If It Be Not Good, the Devil Is in It (If This Be Not a Good Play, the Devil Is in It) · chunk 34 of 44
Dekker, Thomas · published 1612 · first performed or written 1611 [1611-1612] (Annals) comedy · Queen Anne's Men · Red Bull unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 495 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
The man that title mocks Is here, (thou sad-visage man) are any hired to kill me, Or betray me? let 'em come: Griefs growing extreme, death is a gentle doom. Prepare then for the worst. I am armed for't: show it. Thy kingdom is a weak ship, bruised, split, sinking, Nor hast thou any pilot to waft us o'er Out of this foul Sea, to some calmer shore. Thy people's hearts are turned to rocks of flint, The Scholar, Soldier, and the Mariner, Whom (as themselves say) once thou trodst upon, Now serve as wheels of thy destruction. Flying swiftly backward, the kingly Lions quailed, What shall the weaker herds do, if he fall? Let's fly. Zounds whither? So we may be safe— But where? At Bartervile: the churl's to me beholden, His house so stands, we may enter without fear. Beet so, to Bartervile. What will your Highness do? Die Spendola, a miserable King, None here can hinder us of that. How? die?— ha' you any stomach to death sirs? Not I. Not I. Troth's, though you grow desperate, we'll grow wise. Farewell sir, we'll save one.— Oh my cruelest enemies! Stabs Brutus at me too? Now mine own or never. Why art not thou gone? ay, I'll stick to you ever: I am no Courtier sir of fortunes making Thou art no wiseman to prefer thy love. To me, before thy life, pray thee leave me. Not I. I shall not hate the world so really As else I would, O had the ancient race Of men (who had long leases of their lives) been wretched as we are, no recompense Could the Gods have given them for their being here, But now more pitiful wise nature grows, Who cuts of man's years to cut off his woes. True sir, & teaches him a thousand ways To lead him out this horrid giddy maze. I apprehend thee, a small dagger's point, Opens the veins to cure our pleurisy. Than to be made your foes-slave, better die. A hundred thousand deaths, than like a captive Be chained to grace proud Caesar's Chariot wheel. Much less a petty Dukes. Fetch me dear friend, An armed Pistol, and mouth it at my breast: I'll make a way myself, and all my sorrows Are made away. The best and nobler spirits Have done the like. Your bravest men at Arms Have done the like. philosopher's have done it. Great peers have done it. king's have done the like. And I will do it. Nay it shall near be said, I lived a minute after you: here, here. I embrace thee noblest friend. Let's sail together. Content brave Bohor: oh! but whither? whither? From hell, (this world,) from, fiends, (in shapes of men.) No: into hell, from men to be damned black with fiends. methinks I see hell yawn to swallow us. Fuh, this is but the swimming of your brain, By looking downwards with a timorous eye.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T2 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
The man that title mockes Is here, (thou sad-visage man) are any hirde to kill me, Or betray me? let 'em come: Griefes growing extreame, death is a gentle doome. Prepare then for the worst. I am armd ort: shew it. Thy kingdome is a weake ship, bruizd, split, sinking, Nor hast thou any pilot to waft vs o're Out of this foule Sea, to some calmer shore. Thy peoples hearts are turnd to rocks of flint, The Scholler, Souldier, and the Mariner, Whom (as themselues say) once thou trodst vpon, Now serue as wheeles of thy destruction. Flying swiftly backward, the kingly Lions quaild, What shall the weaker heardes doe, if he fall? Lets fly. Zounds whither? So we may be safe— But where? At Barteruile: the churle's to me beholden, His house so stands, we may enter without feare. Beet so, to Barteruile. What will your Highnes doe? Die Spendola, a miserable King, None here can hinder vs of that. How? die?—ha you any stomach to death sirs? Not I. Not I. Troth's, tho you grow desperate, weele grow wise. Farewell sir, weele saue one.— Oh my cruelst enemies! Stabs Brus at me too? Now mine owne or neuer. Why art not thou gon? I, Ile sticke to you euer: I am no Courtier sir of fortunes making Thou art no wiseman to preferre thy loue. To me, before thy life, pray thee leaue me. Not I. I shall not hate the world so really As else I would, O had the ancient race Of men (who had long leases of their liues) Bin wretched as we are, no recompence Could the Gods haue giuen them for their being here, But now more pittifull wise nature growes, Who cuts of mans yeeres to cut off his woes. True sir, & teaches him a thousand waies To leade him out this horrid giddy maze. I apprehend thee, a small daggers point, Opens the vaines to cure our plurizy. Than to be made your foes-slaue, better dye. A hundred thousand deaths, than like a captiue Be chaind to grace prowd Caesars Chariot wheele. Much lesse a pettie Dukes. Fetch me deare friend, An armed Pistoll, and mouth it at my brest: Ile make a way my selfe, and all my sorrowes Are made away. The best and nobler spirits Haue done the like. Your brauest men at Armes Haue done the like. Philosophers haue don it. Great peeres haue don it. Kings haue done the like. And I will doe it. Nay it shall nere be said, I liu'd a minute after you: here, here. I embrace thee noblest friend. Lets saile together. Content braue Bohor: oh! but whither? whither? From hell, (this world,) from, fiends, (in shapes of men.) No: into hel, fro men to be dambd black with fiends. Me thinkes I see hell awne to swallow vs. Fuh, this is but the swimming of your braine, By looking downe-wards with a timerous eye.