A Christian Turned Turk (The Two Famous Pirates) · chunk 13 of 38
Daborne, Robert · published 1612 · first performed or written 1610 [1609-1612] (Annals) tragedy · Unknown unassigned nearest T52 Prodigals, portions and poor kin · 494 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T52: brother, father, uncle, cousin, son, poor, bread, old, given, master.
yes, for these slaves, I will. For ever be he servile that so makes 'em. Hard-hearted; man, I cannot term thee, it's A name that bears too much of pity in't, Compared with so inhuman; creature wert thou a father, These tears would move thee, that bemoan a son's, Nay all my children's, worse than funeral, Their ever thraldom, but nature well denied Issue to thee, lest in thy barbarous guilt She had been a party. When thy affectioned soul Had felt how much the name of child moves, with what care, How many jealous fears we view there infancy, lest having felt all this, thy accursed hand Should yet have dared to make men childless. Can then your marble heart endure these drops? The soil that bred you sir doth not bring forth Such hideous monsters, that we should imagine You can be so far cruel to betray So many innocent lives, for in us bleed An aged father, a mother, to whose grief No other misery can be added. myself contracted to a virtuous maid, Who ere this hath left Marcel, And in Normandy expects the consummation of our happiness. You have our goods, our ship, all the substance Should succour our old parents, you have only left These arms to earn them bread, and can your eyes Relentless see these chained? Do not they move you sir? Yes, as the Iew, art not thou moved Benwash? As a hangman at an execution makes no other holiday in the year. Inhuman dog! oh I could tear thee villain, I'll give thirty crowns for this old beast to be revenged on him. Be gentle, take his money, forgive me sir, I see you are kind, would not now part us That twenty and odd years have grown together, Will you not take it? give him so Iew, I will deserve 'em, see I am not old, No wrinkle is on my brow, these are but frowns, Raised by his unkind refusal of my offer. See what plump veins I have, no sinews shrunk, These are not gray-hairs, they are only white To show the lightness of my spirit: come Manacle these arms, you shall see us three Tug the days eye out, there's not a father And his two boys shall dare to undertake us, The sun outvied we'll set us down together And with our sadder cheer out-mourn the night, And speak the happiness we might have lived too: How by mine own hearth in cold wintereves I might have told my sons some ancient tales, Which they might one day from their grandsire speak. we'll add unto our woes thus by compare Of what our joys might have been, then we'll curse, And when we want a plague, we'll think upon This bloody murderer, we shall have store then: Be eloquent in bitter execrations, Our choler vented, then again we'll weep, Till tears glue up our eyes to mock sad sleep.
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)
yes, for these slaues, I will. For ever be he seruile that so makes 'em. Hard-hearted; man, I cannot terme thee, its A name that beares too much of pitty int, Compared with so inhumane; creature wert thou a father, These teares would moue thee, that bemoane a sons, Nay all my childrens, worse then funerall, Their euer thraldome, but nature well deni'd Issu to thee, least in thy barbarous guilt Shee had bene a party. When thy affection'd soule Had felt how much the name of child moues, with what care, How many iealous feares we view there infancy, Least hauing felt all this, thy accursed hand Should yet haue dar'd to make men childlesse. Can then your marble heart indure these droppes? The soyle that bred you sir doth not bring forth Such hydeous monsters, that we should imagine You can be so far cruell to betray So many innocent liues, for in vs bleed An aged father, a mother, to whose griefe No other misery can be added. My selfe contracted to a vertuous maid, Who ere this hath left Marcel, And in Normandy expects the consumation of our happinesse. You haue our goods, our ship, all the substance Should succour our old parents, you haue onely left These armes to erne them bread, and can your eyes Relentlesse see these chain'd? Do not they moue you sir? Yes, as the Iew, art not thou moued Benwash? As a hangman at an execution makes no other holiday in the yeare. Inhumaine dog! oh I could teare thee villane, I'le giue thirty crownes for this old beast to bee reuenged on him. Be gentle, take his mony, forgiue me sir, I see you are kind, would not now part vs That twenty and odde yeares haue growne together, Will you not take it? giue him so Iew, I will deserue 'em, see I am not old, No wrinkle is on my brow, these are but frowns, Rays'd by his vnkind refusall of my offer. See what plump veines I haue, no sinews shrunke, These are not gray-haires, they are onely white To shew the lightnesse of my spirit: come Manacle these armes, you shall see vs threee Tug the daies eye out, there's not a father And his two boies shall dare to vndertake vs, The sunne outvied wee'le set vs downe together And with our sadder cheere out-mourne the night, And speake the happinesse we might haue liu'd too: How by mine owne harth in cold wintereues I might haue told my sonnes some ancient tales, Which they might one day from their grandsire speak. Wee'le adde vnto our woes thus by compare Of what our ioyes might haue been, then we'le curse, And when we want a plague, wee'le thinke vpon This bloudy murtherer, we shall haue store then: Be eloquent in bitter execrations, Our choler vented, then againe wee'le weepe, Till teares glew vp our eyes to mocke sad sleepe.