Jonson, Ben · published 1609 · first performed or written 1597 [1597-1598; interpolations later] (Annals) comedy · Pembroke's Men T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.82 · 507 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
This will not do, I must to her again, Rachel, o that thou sawst my heart, or didst behold, The place from whence that scalding sigh evented. Rachel, by Iesu I love thee as my soul, Rachel, sweet Rachel. What again returned unto this violent passion. Do but hear me, by heaven I love you Rachel. Pray forbear, o that my Lord Ferneze were but here. 'sblood and he were, what would he do. This would he do base villain. My dear Lord, Thou monster, even the soul of treachery! O what dishonoured title of reproach, May my tongue spit in thy deserved face? methinks my very presence should invert, The steeled organs of those traitorous eyes, To take into thy heart, and pierce it through: Turn'st thou them on the ground? wretch, dig a grave, With their sharp points, to hide th'abhorred head; Sweet love, thy wrongs have been too violent Since my departure from thee, I perceive: But now true comfort shall again appear, And like an armed angel guard thee safe From all th'assaults of covered villainy. Come monsieur, let's go, & leave this wretch to his despair. My noble Ferneze. What canst thou speak to me, and not thy tongue, Forced with the torment of thy guilty soul Break that infected circle of thy mouth, Like the rude clapper of a crazed bell. ay, that in thy bosom lodged my soul, With all her train of secrets, thinking them To be as safe, and richly entertained, As in a PRINCE's court, or tower of strength, And thou to prove a traitor to my trust, And basely to expose it, o this world! My honourable Lord. The very owl, whom other birds do stare & wonder at, Shall hoot at thee, and snakes in every bush Shall deaf thine ears with their— Nay good my Lord, give end unto your passions. You shall see, I will redeem your lost opinion. My Lord believe him. Come, be satisfied, sweet Lord you know our haste, Let us to horse, the time for my engaged return is past; Be friends again, take him along with you. Come signor Angelo, hereafter prove more true. Tut Maxmilian, for your honoured self, I am persuaded, but no words shall turn The edge of purposed vengeance on that wretch, Come, bring him forth to execution. I'll hang him for my son, he shall not scape, Had he an hundred lives: Tell me vile slave, Thinkest thou I love my son? is he my flesh? Is he my blood, my life? and shall all these be tortured for thy sake, and not revenged? truss up the villain. My Lord, there is no law to confirm this action. 'tis dishonourable. Dishonourable? Maximilian? It is dishonourable in Chamount, the day of his prefixed return is past, and he shall pay for't. My Lord, my Lord, Use your extremest vengeance, i'll be glad To suffer ten times more, for such a friend. O resolute and peremptory wretch! My honoured Lord, let us entreat a word.
nodes 1688–1751 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 34 of 36 in this edition
Length
507 words · 702 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.824 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T7 · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
This will not do, I muſt to her againe, Rachel, ô that thou ſawſt my heart, or didſt behold, The place from whence that ſcalding figh euented. Rachel, by Ieſu I loue thee as my ſoule, Rachel, ſweet Rachel. What againe returnd vnto this violent paſſion. Do but heare me, by heauen I loue you Rachel. Pray forbeare, ô that my Lord Ferneze were but here. Sbloud and he were, what would he do. This would he do baſe villaine. My deere Lord, Thou monſter, euen the ſoule of trechery! O what diſhonord title of reproch, May my tongue ſpit in thy deſerued face? Me thinkes my very preſence ſhould inuert, The ſteeled organs of thoſe traytrous eyes, To take into thy heart, and pierce it through: Turn'ſt thou them on the ground? wretch, dig a graue, With their ſharp points, to hide th'abhorred head; Sweet loue, thy wrongs haue beene too violent Since my departure from thee, I perceiue: But now true comfort ſhall againe appeare, And like an armed angell guard thee ſafe From all th'aſſaults of couered villany. Come Mounſieur, let's go, & leaue this wretch to his deſpaire. My noble Ferneze. What canſt thou ſpeake to me, and not thy tongue, Forc't with the torment of thy guilty ſoule Breake that infected circle of thy mouth, Like the rude clapper of a crazed bell. I, that in thy boſome lodg'd my ſoule, With all her traine of ſecrets, thinking them To be as ſafe, and richly entertained, As in a Princes court, or tower of ſtrength, And thou to proue a traitor to my truſt, And baſely to expoſe it, ô this world! My honorable Lord. The very owle, whō other birds do ſtare & wonder at, Shall hoot at thee, and ſnakes in euery buſh Shall deafe thine eares with their— Nay good my Lord, giue end vnto your paſſions. You ſhall ſee, I will redeeme your loſt opinion. My Lord beleeue him. Come, be ſarisfied, ſweet Lord you know our haſte, Let vs to horſe, the time for my engaged returne is paſt; Be friends againe, take him along with you. Come ſignior Angelo, hereafter proue more true. Tut Maximillian, for your honor'd ſelfe, I am perſwaded, but no words ſhall turne The edge of purpoſd vengeance on that wretch, Come, bring him forth to execution. Ile hang him for my ſonne, he ſhall not ſcape, Had he an hundred liues: Tell me vile ſlaue, Thinkeſt thou I loue my ſonne? is he my fleſh? Is he my bloud, my life? and ſhall all theſe be torturd for thy ſake, and not reueng'd? truſſe vp the villaine. My Lord, there is no law to confirme this action. Tis diſhonorable. Diſhonorable? Max imillian? It is diſhonorable in Chamount, the day of his prefixt returne is paſt, and he ſhall pay fort. My Lord, my Lord, Vſe your extreameſt vengeance, ile be glad To ſuffer ten times more, for ſuch a friend. O reſolute and peremptory wretch! My honored Lord, let vs intreat a word.