Armin, Robert · published 1609 · first performed or written 1606 [c.1606-1608] (Annals) comedy · Children of the King's Revels unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 501 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Give the torch, if you will see my mother & your wife, fellowed in bed make haste, Iames your man writes on your pillow etc. my eyes are witnesses to their adultery. What's the news? Plague on these jauntings, once we shall be old, & then this trotting life will linger in our bones, all hours are our nights, we dally with our own destruction. It cannot be, or if, or if, what if? if it be so I am undone, poisoned am I with fair promises, no marvel though you do forswear my bed, if yet again, if what make I here when treason is at home, away. The bird that greets the dawning of the day, Signs with his wings, the midnight's parture, And the sleet dew moistening the cheeks Of morrows welcome: gives earnest of the morn: Yet all secure, adulterate lust does sleep, And I the hatched young of this trodden hen, Stands sentinel to her idolatry. Blow you swelled winds and crack the battlements, Rouse their incestuous luxury with fear Of what's to come, yet that were my mishap, No silent air fan on them bawdy breath. That as they reek in their licentious love, Devil may seal sure, and Morpheus so pleased, May to their pastime add affliction Delivered by the hand of him that's wronged, And stands indebted to his destiny: Yet are they as the hour, whose sandy minutes Runs out at pleasure till the period comes, Fast sleeping, and enjoy their quiet, Rouse the black mischief from thy ebben cell, Land in the bosoms of this twin in lust, Him whose heaped-wrong calls vengeance to be just. Lock fast that door and leave me. Give me your light, Son Humil? Father. Thou seest I am obedient at thy call. Exit servants. I come as messengers that bring their bale, Signed in their looks, be well advised, Thou makest a challenge goes beyond all grace, Should it be false. It is my love to you that makes me step Heart-deep in disobedience to my mother. Wretch that I am to think her so, It makes me desperate of priority, Fore thinking my beginning to be base, Conceived in such mistrust and frailty, My front hath that impression still, Adding a blush to my distemperature, And I am crestfallen in sanguinity, Pray ye believe me, would it were not so. Enough watch & be secret, I will enter, Sit as the night raven or the shrieking owl, Over my portal, menacing ill chance To all within: for death is to my blood A blessing, while this fever kills, Almost my intellect or better part, Yet she's thy mother, and no son but hates His own disgrace so highly merited, And I believe thee. Sir, truth is truth, my conscience and religion Binds up in me, and since I do proclaim Detraction from my blood, by her misdeed, Give me leave to report a fly a fly, If it offend the virtue of mine eye.
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)
Giue the torch, if you wil see my mother & your wife, fellow'd in bed make haste, Iames your man writes on your pillow &c. my eies are witnesses to their adulterie. Whats the newes? Plague on these iauntings, once we shall be old, & then this trotting life will linger in our bones, all howres are our nights, we dally with our owne destruction. It cannot be, or if, or if, what if? if it be so I am vndone, poison'd am I with faire promises, no maruell tho you doe forsweare my bed, if yet againe, if what make I here whē treason is at home, away. The bird that greets the dawning of the daie, Signes with his wings, the midnights parture, And the sleetie deaw moistning the cheekes Of morrowes welcome: giues earnest of the morne: Yet all secure, adultrate lust dos sleepe, And I the hatcht yong of this troden henne, Stands Centinell to her idolatrie. Blow you sweld windes and crack the battlements, Rouse their incestious luxurie with feare Of whats to come, yet that were my mishap, No silent aire fan on them bawdie breath. That as they reeke in their licentious loue, Diuell may seale sure, and Morpheus so pleas'd, May to their pastime adde affliction Deliuer'd by the hand of him thats wrongd, And stands indebted to his desteny: Yet are they as the hower, whose sandy minutes Runs out at pleasure till the period comes, Fast sleeping, and enioy their quiet, Rouse the blacke mischiefe from thy ebben cell, Land in the bosomes of this twin in lust, Him whose heapt-wrong calles vengeance to be iust. Locke fast that dore and leaue me. Giue me your light, Sonne Humil? Father. Thou seest I am obedient at thy call. Exit seruants. I come as messengers that bring their bale, Sign'd in their lookes, be well aduis'd, Thou makest a chalenge goes beyond all grace, Should it befalse. It is my loue to you that makes me step Heart-deepe in disobedience to my mother. Wretch that I am to thinke her so, It makes me desperat of prioritie, Fore thinking my beginning to be bace, Conceau'd in such mistrust and frailty, My front hath that impression still, Adding a blush to my distemperature, And I am crest-salne in sanguinitie, Pray ye beleeue me, would it were not so. Enough watch & be secret, I will enter, Sit as the night rauen or the skreeking owle, Ouer my portall, menasing ill chance To all within: for death is to my blood A blessing, while this feuor killes, Almost my intellect or better part, Yet shees thy mother, and no sonne but hates His owne disgrace so highly merrited, And I beleeue thee. Sir, trueth is trueth, my conscience and religion Bindes vp in me, and since I doe proclaime Detraction from my blood, by her misdeede, Giue me leaue to report a flye a flye, If it offend the vertue of mine eie.