The White Devil (Vittoria Corombona) · chunk 39 of 49
Webster, John · published 1612 · first performed or written 1612 [Winter 1612-1613] (Annals) tragedy · Queen Anne's Men T26 Devils, hell and fiends typicality 0.85 · 490 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T26: devil, hell, devils, sure, soul, fiend, sr, wife, lord, men.
O my good Lord! Away, you have abused me. You have conveyed coin forth our territories; Bought and sold offices; oppressed the poor, And I near dreamt on't. Make up your accounts; I'll now be mine own Steward. Sir, have patience. Indeed I am too blame. For did you ever hear the dusky raven Chide blackness? or was't ever known, the devil Railed against cloven Creatures. O my Lord! Let me have some quails to supper. Sir, you shall. No: some fried dogfish. Your Quails feed on poison, That old dog-fox, that Politician Florence, I'll forswear hunting and turn dog-killer; Rare! I'll be friends with him. for mark you, sir, one dog Still sets another a barking: peace, peace, Yonder's a fine slave come in now. Where? Why there. In a blue bonnet, and a pair of breeches With a great codpiece. Ha, ha, ha, Look you his codpiece is stuck full of pins With pearls o'th' head of them. Do not you know him? No, my Lord. Why 'tis the Devil. I know him by a great rose he wears on's shoe To hide his cloven foot. I'll dispute with him. he's a rare linguist. My Lord here's nothing. Nothing? rare! nothing! when I want money, Our treasury is empty; there is nothing, I'll not be used thus. O!' lie still, my Lord See, see, Flamineo that killed his brother Is dancing on the ropes there: and he carries A moneybag in each hand, to keep him even, For fear of breaking's neck. And there's a Lawyer In a gown whipped with velvet, stars and gapes When the money will fall. How the rogue cuts capers! It should have been in a halter. 'Tis there; what's she? Vittoria, my Lord. Ha, ha, ha. Her hair is sprinkled with Arras powder, that makes her look as if she had sinned in the Pastry. What's he? A Divine my Lord. He will be drunk: Avoid him: th' argument is fearful when Churchmen stagger in't. Look you; six grey rats that have lost their tails, crawl up the pillow, send for a rat-catcher. I'll do a miracle: I'll free the Court From all foul vermin. Where's Flamineo? I do not like that he names me so often, Especially on's deathbed: 'tis a sign I shall not live long: see he's near his end. Pray give us leave; Attend Domine Brachianus, See, see, how firmly he doth fix his eye Upon the Crucifix. O hold it constant. It settles his wild spirits; and so his eyes Melt into tears. Domine Brachianus, solebas in bello tutus esse tuo clypeo, nùnc hunc clypeum hostituo opponas infernali. Olim hasta valuisti in bello; nùnc hanc sacram hastam vibrabis contra hostem animarum. Attend Domine Brachianus si nunc quòque probas ea quae acta sunt inter nos, flecte Caput in dextrum. Esto securus Domine Brachianus: cogita quantum habeas meritorum denique memineris meam animam pro tua oppignoratem si quid esset periculi.
nodes 2414–2477 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 39 of 49 in this edition
Length
490 words · 754 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T26 — Devils, hell and fiendscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.852 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T23 · seed 44: T23 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
O my good Lord! Away, you haue abus'd mee. You haue conuayd coyne forth our territories; Bought and sold offices; oppres'd the poore, And I nere dreampt on't. Make vp your accountes; Ile now bee mine owne Steward. Sir, haue patience. Indeed I am too blame. For did you euer heare the duskie rauen Chide blacknesse? or wast euer knowne, the diuell Raild against clouen Creatures. O my Lord! Let mee haue some quailes to supper. Sir, you shal. No: some fried dog-fish. Your Quailes feed on poison, That old dog-fox, that Polititian Florence, Ile forsweare hunting and turne dog-killer; Rare! Ile bee frindes with him. for marke you, sir, one dog Still sets another a barking: peace, peace, Yonder's a fine slaue come in now. Where? Why there. In a blew bonnet, and a paire of breeches With a great codpeece. Ha, ha, ha, Looke you his codpeece is stucke full of pinnes With pearles o'th head of them. Doe not you know him? No, my Lord. Why 'tis the Deuill. I know him by a great rose he weares on's shooe To hide his clouen foot. Ile dispute with him. Hee's a rare linguist. My Lord heer's nothing. Nothing? rare! nothing! when I want monie, Our treasurie is emptie; there is nothing, Ile not bee vs'd thus. O! 'ly still, my Lord See, see, Flamineo that kill'd his brother Is dancing on the ropes there: and he carries A monie-bag in each hand, to keepe him euen, For feare of breaking's necke. And there's a Lawyer In a gowne whipt with veluet, stares and gapes When the mony will fall. How the rogue cuts capers! It should haue bin in a halter. 'Tis there; what's shee? Uittoria, my Lord. Ha, ha, ha. Her haire is sprinckled with Arras powder, that makes her looke as if she had sinn'd in the Pastrie. What's hee? A Diuine my Lord. Hee will bee drunke: Auoid him: th' argument is fearefull when Church-men stagger in't. Looke you; six gray rats that haue lost their tailes, crall vp the pillow, send for a Rat-cather. Ile doe a miracle: Ile free the Court From all foule vermin. Where's Flamineo? I doe not like that hee names mee so often, Especially on's death-bed: 'tis a signe I shall not liue long: see hee's neere his end. Pray giue vs leaue; Attende Domine Brachiane, See, see, how firmely hee doth fixe his eye Vpon the Crucifix. O hold it constant. It settles his wild spirits; and so his eies Melt into teares. Domine Brachiane, solebas in bello tutus esse tuo clypeo, nùnc hunc clypeum hostituo opponas infernali. Olim hasta valuisti in bello; nùnc hanc sacram hastam vibrabis contra hostem animarum. Attende Domine Brachiane si nunc quòque probas ea quae acta sunt inter nos, flecte Caput in dexrum. Esto securus Domine Brachiane: cogita quantum habeas meritorum denique memineris meam animam pro tua oppignoratem si quid esset periculi.