Chapman, George · published 1612 · first performed or written 1604 [1604-1605] (Annals) comedy · Children of the Queen's Revels · Blackfriars T11 Siblings, kin and confidants typicality 0.85 · 497 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T11: sister, brother, love, friend, heart, father, mother, woman, lord, hear.
'tIs such an obstinacy in you Sir, As never was conceited, to run on With an opinion against all the world, And what your eyes may witness; to adventure The famishment for grief of such a woman As all men's merits met in any one, Could not deserve. I must confess it Lycus, we'll therefore now prevent it if we may, And that our curious trial hath not dwelled Too long on this unnecessary haunt: Grief, and all want of food; not having wrought: Too mortally on her divine disposure. I fear they have, and she is past our cure. I must confess with fear and shame as much. And that she will not trust in any thing What you persuade her to. Then thou shalt haste And call my brother from his secret shroud, Where he appointed thee to come and tell him. How all things have succeeded. This is well. If (as I say) the ill be not so grown, That-all help is denied her. But I fear The matchless dame is famished. 'slight, whose's here? A Soldier with my sister? wipe, wipe, see Kissing by Ioue; she, as I lay 'tis she. What? is she well Sir? O no, she is famished; she's past our comfort, she lies drawing on. The Gods forbid. Look thou, she's drawing on. How sayst thou? Drawing on? Illustrious witchcrafts. Lies she not drawing on? she draws on fairly. Our sister Sir? This she? can this be she? She, she, she, and none but she. He dances & sings. she only Queen of love, and chastity, O chastity; This women be. 'slight 'tis prodigious. Horse, horse, horse, four Chariot Horses of the Thracian breed, Come, bring me brother. O the happiest evening, That ever drew her vail before the Sun. Who is't canst tell? The Soldier Sir that watches The bodies crucified in this hallowed place. Of which to lose one, it is death to him, And yet the lustful knave is at his Venery, While one might steal one. What a slave was I That held not out my winds strength constantly, That she would prove thus? O incredible? A poor eight-penny Soldier? She that lately Was at such height of interjection, Stoop now to such a base conjunction? By heaven I wonder now I see't in act, My brain could ever dream of such a thought. And yet, 'tis true: Rare, peerless, is't not Lycus? I know not what it is; Nor what to say. O had I held out (villain that I was,) My blessed confidence but one minute longer, I should have been eternized. God's my fortune, What an unspeakable sweet sight it is? O eyes I'll sacrifice to your dear sense. And consecrate a fane to Confidence. But this you must at no hand tell your brother. 'twill make him mad: For he that was before So scourged but only with bare jealousy. What would he be, if he should come to know it?
nodes 950–1021 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 32 of 43 in this edition
Length
497 words · 678 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T11 — Siblings, kin and confidantscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.854 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T15 · seed 44: T12 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
TIs such an obstinacie in you Sir, As neuer was conceipted, to runne on With an opinion against all the world, And what your eies may witnes; to aduēture The famishment for griefe of such a woman As all mens merits met in any one, Could not deserue. I must confesse it Lycus, Weele therefore now preuent it if we may, And that our curious triall hath not dwelt Too long on this vnnecessarie hant: Griefe, and all want of foode; not hauing wrought: Too mortally on her diuine disposure. I feare they haue, and shee is past our cure. I must confesse with feare and shame as much. And that shee will not trust in any thing What you perswade her to. Then thou shalt hast And call my brother from his secret shroude, Where he appointed thee to come and tell him. How all thinges haue succeeded. This is well. If (as I say) the ill be not so growne, That-all help is denied her. But I feare The matchlesse Deme is famisht. Slight, whose here? A Souldier with my sister? wipe, wipe, see Kissing by Ioue; shee, as I lay tis shee. What? is shee well Sir? O no, shee is famisht; Shee's past our comfort, shee lies drawing on. The Gods forbid. Looke thou, shee's drawing on. How saist thou? Drawing on? Illustrious witchcrafts. Lies shee not drawing on? Shee drawes on fairely. Our sister Sir? This shee? can this be shee? She, she, she, and none but she. He dances & sings. Shee only Queene of loue, and chastitie, O chastitie; This women be. Slight tis prodigious. Horse, horse, horse, Foure Chariot Horses of the Thracian breede, Come, bring me brother. O the happiest euening, That euer drew her vaile before the Sunne. Who is't canst tell? The Souldier Sir that watches The bodies crucified in this hallow'd place. Of which to lose one, it is death to him, And yet the lustfull knaue is at his Venerie, While one might steale one. What a slaue was I That held not out my windes strength constantly, That shee would proue thus? O incredible? A poore eight-pennie Souldier? Shee that lately Was at such height of interiection, Stoope now to such a base coniunction? By heauen I wonder now I see't in act, My braine could euer dreame of such a thought. And yet, tis true: Rare, pereles, is't not Lycus? I know not what it is; Nor what to say. O had I held out (villaine that I was,) My blessed confidence but one minute longer, I should haue beene eternis'd. Gods my fortune, What an vnspeakable sweet sight it is? O eies Ile sacrifice to your deare sense. And consecrate a Phane to Confidence. But this you must at no hand tell your brother. Twill make him mad: For he that was before So scurg'd but only with bare iealousie. What would he be, if he should come to know it?