The Atheist's Tragedy, or The Honest Man's Revenge · chunk 39 of 41
Tourneur, Cyril · published 1611 · first performed or written 1611 [1607-1611] (Annals) tragedy · Unknown T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.77 · 510 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
O good my Lord! Let Charity forbear To vex the spirit of a dying Man. A cheerful eye upon the face of Death; Is the true countenance of a noble mind. For honour's sake (my Lord) molest it not. You're all uncivil. O! is't not enough that he unjustly hath conspired with Fate, to cut off my posterity for him to be the heir to my possessions; but he must pursue me with his presence; and in the ostentation of his joy, laugh in my face, and glory in my grief? D'amville! to show thee with what light respect, I value Death and thy insulting pride; Thus like a warlike Navy on the Sea, Bound for the conquest of some wealthy land, Passed through the stormy troubles of this life, And now arrived upon the armed coast; In expectation of the victory, Whose honour lies beyond this exigent; Through mortal danger with an active spirit, Thus I aspire to undergo my death. And thus I second thy brave enterprise. Be cheerful Charlemont. Our lives cut off, In our young prime of years; are like green herbs, Wherewith we strew the hearses of our friends. For as their virtue gathered when theyare green, Before they wither or corrupt, is best; So we in virtue are the best for Death, While yet we have not lived to such an age, That the increasing canker of our sins, Hath spread too far upon us.— A Boon, my Lords. I beg a Boon. What's that my Lord? His body when 'tis dead for an Anatomy. For what my Lord? Your understanding still come short o'mine. I would find out by his Anatomy; What thing there is in Nature more exact, Then in the constitution of myself. methinks, my parts, and my dimensions, are As many, as large, as well composed as his; And yet in me the resolution wants, To die with that assurance as he does. The cause of that, in his Anatomy I would find out.— Be patient and you shall. I have bethought me of a better way.— Nephew; we must confer.— Sir; I am grown a wondrous Student now o'late. My wit has reached beyond the scope of Nature; yet for all my learning I am still to seek, from whence the peace of conscience should proceed. The peace of conscience rises in itself. Whether it be thy Art or Nature, I admire thee Charlemont. Why; thou hast taught a woman to be valiant. I will beg thy life.— My Lords! I beg my nephews life.— I'll make thee my Physician. Thou shalt read Philosophy to me. I will find out th'efficient cause of a contented mind. But if I cannot profit in't; then 'tis no more being my Physician, but infuse a little poison in a potion when thou giv'st me Physic; unawares to me. So I shall steal into my grave without the understanding or the fear of death. And that's the end I aim at. For the thought of death is a most fearful torment; is't not?
nodes 1656–1699 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 39 of 41 in this edition
Length
510 words · 659 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.775 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T10 · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
O good my Lord! Let Charitie forbeare To vexe the spirit of a dying Man. A chearefull eye vpon the face of Death; Is the true court'nance of a noble minde. For honour's sake (my Lord) molest it not. Y'are all vnciuill. O! is't not enough that hee vniustly hath conspir'd with Fate, to cut off my posteritie for him to be the heire to my possessions; but he must pursue me with his presence; and in the ostentation of his ioy, laugh in my face, and glory in my griefe? D'amville! to shew thee with what light respect, I value Death and thy insulting pride; Thus like a warlike Nauie on the Sea, Bound for the conquest of some wealthie land, Pass'd through the stormic troubles of this life, And now arriu'd vpon the armed coast; In expectation of the victorie, Whose honour lies beyond this exigent; Through mortall danger with an actiue spirit, Thus I aspire to vndergoe my death. And thus I second thy braue enterprise. Be chearefull Charlemont. Our liues cut off, In our young prime of yeares; are like greene hearbs, Wherewith we strow the hearses of our friends. For as their vertue gather'd when th'are greene, Before they wither or corrupt, is best; So we in vertue are the best for Death, While yet we haue not liu'd to such an age, That the encreasing canker of our sinnes, Hath spread too farre vpon vs.— A Boone, my Lords. I begge a Boone. What's that my Lord? His body when t'is dead for an Anatomie. For what my Lord? Your vnderstanding still come short o'mine. I would finde out by his Anatomie; What thing there is in Nature more exact, Then in the constitution of my selfe. Me thinks, my parts, and my dimentions, are As many, as large, as well compos'd as his; And yet in me the resolution wants, To die with that assurance as he does. The cause of that, in his Anatomie I would finde out.— Be patient and you shall. I haue bethought me of a better way.—Nephew; we must conferre.—Sir; I am growne a wondrous Studient now o'late. My wit has reach'd beyond the scope of Nature; yet for all my learning I am still to seeke, from whence the peace of conscience should proceede. The peace of conscience rises in it selfe. Whether it be thy Art or Nature, I admire thee Charlemont. Why; thou hast taught a woman to be valiant. I will begge thy life.—My Lords! I begge my Nephewes life.—I'le make thee my Phisitian. Thou shalt read Philosophie to me. I will finde out th'efficient cause of a contented minde. But if I cannot profit in't; then t'is no more being my Phisitian, but infuse a little poyson in a potion when thou giu'st me Phisick; vnawares to me. So I shall steale into my graue without the vnderstanding or the feare of death. And that's the end I aime at. For the thought of death is a most fearefull torment; is't not?