Jonson, Ben · published 1609 · first performed or written 1597 [1597-1598; interpolations later] (Annals) comedy · Pembroke's Men T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.79 · 479 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Room for a case of matrons coloured black, How motherly my mother's death hath made us? I would I had some girls now to bring up; O I could make a wench so virtuous, She should say grace to every bit of meat, And gape no wider than a wafer's thickness: And she should make French curtsies, so most low, That every touch should turn her over backward. Sister, these words become not your attire, Nor your estate: our virtuous mother's death Should print more deep effects of sorrow in us, Then may be worn out in so little time. Sister, faith you take too much Tobacco, It makes you black within, as you're without. What true-stich sister? both your sides alike? Be of a slighter work: for of my word, You shall be sold as dear or rather dearer? Will you be bound to customs and to rites? Shed profitable tears, weep for advantage; Or else, do all things, as you are inclined. Hate when your stomach serves (saith the Physician) Not at eleven and six. So if your humour Be now affected with this heaviness. Give me the reins and spare not, as I do, In this my pleasurable appetite, It is Precisianism to alter that With austere judgement, that is given by nature. I wept you saw too, when my mother died: For then I found it easier to do so, And fitter with my mood, than not to weep. But now 'tis otherwise, another time Perhaps I shall have such deep thoughts of her, That I shall weep afresh, some twelvemonth hence, And I will weep, if I be so disposed, And put on black, as grimly then, as now; Let the mind go still with the Body's stature, judgement is fit for judges, give me nature. See signor Angelo here are the Ladies, Go you and comfort one, I'll to the other. Therefore I come sir, I'll to the eldest. God save you Ladies, these sad moods of yours, That make you choose these solitary walks, Are hurtful for your beauties. If we had them. Come, that condition might be for your hearts, When you protest faith, since we cannot see them. But this same heart of beauty, your sweet face Is in mine eye still. O you cut my heart with your sharp eye. Nay Lady that's not so, your heart's to hard. My beauty's heart? O no. I mean that regent of affection, Madam, That tramples on all love with such contempt in this fair breast. No more, your drift is savoured, I had rather seem hard hearted Then hard favoured, Is that your meaning, Lady? Go too sir. Your wits are fresh I know, they need no spur, And therefore you will ride them. Say I do. They will not tire I hope? No not with you, hark you sweet Lady.
nodes 521–584 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 12 of 36 in this edition
Length
479 words · 627 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.786 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T10 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Roome for a caſe of matrons coloured blacke, How motherly my mothers death hath made vs? I would I had ſome girles now to bring vp; O I could make a wench ſo vertuous, She ſhould ſay grace to euery bit of meate, And gape no wider then a wafers thickneſſe: And ſhe ſhould make French curſies, ſo moſt low, That euery touch ſhould turne her ouer backward. Siſter, theſe words become not your atrire, Nor your eſtate: our vertuous mothers death Should print more deepe effects of ſorrow in vs, Then may be worne out in ſo little time. Siſter, faith you take too much Tobacco, It makes you blacke within, as y'are without. What true-ſtich ſiſter? both your ſides alike? Be of a ſleighter worke: for of my word, You ſhall be ſold as deere or rather deerer? Will you be bound to cuſtomes and to rites? Shed profitable teares, weepe for aduantage; Or elſe, do all things, as you are enclynd. Hate when your ſtomacke ſerues (ſaith the Phyſitian) Not at eleuen and ſixe. So if your humour Be now affected with this heauineſſe. Giue me the reines and ſpare not, as I do, In this my pleaſurable appetite, It is Praeciſianiſme to alter that With auſtere iudgement, that is giuen by nature. I wept you ſaw too, when my mother dyed: For then I found it eaſier to do ſo, And fitter with my moode, then not to weepe. But now tis otherwiſe, another time Perhaps I ſhall haue ſuch deepe thoughts of her, That I ſhall weepe a freſh, ſome twelue month hence, And I will weepe, if I be ſo diſpos'd, And put on blacke, as grimly then, as now; Let the minde go ſtill with the bodies ſtature, Iudgement is fit for Iudges, giue me nature. See Signior Angelo here are the Ladies, Go you and comfort one, Ile to the other. Therefore I come ſir, I'le to the eldeſt. God ſaue you Ladies, theſe ſad moodes of yours, That make you chooſe theſe ſolitary walkes, Are hurtfull for your beauties. If we had them. Come, that condition might be for your hearts, When you proteſt faith, ſince we cannot ſee them. But this ſame heart of beauty, your ſweet face Is in mine eye ſtill. O you cut my heart with your ſharpe eye. Nay Lady thats not ſo, your heart's to hard. My beauties hart? O no. I meane that regent of affection, Maddam, That tramples on al loue with ſuch contempt n this faire breaſt. No more, your drift is ſauour'd, I had rather ſeeme hard hearted Then hard fauour'd, Is that your meaning, Lady? Go too ſir. Your wits are freſh I know, they need no ſpur, And therefore you wil ride them. Say I doe. They will not tire I hope? No not with you, hark you ſweet Lady.