The Atheist's Tragedy, or The Honest Man's Revenge · chunk 1 of 41
Tourneur, Cyril · published 1611 · first performed or written 1611 [1607-1611] (Annals) tragedy · Unknown unassigned nearest T37 Riches, poverty and covetousness · 504 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T37: wealth, riches, money, god, rich, poverty, men, learning, poor, ic.
I Saw my Nephew Charlemont, but now Part from his Father. Tell him I desire To speak with him. Borachio, thou art read In Nature and her large Philosophy. Observest thou not the very self same course Of revolution both in Man and Beast? The same. For birth, growth, state, decay and death: Only, a Man's beholding to his Nature For th'better composition o'the two. But where that favour of his Nature, is Not full and free; you fee a man becomes A fool, as little-knowing as a beast. That shows there's nothing in a Man, above His nature; if there were, considering 'tis His being's excellency, 'twould not yield To Nature's weakness. Then if Death casts up Our total sum of joy and happiness; Let me have all my senses feasted in Th'abundant fullness of delight at once, And with a sweet insensible increase Of pleasing surfeit melt into my dust. That revolution is too short methinks. If this life comprehends our happiness, How foolish to desire to die so soon? And if our time runs home unto the length Of Nature, how improvident it were To spend our substance on a minute's pleasure, And after live an age in misery? So thou concludest that pleasure only flows Upon the stream of riches. Wealth is Lord Of all felicity. 'tis Oracle. For what's a man that's honest without wealth? Both miserable and contemptible. he's worse Borachio. For if Charity Be an essential part of Honesty, And should be practised first upon ourselves; Which must be granted; then your honest man That's poor, is most dishonest, for he is Uncharitable to the Man, whom he Should most respect. But what doth this touch me, That seem to have enough? Thanks industry. 'tis true. Had not my Body spread itself Into posterity; perhaps I should Desire no more increase of substance, then Would hold proportion with mine own dimensions. Yet even in that sufficiency of state, A man has reason to provide and add. For what is he hath such a present eye, And so prepared a strength; that can foresee, And fortify his substance and himself, Against those accidents, the least whereof May rob him of an age's husbandry? And for my children; they are as near to me, As branches to the tree whereon they grow; And may as numerously be multiplied. As they increase, so should my providence; For from my substance they receive the sap, Whereby they live and flourish. Sir enough, I understand the mark whereat you aim. Silence. Ware interrupted. Charlemont! Good morrow Uncle. Noble Charlemont; Good morrow. Is not this the honoured day You purposed to set forward to the war? My inclination did intend it so. And not your resolution? Yes my Lord; Had not my Father contradicted it. O noble war! Thou first original Of all man's honour. How dejectedly, The baser Spirit of our present time Hath cast itself below the ancient worth Of our forefathers! From whose noble deeds Ignobly we derive our pedigrees.
seed 43: T35 · seed 44: T34 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
I Saw my Nephew Charlemont, but now Part from his Father. Tell him I desire To speak with him. Borachio, thou art read In Nature and her large Philosophie. Obseru'st thou not the very selfe same course Of reuolution both in Man and Beast? The same. For birth, growth, state, decay and death: Onely, a Man's beholding to his Nature For th'better composition o'the two. But where that fauour of his Nature, is Not full and free; you fee a man becomes A foole, as little-knowing as a beast. That showes there's nothing in a Man, aboue His nature; if there were, consid'ring t'is His beings excellencie, t'would not yeeld To Natures weakenesse. Then if Death casts vp Our totall summe of ioy and happinesse; Let me haue all my sences feasted in Th'abundant fulnesse of delight at once, And with a sweet insensible increase Of pleasing surfet melt into my dust. That reuolution is too short me thinkes. If this life comprehends our happinesse, How foolish to desire to dye so soone? And if our time runnes home vnto the length Of Nature, how improuident it were To spend our substance on a minutes pleasure, And after liue an age in miserie? So thou conclud'st that pleasure onely flowes Vpon the streame of riches. Wealth is Lord Of all felicitie. T'is Oracle. For what's a man that's honest without wealth? Both miserable and contemptible. Hee's worse Borachio. For if Charitie Be an essentiall part of Honestie, And should be practis'd first vpon our selues; Which must be graunted; then your honest man That's poore, is most dishonest, for hee is Vncharitable to the Man, whom hee Should most respect. But what doth this touch me, That seeme to haue enough? Thankes industrie. T'is true. Had not my Body spredde it selfe Into posteritie; perhaps I should Desire no more increase of substance, then Would hold proportion with mine owne dimentions. Yet euen in that sufficiencie of state, A man has reason to prouide and adde. For what is he hath such a present eye, And so prepar'd a strength; that can fore-see, And fortifie his substance and himselfe, Against those accidents, the least whereof May robbe him of an ages husbandry? And for my children; they are as neere to me, As branches to the tree whereon they grow; And may as numerously be multiplied. As they increase, so should my prouidence; For from my substance they receiue the sap, Whereby they liue and flowrish. Sir enough, I vnderstand the marke whereat you aime. Silence. Ware interrupted. Charlemont! Good morrow Vncle. Noble Charlemont; Good morrow. Is not this the honour'd day You purpos'd to set forward to the warre? My inclination did intend it so. And not your resolution? Yes my Lord; Had not my Father contradicted it. O noble warre! Thou first originall Of all man's honour. How deiectedly, The baser Spirit of our present time Hath cast it selfe below the ancient worth Of our forefathers! From whose noble deedes Ignobly we deriue our pedigrees.