Cynthia's Revenge, or Maenander's Ecstasy · chunk 37 of 67
Stephens, John · published 1613 · first performed or written 1613 (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T38 Death, parting and grief at court · 503 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T38: queen, king, death, dead, heart, life, die, lord, royal, news.
madam he is the blessing of my fate Borne to my fortunes, and my whole estate. So: then resolve what news. All fear is fled: The worst of woman's fear, Lucilla's dead: Most welcome tidings speak, I pray, and stuff Your happy speech with circumstance enough. Titan roused up from darkness by the day Shrunk with amazement of the fatal morn, (Remembering what a mischief should befall) For cloudy nightcaps he again did call, When my suborned vassal gave consent To swim (for satisfaction of our sake) Through deep damnation's gulf, so, through the lake Of undigested horror, to accuse My stepdame, young Lucilla, of your death: He, a dissembling caitiff, deeply read In irreligious acts; with doubtful face More doubted voice, and miserable groan Salutes the footstep of Menander's throne; Then weeping, said, the Worm of Conscience Strives in my blood; tortures my broken soul; Haunted I am with terror whilst I live Who to my life a period will give? A final period: for I live too long Let villains fortune be my fatal song, With which the sorry King was somewhat moved, And (after silence) did exact his name Proceeding to the circumstantial cause; My rude impostor did prevent the clause, And seeming to afflict his pensive heart, Back from the royal footsteps doth he start: Help, o defend me from her hateful frowns, See where Medusa-like she comes, (he cried) Clad all in torchlight like the Queen of hell Her scalp's encircled with a Crown of flames: Much lean-jawed horror hangs about her eyes; The gaping wound for greedy vengeance cries. What madness now affrights thee, quoth our king? Fair Favovrina's shadow he replies, For through enticements of Lucilla's spleen I slew the gallant Bride, and Sparta's Queen: Lucilla, by consent, was doomed to death And my Impostor also, whom I taught For life's own safeguard to beseech the King, That his uprighteous judgement of grim death Might fail of execution, just so long As the condemned Lucilla did survive Thinking by this, than to discover all And say he did preserve whom she conspired to kill. The King, enraged with sorrow, did repel This poor petition of my tortured slave: Who then despairing to escape from death Drew forth a dagger, gave one fatal stab Into the Kings own bosom, with which wound He like a lofty Turret, nodding low, Clapped his victorious palms above his head, And swear a mighty oath, MENANDER'S DEAD. Menander dead? My King and Husband dead? My slave torn piece-meal did enjoy his fate, Lucilla burnt before the Palace gate. Menander dead? Yes, but Pheudippe's King. Pheudippe King? Yes; but MENANDER''s DEAD. Oppressed with sorrow, I lament his death: But am appeased by proud Lucilla's breath. What is a woman's love? when to revenge And empty out the poison of her gall Against some Lady her malignant foe She doth forget compassion, doth refuse Friendship to neighbours, duty to her Spouse, Respect of parents, piety to blood: Nay, above these; abhor celestial good.
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)
Madame hee is the blessing of my fate Borne to my fortunes, and my whole estate. So then resolue what newes. All feare is fled: The worst of womans feare, Lucilla's dead: Most welcome tidings speake, I pray, and stuffe Your happy speech with circumstance enough. Titan rous'd vp from darkenesse by the day Shrunke with amazement of the fatall morne, (Remembring what a mischiefe should befall) For cloudy night-caps hee againe did call, When my suborned vassaile gaue consent To swimme (for satisfaction of our sake) Through deepe damnations gulfe, so, through the lake Of vn-digested horror, to accuse My step-dame, yong Lucilla, of your death: Hee, a dissembling caitife, deepely read In ir-religious acts; with doubtfull face More doubted voyce, and miserable grone Salutes the foote-step of Maenanders throne; Then weeping▪ said, the Worme of Conscience in my bloud; tortures my broken soule; Haunted I am with terror whilst liue Who to my life a period will giue? A finall period: for I liue too long Let vila fortune be my fatall song, With which the soy King was some-what mou'd, And (after silence) did exact his name Proceeding to the circumstantiall cause; My rude impostor did preuent the clause, And seeming to afflict his pensiue heart, Backe from the royall foote-steps doth hee start: Helpe, ô defend mee from her hatefull frownes, See where Medusa-like shee comes, (hee cried) Clad all in torch-light like the Queene of hell Her sealpe's en-circled with a Crowne of flames: Much leane-iaw'd horror hangs about her eyes; The gaping wound for greedy vengeance cryes. What madnesse now affrights thee, quoth our king? Faire Fauourina's shadow hee replyes, For throvgh entisements of Lucilla's spleene I slew the gallant Bride, and Sparta's Queene: Lucilla, by consent, was doom'd to death And my Impostor also, whom I taught For lifes owne safe-guard to beseech the King, That his vprighteous iudgement of grim death Might faile of execution, iust so long As the condemn'd Lucilla did suruiue Thinking by this, then to discouer all And say hee did preserue whom shee conspir'd to kill. The King, enrag'd with sorrow, did re-pell This poore petition of my totur'd slaue: Who then despairing to escape from death Drew forth a dagger, gaue one fatall stab Into the Kings owne bosome, with which wound Hee like a lofty Turret, nodding low, Clape his victorious palmes aboue his head, And swoe a mighty oath, MENANDER'S DEAD. dead? My King and Husband dead? My slaue torne peece-meale did enioy his fate, Lucilla burt a before the Pallace gate. Menander dead? Yes, but Pheudippe's King. Pheudippe King? Yes; but MENANDER'S DEAD. Opprest with sorrow, I lament his death: But am appeas'd by proud Lucilla's breath. What is a womans loue? when to reuenge And empty out the poyson of her gall Against some Lady her malignant foe Shee doth forget compassion, doth refuse Friendship to neighbours, duty to her Spouse, Respect of parents, piety to bloud: Nay, aboue these; abhore celestiall good.