The White Devil (Vittoria Corombona) · chunk 37 of 49
Webster, John · published 1612 · first performed or written 1612 [Winter 1612-1613] (Annals) tragedy · Queen Anne's Men T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.78 · 500 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Your kindest office is to pray for him. Alas! I would not pray for him yet. He may live to lay me i'th' ground, and pray for me, if you'll let me come to him. Was this your handiwork? It was my misfortune. He lies, he lies, he did not kill him: these have killed him, that would not let him be better looked to. Have comfort my grieved Mother. O you screech-owl. Forbear, good Madam. Let me go, let me go. The God of heaven forgive thee. Dost not wonder I pray for thee? I'll tell thee what's the reason, I have scarce breath to number twenty minutes; I'd not spend that in cursing. Fare thee well Half of thyself lies there: and mayst thou live To fill an hourglass with his mouldered ashes, To tell how thou shouldst spend the time to come In blessed repentance. Mother, pray tell me How came he by his death? what was the quarrel? Indeed my younger boy presumed too much Upon his manhood; gave him bitter words; Drew his sword first; and so I know not how, For I was out of my wits, he fell with's head Just in my bosom. This is not true Madam. I pray thee peace. One arrow's grazed already; it were vain T'lose this: for that will near be found again. Go, bear the body to Corneliá; lodging: And we command that none acquaint our Duchess: With this sad accident: for you Flamineo, Hark you, I will not grant your pardon. No? Only a lease of your life. And that shall last But for one day. Thou shalt be forced each evening to renew it, or be hanged. At your pleasure. Your will is law now, I'll not meddle with it. You once did brave me in your sister's lodging; I'll now keep you in awe for't. Where's our beaver? He calls for his destruction. Noble youth, I pity thy sad fate. Now to the barriers. This shall his passage to the black lake further, The last good deed he did, he pardoned murder. An Armourer? uds death an Armourer? Armorer; where's the Armourer? Tear off my beaver. Are you hurt, my Lord? O my brain's on fire, The helmet is poisoned. My Lord upon my soul. Away with him to torture. There are some great ones that have hand in this, And near about me. O my loved Lord, poisoned? Remove the bar: here's unfortunate revels, Call the Physicians; a plague upon you; we have to much of your cunning here already. I fear the Ambassadors are likewise poisoned. Oh I am gone already: the infection Flies to the brain and heart. O thou strong heart! There's such a covenant 'tween the world and it, They're loath to break. O my most loved father! Remove the boy away, Where's this good woman? had I infinite worlds They were too little for thee. Must I leave thee? What say you screech-owls, is the venom mortal?
nodes 2293–2359 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 37 of 49 in this edition
Length
500 words · 675 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.776 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T10 · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Your kindest office is to pray for him. Alas! I would not pray for him yet. Hee may liue to lay mee ith' ground, and pray for mee, if you'l let mee come to him. Was this your handy-worke? It was my misfortune. Hee lies, hee lies, hee did not kill him: these haue kill'd him, that would not let him bee better look't to. Haue comfort my greiu'd Mother. O you scritch-owle. Forbeare, good Madam. Let mee goe, let mee goe. The God of heauen forgiue thee. Do'st not wonder I pray for thee? Ile tell thee what's the reason, I haue scarce breath to number twentie minutes; Ide not spend that in cursing. Fare thee well Halfe of thy selfe lies there: and maist thou liue To fill an howre-glasse with his mouldred ashes, To tell how thou shouldst spend the time to come In blest repentance. Mother, pray tell mee How came hee by his death? what was the quarrell? Indeed my yonger boy presum'd too much Vpon his manhood; gaue him bitter wordes; Drew his sword first; and so I know not how, For I was out of my wits, hee fell with's head Iust in my bosome. This is not trew Madam. I pray thee peace. One arrow's graz'd allready; it were vaine T'lose this: for that will nere bee found againe. Go, beare the bodie to Corneliá; lodging: And wee commaund that none acquaint our Dutchesse: With this sad accident: for you Flamineo, Hearke you, I will not graunt your pardon. No? Onely a lease of your life. And that shall last But for one day. Thou shalt be forc't each euening to renew it, or be hang'd. At your pleasure. Your will is law now, Ile not meddle with it. You once did braue mee in your sisters lodging; I'le now keepe you in awe for't. Where's our beauer? Hee cals for his destruction. Noble youth, I pitty thy sad fate. Now to the barriers. This shall his passage to the blacke lake further, The last good deed hee did, he pardon'd murther. An Armorer? vds death an Armorer? Armorer; where's the Armorer? Teare off my beauer. Are you hurt, my Lord? O my braine's on fire, The helmet is poison'd. My Lord vpon my soule. Away with him to torture. There are some great ones that haue hand in this, And neere about me. O my loued Lord, poisoned? Remoue the barre: heer's vnfortunate reuls, Call the Physitions; a plague vpon you; Wee haue to much of your cunning here already. I feare the Embassadours are likewise poyson'd. Oh I am gone already: the infection Flies to the braine and heart. O thou strong heart! There's such a couenant 'tweene the world and it, They're loath to breake. O my most loued father! Remoue the boy away, Where's this good woman? had I infinite worlds They were too little for thee. Must I leaue thee? What say you scritch-owles, is the venomne mortall?