Jonson, Ben · published 1609 · first performed or written 1597 [1597-1598; interpolations later] (Annals) comedy · Pembroke's Men unassigned nearest T51 Parents and children: blessing, birthrig · 502 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T51: esau, iacob, father, son, isaac, god, love, birthright, parents, thing.
I'll hear no more, I say he shall not live, myself will do it. Stay, what form is this Stands betwixt him and me, and holds my hand. What miracle is this? 'tis my own fancy, Carves this impression in me, my soft nature, That ever hath retained such foolish pity, Of the most abject creatures misery, That it abhors it, what a child am I To have a child? Ay me, my son, my son. O my dear love, what is become of thee? What unjust absence layest thou on my breast, Like weights of lead, when swords are at my back, That run me through with thy unkind flight, My gentle disposition waxeth wild, I shall run frantic, o my love, my love. My gold, my gold, my life, my soul, my heaven, What is become of thee? see, i'll impart My miserable loss to my good Lord, Let me have search my Lord, my gold is gone. My son, Christophero, thinkst it possible, I ever shall behold his face again. O father where's my love, were you so careless To let an unthrift steal away your child. I know your Lordship may find out my gold, For God's sake pity me, justice, sweet Lord. Now they have young Chamount? Christophero? Surely they never will restore my son. Who would have thought you could have been so careless to lose your only daughter. Who would think, That looking to my gold with such hares eyes, That ever open, I even when thy sleep, I thus should lose my gold, my noble Lord, what says your Lordship? O my son, my son. My dearest Rachel? My most honey gold. Hear me Christophero. Nay hear me Iaques. Hear me most honoured Lord. What rule is here? O God that we should let Chamount escape. I and that Rachel, such a virtuous maid, should be thus stolen away. And that my gold, being so hid in earth, should be found out. O confusion of languages, & yet no tower of Babel! Ladies, beshrew me, if you come not fit to make a jangling consort, will you laugh to see three constant passions. Stand by, I will urge them, sweet Count, will you be comforted. It cannot be but he is handled the most cruelly, That ever any noble prisoner was. Steward, go cheer my Lord: Well, if Rachel took her flight willingly? Sirrah, speak you touching your daughter's flight? O that I could so soon forget to know the thief again, that had my gold, my gold. Is not this pure? O thou base wretch, i'll drag thee through the streets. And as a monster, make thee wondered at, how now. Sweet Gentleman? how too unworthily Art thou thus tortured, brave Maxmilian, Pity the poor youth and appease my father, How, my son returned? O Maxmilian, Francisco, daughters? bid him enter here. Dost thou not mock me? O my dear Paulo welcome. My Lord Chamount? My Gasper. Rachel. My gold Rachel? my gold?
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)
Ile heare no more, I ſay he ſhall not liue, My ſelfe will do it. Stay, what forme is this Stands betwixt him and me, and holds my hand. What miracle is this? tis my owne fancy, Carues this impreſſion in me, my ſoft nature, That euer hath retaind ſuch fooliſh pitty, Of the moſt abiect creatures miſery, That it abhorres it, what a child am I To haue a child? Ay me, my ſon, my ſon. O my deere loue, what is become of thee? What vniuſt abſence layeſt thou on my breſt, Like waights of lead, when ſwords are at my backe, That run me through with thy vnkind flight, My gentle diſpoſition waxeth wild, I ſhall run frantike, ô my loue, my loue. My gold, my gold, my life, my ſoule, my heauen, What is become of thee? ſee, ile impart My miſerable loſſe to my good Lord, Let me haue ſearch my Lord, my gold is gone. My ſonne, Chriſtophero, thinkſt it poſſible, I euer ſhall behold his face againe. O father wher's my loue, were you ſo careleſſe To let an vnthrift ſteale away your child. I know your Lordſhip may find out my gold, For Gods ſake pitty me, iuſtice, ſweet Lord. Now they haue yong Chamount? Chriſtophero? Surely they neuer will reſtore my ſonne. Who would haue thought you could haue beene ſo careleſſe to looſe your onely daughter. Who would thinke, That looking to my gold with ſuch hares eyes, That euer open, I euen when thy ſleepe, I thus ſhould looſe my gold, my noble Lord, what ſaies your Lordſhip? O my ſonne, my ſonne. My deereſt Rachel? My moſt hony gold. Heare me Chriſtophero. Nay heare me Iaques. Heare me moſt honor'd Lord. What rule is here? O God that we ſhould let Chamount eſcape. I and that Rachel, ſuch a vertuous mayd, ſhould be thus ſtolne away. And that my gold, being ſo hid in earth, ſhould bee found out. O confuſion of languages, & yet no tower of Babel! Ladies, beſhrew me, if you come not fit to make a iangling conſort, will you laugh to ſee three conſtant paſſions. Stand by, I will vrge them, ſweet Count, will you be comforted. It cannot be but he is handled the moſt cruelly, That euer any noble priſoner was. Steward, go cheere my Lord: Well, if Rachel tooke her flight willingly? Sirrah, ſpeake you touching your daughters flight? O that I could ſo ſoone forget to know the thiefe againe, that had my gold, my gold. Is not this pure▪ O thou baſe wretch, ile drag thee through the ſtreets. And as a monſter, make thee wondred at, how now. Sweet Gentleman? how too vnworthily Art thou thus tortured, braue Maximillian, Pitty the poore youth and appeaſe my father, How, my ſonne returnd? O Maximillian, Franciſco, daughters? bid him enter here. Doſt thou not mocke me? O my deere Paulo welcome. My Lord Chamount? My Gaſper. Rachel. My gold Rachel? my gold?