Norton, Thomas / Sackville, Thomas · published 1570 · first performed or written 1562 [Jan 18] (Annals) tragedy · before the Court T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.84 · 522 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
We like and praise this speedy will in you, To work the thing that to your charge we gave. Porrex, if we so far should swerve from kind, And from those bounds which law of nature sets, As thou hast done by vile and wretched deed, In cruel murder of thy brother's life, Our present hand could stay no longer time, But strait should bathe this blade in blood of thee As just revenge of thy detested crime. Not: we should not offend the law of kind, If now this sword of ours did slay thee here: For thou hast murdered him, whose heinous death Even nature's force doth move us to revenge By blood again: and justice forceth us To measure death for death, thy due desert. Yet sithence thou art our child, and sith as yet In this hard case what word thou canst allege For thy defence, by us hath not been heard, We are content to stay our will for that Which justice bids us presently to work, And give thee leave to use thy speech at full If aught thou have to lay for thine excuse. Neither O king, I can or will deny But that this hand from Ferrex life hath reft: Which fact how much my doleful heart doth wail, O would it might as full appear to sight As inward grief doth pour it forth to me. So yet perhaps if ever ruthful heart Melting in tears within a manly breast, Through deep repentance of his bloody fact, If ever grief, if ever woeful man Might move regreite with sorrow of his fault, I think the torment of my mournful case Known to your grace, as I do feel the same, Would force even wrath herself to pity me. But as the water troubled with the mud Shows not the face which else the eye should see. Even so your ireful mind with stirred thought, Can not so perfectly discern my cause. But this unhap, amongst so many heaps, I must content me with, most wretched man, That to myself I must reserve my woe In pining thoughts of mine accursed fact, Since I may not show here my smallest grief Such as it is, and as my breast endures, Which I esteem the greatest misery Of all misschappes that fortune now can sand, Not that I rest in hope with plaint and tears To purchase life: for to the Gods I clepe For true record of this my faithful speech, Never this heart shall have the thoughtful dread To die the death that by your grace's doom By just desert, shall be pronounced to me: Nor never shall this tongue once spend the speech Pardon to crave, or seek by suit to live. I mean not this, as though I were not touched With care of dreadful death, or that I held Life in contempt: but that I know, the mind Stoops to no dread, although the flesh be frail, And for my gilt, I yield the same so great As in myself I find a fear to sue For grant of life.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 1067–1128 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 18 of 29 in this edition
Length
522 words · 627 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.844 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
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)
We like and praise this spedy will in you, To worke the thing that to your charge we gaue. Porrex, if we so farre should swarue from kinde, And from those boundes which lawe of nature sets, As thou hast done by vile and wretched deede, In cruell murder of thy brothers life, Our present hand could stay no longer time, But straight should bathe this blade in bloud of thee As iust reuenge of thy detested crime. No: we should not offend the lawe of kinde, If now this sworde of ours did slay thee here: For thou hast murdered him, whose heinous death Euen natures force doth moue vs to reuenge By bloud againe: and iustice forceth vs To measure death for death, thy due desert. Yet sithens thou art our childe, and sith as yet In this hard case what worde thou canst alledge For thy defence, by vs hath not bene heard, We are content to staye our will for that Which iustice biddes vs presently to worke, And geue thee leaue to vse thy speche at full If ought thou haue to lay for thine excuse. Neither O king, I can or will denie But that this hand from Ferrex life hath reft: Which fact how much my dolefull hart doth waile, Oh would it mought as full appeare to sight As inward griefe doth poure it forth to me. So yet perhappes if euer ruthefull hart Melting in teares within a manly brest, Through depe repentance of his bloudy fact, If euer griefe, if euer wofull man Might moue regreite with sorrowe of his fault, I thinke the torment of my mournefull case Knowen to your grace, as I do feele the same, Would force euen wrath her selfe to pitie me. But as the water troubled with the mudde Shewes not the face which els the eye should see. Euen so your irefull minde with stirred thought, Can not so perfectly discerne my cause. But this vnhappe, amongest so many heapes, I must content me with, most wretched man, That to my selfe I must reserue my woe In pining thoughtes of mine accursed fact, Since I may not shewe here my smallest griefe Such as it is, and as my brest endures, Which I esteeme the greatest miserie Of all misschappes that fortune now can send, Not that I rest in hope with plaint and teares To purchase life: for to the Goddes I clepe For true recorde of this my faithfull speche, Neuer this hart shall haue the thoughtfull dread To die the death that by your graces dome By iust desert, shall be pronounced to me: Nor neuer shall this tongue once spend the speche Pardon to craue, or seeke by sute to liue. I meane not this, as though I were not touchde With care of dreadfull death, or that I helde Life in contempt: but that I know, the minde Stoupes to no dread, although the fleshe be fraile, And for my gilt, I yelde the same so great As in my selfe I finde a feare to sue For graunt of life.