The White Devil (Vittoria Corombona) · chunk 48 of 49
Webster, John · published 1612 · first performed or written 1612 [Winter 1612-1613] (Annals) tragedy · Queen Anne's Men unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 485 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Fool! Princes give rewards with their own hands, But death or punishment by the hands of others. Sirrah you once did strike me, I'll strike you Into the Centre. Thou'lt do it like a hangman; a base hangman; Not like a noble fellow, for thou seest I cannot strike again. Dost laugh? Wouldst have me die, as I was borne, in whining. Recommend yourself to heaven. Noah I will carry mine own commendations thither. Oh could I kill you forty times a day And used four year together; 'twear to little: Nought grieves but that you are to few to feed The famine of our vengeance. What dost think on? Nothing; of nothing: leave thy idle questions; I am i'th' way to study a long silence, To prate were idle, I remember nothing. there's nothing of so infinite vexation As man's own thoughts. O thou glorious strumpet, Could I divide thy breath from this pure air When't leaves thy body, I would suck it up And breath't upon some dunghill. You, my Death's man; methinks thou dost not look horrid enough, Thou hast to good a face to be a hangman, If thou be do thy office in right form; Fall down upon thy knees and ask forgiveness. O thou hast been a most prodigious comet, But I'll cut of your train: kill the Moore first. You shall not kill her first. behold my breast, I will be waited on in death; my servant Shall never go before me. Are you so brave. Yes I shall welcome death As Princes do some great Ambassadors; I'll meet thy weapon half way. Thou dost tremble, methinks fear should dissolve thee into air. O thou art deceived, I am to true a woman: Conceit can never kill me: I'll tell thee what, I will not in my death shed one base tear, Or if look pale, for want of blood, not fear. Thou art my task, black fury. I have blood As red as either of theirs; wilt drink some? 'Tis good for the falling sickness: I am proud Death cannot alter my complexion, For I shall near look pale. Strike, strike, With a joint motion. 'Twas a manly blow The next thou giv'st, murder some sucking Infant, And than thou wilt be famous. O what blade be't? A Toledo, or an English Fox. I ever thought a Cutler should distinguish The cause of my death, rather than a Doctor. Search my wound deeper: tent it with the steel that made it. O my greatest sin lay in my blood. Now my blood pays for't. thouart a noble sister I love thee now; if woman do breed man She ought to teach him manhood: Fare thee well. Know many glorious women that are famed For masculine virtue, have been vicious Only a happier silence did betide them She hath no faults, who hath the art to hide them.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Foole! Princes giue rewards with their owne hands, But death or punishment by the handes of others. Sirha you once did strike mee, Ile strike you Into the Center. Thoul't doe it like a hangeman; a base hangman; Not like a noble fellow, for thou seest I cannot strike againe. Dost laugh? Wouldst haue me dye, as I was borne, in whining. Recommend your selfe to heauen. Noe I will carry mine owne commendations thither. Oh could I kill you forty times a day And vs't foure yeere together; 'tweare to little: Nought greeu's but that you are to few to feede The famine of our vengeance. What dost thinke on? Nothing; of nothing: leaue thy idle questions; I am ith way to study a long silence, To prate were idle, I remember nothing. Thers nothing of so infinit vexation As mans owne thoughts. O thou glorious strumpet, Could I deuide thy breath from this pure aire▪ When't leaues thy body, I would sucke it vp And breath't vpon some dunghill. You, my Deaths man; Me thinkes thou doest not looke horrid enough, Thou hast to good a face to be a hang-man,, If thou be doe thy office in right forme; Fall downe vpon thy knees and aske forgiuenesse. O thou hast bin a most prodigious comet, But Ile cut of your traine: kill the Moore first. You shall not kill her first. behould my breast, I will be waited on in death; my seruant Shall neuer go before mee. Are you so braue. Yes I shall wellcome death As Princes doe some great Embassadors; Ile meete thy weapon halfe way. Thou dost tremble, Mee thinkes feare should dissolue thee into ayre. O thou art deceiu'd, I am to true a woman: Conceit can neuer kill me: Ile tell thee what, I will not in my death shed one base teare, Or if looke pale, for want of blood, not feare. Thou art my taske, blacke fury. I haue blood As red as either of theirs; wilt drinke some? 'Tis good for the falling sicknesse: I am proud Death cannot alter my complexion, For I shall neere looke pale. Strike, strike, With a Ioint motion. 'Twas a manly blow The next thou giu'st, murder some sucking Infant, And then thou wilt be famous. O what blade ist? A Toledo, or an English Fox. I euer thought a Cutler should distinguish The cause of my death, rather then a Doctor. Search my wound deeper: tent it with the steele that made it. O my greatest sinne lay in my blood. Now my blood paies for't. Th'art a noble sister I loue thee now; if woeman doe breed man Shee ought to teach him manhood: Fare thee well. Know many glorious woemen that are fam'd For masculine vertue, haue bin vitious Onely a happier silence did betyde them Shee hath no faults, who hath the art to hide them.