Mason, John · published 1610 · first performed or written 1607 [1607-1608] (Annals) tragedy · Children of the King's Revels T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.74 · 532 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
I can to please your Lordship: O thou shalt please us highly! I have great use Of such a thing, I prithee do it: My wife last night was poisoned, her body The world believes is Iulias, supposed dead. Now for the second funeral of my wife. Her coffin must be filled up with some slave, He shall be honoured princely to his grave. The funeral stays my presence: Amada See to my Iulia, if Mulleasses move, Be kind and gentle to his proffered love. here's a distracted labyrinth of wit, Iulia alive, and yet her funeral kept: My mother dead and never Sick: 'tis true: To many, death is sudden and unlooked for: So't was to her: and in the midst of death, I must be married: death take me to, Let me not live to see those tapers burn, That lead me to his bed: where's sanctity? Religion is the fools bridle, worn by policy: As horse wear trappers to seem fair in show, And make the worlds eye dote on what we seem. Be silent yet for duty stops thy mouth, I'll in to Iulia, 'tis she and I, That must be Chorus in this Tragedy. howsoe'er my fortunes make me now a slave I was a free borne Christians son in Cyprus, When Famagusta by the Turk was sacked: In the division of which City spoils, My fortunes fell to Mulleasses lot: Nor was it Tyranny enough that I was Captive, My parents robbed of me, and I of them, But they wronged nature in me, made me an Eunuch, Disabled of those masculine functions, Due from our sex: and thus subjected, These sixteen years unto the wild command, Of an imperious Turk, I now am given To serve the hidden secrets of his lust, Unto Timoclea, the wife of Borgias, Whose private mixtures I am guilty of: Betwixt these three I stand as in a maze, I eg'd to al their sinnes, and made a baud To lust and murder: Mulleasses first Gives me unto Timoclea, that without suspect I might procure their loves security: For which they promise me my liberty. Eut Borgias whether jealous of his wife, Of reaching at some further policy, Binds me with golden offers to his trust, And first commands me rumour it abroad Timoclea his wife was sick, when at that instant She was in health and dancing with her Turk. Now I must second that report with death, And say abroad Timoclea is dead: Short warning for a journey unto heaven: But (which amazeth most) I must provide The body of some groom to stop a coffin with. This is a riddle of some Sphinx, let Oedipus Unfold the meaning: I leave it to th'event, And think most safety in not knowing it. I must provide some groom, that's my command. Prosper me Saturn, and those stars of sin, Whose influence makes villains fortunate. He kills by law that kills men for a state. But who comes here? oh my spruce he— lecher That makes his boy save him the charges of a bawdy house, Fore Mahomet an excellent fellow for my Lord's coffin: Assist me power of wit.
nodes 365–432 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 6 of 35 in this edition
Length
532 words · 705 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.738 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
I can to please your Lordship: O thou shalt please vs highly! I haue great vse Of such a thing, I prethee do it: My wife last night was poysoned, her body The world beleeues is Iulias, supposed dead. Now for the second funerall of my wife. Her coffin must be fild vp with some slaue, He shall be honod princely to his graue. The funerall staies my presence: Amada See to my Iulia, if Mulleasses moue, Be kinde and gentle to his proffered loue. Heere's a distracted laborith of wit, Iulia aliue, and yet her funeral kept: My mother dead and neuer Sicke: tis true: To many, death is suddaine and vnlookt for: So't was to her: and in the midst of death, I must be married: death take me to, Let me not liue to see those tapers burne, That leade me to his bed: where's sanctity? Religion is the fooles bridle, worne by pollicy: As horse weare trappers to seeme faire in shw, And make the worldes eye dote on what we seeme. Be silent yet for duty stops thy mouth, Ile in to Iulia, 'tis she and I, That must be Chorus in this Tragedy. How so'ere my fortunes make me now a slaue I was a free borne Christians sonne in Cyprus, When Famagusta by the Turke was sackt: In the deuision of which Citty spoyles, My fortunes fell to Mulleasses lot: Nor was it Tyranny inough that I was Captiue, My parents robd of me, and I of them, But they wrongd nature in me, made me an Eunuch, Disabled of those masculine functions, Due from our sex: and thus subiected, These sixteene yeares vnto the vilde commaund, Of an imperious Turke, I now am giuen To serue the hidden secres of his lust, Vnto Timocla, the wife of Borgias, Whose priuate mixtures I am guilty of: Betwixt hese three I stand as in a maze, I eg'd to al their sinnes, and made a baud To lust and murder: Mulleasses first Giues me vnto Timoclea, that without suspect I might procure their loues secrity: For which they promise me my liberty. Eut Borgias whether iealous of his wife, Of reaching at some further pollicy, Bindes me with golden offers to his trust, And first comaunds me rumour it abroad Timoclea his wife was sicke, when at that instant She was in health and dauncing with her Turk. Now I must second that report with death, And say abroad Timoclea is dead: Short warning for a iourney vnto heauen: But (which amazth most) I must prouide The body of some groome to stop a coffin with. This is a riddle of some Sphinx, let Oedipus Vnfold the meaning: I leaue it to th'euent, And thinke most safety in not knowing it. I must prouide some groome, thats my commaund. Prosper me Saturne, and those starres of sinne, Whose influence makes villaines fortunate. He kils by law that kils men for a state. But who comes heere? oh my spruce he—letcher That makes his boye saue him the charges of a bawdy house, Fore Mahomet an excellent fellow for my Lords coffin: Assist me power of wit.