened with the waight of crimes, As spotesse infants, or poore harmlesse lambes, Thus I ascend my heauen, this first step lower, Mounts to this next, this, thus and thus hath brought My bodies frame vnto its highest throne; Heere doth her office end, and hence my soule With golden wings of thought shall mount the skie, And reap a palace of pure sanctitie. Farewell my soueragine, madame within your thoughts Make me a tombe, and loue my memory. Brother farewell, nay do not mourne my death, It is not I that die to spot our house, Or make you liue in after obloquy. Then weep no more, but take my last adiew, My vertues not my faults preserue with you. Lastly, to you that are my last of hope, Nay do not hide your eies, I loue them still: To part friends now is greatest charitie. O be thy dayes as fruitfull in delights, As Eden in choice flowers, thine honours such As all the world may striue to imitate. Be master of thy wishes: onely this, When the sad nurse to still the wrangling babe, Shall sing the carefull story of my death, Giue me a sigh, from thy hearts purest breath: And so farewell. Madame kneele here, forgiue me for your death. With all my heart, thou art but lawes poore hand, Thus to my death I bowe, and yet arise, Angels protect my spirits in the skies. Hold, or thine owne hand shal be thine owne destruction. Neuer did musicke sound with better voice. Vnbind the Lady. The feare of death hath brought her to a swound. Indeuour her recouery. Sister, deere sister call thy spirits backe; Sister, O sister, hearken to my woes, Recouer breath and liue with happinesse. She stirs, giue way to ayre that she may breath. Speake Mariana, thy woes are cancelled: You are not charitable vnto my moanes, Thus to afflict me with a double punishment: One death for one poore fault might well suffice, They are most wretched who twice liues and dies. Madame to saue your life I kill my soule: And speckle that which was immaculate. Blacke periury that open eied disease, Which is the plague sore of society, Brands me with mischiefe, and protests I hold Nothing within me but vnworthinesse: And all these ils are your creation. Which to wash off; loe heere I yeeld my selfe An humble sacrifice to loue and thee: All my best hopes, my fortunes and my loue, My faith, my seruice, and my loialtie, Shall as thy slaues attend on thy commands, And make me famous in my suffrages. Receiue her Philocles, for it pleaseth vs. But not me my thrice royall soueraigne. I'le rather wed a sooty blackamoore, A Leaper, monster, Incubus or hagge, A wretch deformd in nature, loath'd of men Then her that hath bemonster'd my pure soule, Her scorne and pride had almost lost her life, A maid so faulted, seldome proues' good wife.