The White Devil (Vittoria Corombona) · chunk 31 of 49
Webster, John · published 1612 · first performed or written 1612 [Winter 1612-1613] (Annals) tragedy · Queen Anne's Men T0 Court life: dukes, favour and honour typicality 0.89 · 477 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T0: duke, lord, duchess, love, court, madam, prince, honour, grace, lady.
With all constancy. But, Sir, I wonder you'll engage yourself, In person, being a great Prince. Divert me not. Most of his Court are of my faction, And some are of my council. Noble friend, Our danger shall be' like in this design, Give leave, part of the glory may be mine. Why did the Duke of Florence with such care Labour your pardon? say. Italian beggars will resolve you that Who, begging of an alms, bid those they beg of Do good for their own sakes; or't may be He spreads his bounty with a sowing hand, Like Kings, who many times give out of measure; Not for desert so much as for their pleasure. I know you're cunning. Come, what devil was that That you were raising? Devil, my Lord? I ask you. How doth the Duke employ you, that his bonnet Fell with such complement unto his knee, When he departed from you? Why, my Lord, He told me of a resty Barbarie horse Which he would fain have brought to the career, The assault, and the ring galliard. Now, my Lord, I have a rare French Rider. Take you heed: lest the jade break your neck. Do you put me off With your wild horse-tricks? Sirrah you do lie. O, thou'rt a foul black cloud, and thou dost threat A violent storm. Storms are i'th' air, my Lord; I am too low to storm. Wretched creature! I know that thou art fashioned for all ill, Like dogs, that once get blood, they'll ever kill. About some murder? was't not? I'll not tell you; And yet I care not greatly if I do; Marry with this preparation. Holy father, I come not to you as an Intelligencer, But as a penitent sinner. What I utter Is in confession merely; which you know Must never be revealed. You have o'erta'en me. Sir I did love Brachiano's Duchess dearly; Or rather I pursued her with hot lust, Though she near knew on't. she was poisoned; Upon my soul she was: for which I have sworn T'avenge her murder. To the Duke of Florence? To him I have. Miserable Creature! If thou persist in this, 'tis damnable. Dost thou imagine thou canst slide on blood And not be tainted with a shameful fall? Or like the black, and melancholic yew-tree, Dost think to root thyself in dead men's graves, And yet to prosper? Instruction to thee Comes like sweet showers to over-hardened ground: They wet, but pierce not deep. And so I leave thee With all the Furies hanging 'bout thy neck, Till by thy penitence thou remove this evil, In conjuring from thy breast that cruel Devil. I'll give it o'er. He says 'tis damnable: Besides I did expect his suffrage, By reason of Camillo's death. Do you know that Count? Yes, my Lord, & Francisco,
seed 43: T0 · seed 44: T0 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
With all constancie. But, Sir, I wonder you'l ingage your selfe, In person, being a great Prince. Diuert mee not. Most of his Court are of my faction, And some are of my councell. Noble freind, Our danger shall be 'like in this designe, Giue leaue, part of the glorie may bee mine. Why did the Duke of Florence with such care Labour your pardon? say. Italian beggars will resolue you that Who, begging of an almes, bid those they beg of Doe good for their owne sakes; or't may bee Hee spreades his bountie with a sowing hand, Like Kinges, who many times giue out of measure; Not for desert so much as for their pleasure. I know you're cunning. Come, what deuill was that That you were raising? Deuill, my Lord? I aske you. How doth the Duke imploy you, that his bonnet Fell with such complement vnto his knee, When hee departed from you? Why, my Lord, Hee told mee of a restie Barbarie horse Which he would faine haue brought to the carreere, The 'sault, and the ring galliard. Now, my Lord, I haue a rare French Rider. Take you heede: Least the Iade breake your necke. Doe you put mee off With your wild horse-trickes? Sirra you doe lie. O, thou'rt a foule blacke cloud, and thou do'st threat A violent storme. Stormes are 'ith aire, my Lord; I am too low to storme. Wretched creature! I know that thou art fashion'd for all ill, Like dogges, that once get bloud, they'l euer kill. About some murder? wa'st not? Ile not tell you; And yet I care not greatly if I doe; Marry with this preparation. Holie father, I come not to you as an Intelligencer, But as a penitent sinner. What I vtter Is in confession meerely; which you know Must neuer bee reueal'd. You haue oretane mee. Sir I did loue Brachiano's Dutchesse deerely; Or rather I pursued her with hot lust, Though shee nere knew on't. Shee was poyson'd; Vpon my soule shee was: for which I haue sworne T'auenge her murder. To the Duke of Florence? To him I haue. Miserable Creature! If thou persist in this, 'tis damnable. Do'st thou imagine thou canst slide on bloud And not be tainted with a shamefull fall? Or like the blacke, and melancholicke Eugh-tree, Do'st thinke to roote thy selfe in dead mens graues, And yet to prosper? Instruction to thee Comes like sweet shewers to ouer-hardned ground: They wet, but peirce not deepe. And so I leaue thee Withall the Furies hanging bout thy necke, Till by thy penitence thou remoue this euill, In coniuring from thy breast that cruell Deuill. I'le giue it o're. He saies 'tis damable: Besides I did expect his suffrage, By reason of Camillo's death. Do you know that Count? Yes, my Lord, & Francisco,