Beaumont, Francis / Fletcher, John · published 1619 · first performed or written 1610 [c.1610-1611] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men · Blackfriars T11 Siblings, kin and confidants typicality 0.85 · 505 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T11: sister, brother, love, friend, heart, father, mother, woman, lord, hear.
But there is nothing. Worse and worse, farewell; From this time have acquaintance, but no friend. Melantius, stay, you shall know what that is. See how you plead with friendship, be advised How you give cause unto yourself to say, You ha' lost a friend. Forgive what I ha' done, For I am so o'ergone with miseries, Unheard of, that I lose consideration Of what I ought to do,— oh— Do not weep, what be't? May I once but know the man Hath turned my friend thus. I had spoke at first, but that, But what? I held it most unfit For you to know, faith do not know it yet. Thou seest my love, that will keep company With thee in tears, hide nothing then from me, For when I know the cause of thy distemper, With mine old armour i'll adorn myself, My resolution, and cut through thy foes Unto thy quiet, till I place thy heart As peaceable as spotless innocence. What is it? Why 'tis this,— it is too big To get out, let my tears make way awhile. Punish me strangely heaven, if he scape Of life or fame, that brought this youth to this. Your sister. Well said. You'll wished unknown when you have heard it. No. Is much to blame, And to the King has given her honour up, And lives in whoredom with him. How's this? Thou art run mad with injury indeed, Thou couldst not utter this, else speak again, For I forgive it freely, tell thy griefs. she's wanton, I am loath to say a whore, Though it be true. Speak yet again, before mine anger grow Up beyond throwing down, what are thy griefs? By all our friendship, these. What, am I sane, After mine actions, shall the name of friend Blot all our family, and stick the brand Of whore upon my sister unrevenged My shaking flesh be thou a witness for me, With what unwillingness I go to scourge This railer, whom my folly hath called friend, I will not take thee basely, thy sword Hangs near thy hand, draw it, that I may whip Thy rashness to repentance, draw thy sword. Not on thee, did thine anger go as high As troubled waters, thou shouldst do me ease, Here, and eternally, if thy noble hand, Would cut me from my sorrows. This is base, And fearful, they that use to utter lies, Provide not blows, but words to qualify The men they wronged, thou hast a guilty cause. Thou pleasest me, for so much more like this, Will raise my anger up above my griefs, Which is a passion easier to be known, And I shall then be blessed. Take then more, to raise thine anger, 'tis mere Cowardice makes thee not draw, & I will leave thee dead however, but if thou art so much priest, With guilt and fear, as not to dare to fight, I'll make thy memory loathed, and fix a farewell Upon thy name for ever.
nodes 1288–1361 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 21 of 42 in this edition
Length
505 words · 663 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T11 — Siblings, kin and confidantscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.853 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T15 · seed 44: T12 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
But there is nothing. Worse and worse, farewell; From this time haue acquaintance, but no friend. Melantius, stay, you shall know what that is. See how you plead with friendship, be aduis'd How you giue cause vnto your selfe to say, You ha lost a friend. Forgiue what I ha done, For I am so ore-gon with miseries, Vnheard of, that I lose consideration Of what I ought to do,—oh—oh. Doe not weepe, what ist? May I once but know the man Hath turnd my friend thus. I had spoke at first, but that, But what? I held it most vnfit For you to know, faith doe not know it yet. Thou seest my loue, that will keep company With thee in teares, hide nothing then from me, For when I know the cause of thy distemper, With mine old armour ile adorne my selfe, My resolution, and cut through thy foes Vnto thy quiet, till I place thy heart As peaceable as spotlesse innocence. What is it? Why tis this,—it is too bigge To get out, let my teares make way awhile. Punish me strangly heauen, if he scape Of life or fame, that brought this youth to this. Your sister. Well sayd. You'l wisht vnknowne when you haue heard it. No. Is much to blame, And to the King has giuen her honour vp, And liues in whoredome with him. How's this? Thou art run mad with iniury indeed, Thou couldst not vtter this, else speake againe, For I forgiue it freely, tell thy griefes. shees wanton, I am loth to say a whore, Though it be true. Speake yet againe, before mine anger grow Vp beyond throwing downe, what are thy griefes? By all our friendship, these. What, am I ane, After mine actions, shall the name of friend Blot all our family, and stick the brand Of whore vpon my sister vnreueng'd My shaking flesh be thou a witnesse for me, With what vnwillingnesse I goe to scourge This rayler, whom my folly hath cald friend, I will not take thee basely, thy sword Hangs neere thy hand, draw it, that I may whip Thy rashnesse to repentance, draw thy sword. Not on thee, did thine anger goe as high As troubled waters, thou should doe me ease, Heere, and eternally, if thy noble hand, Would cut me from my sorrowes. This is base, And fearefull, they that vse to vtter lies, Prouide not blowes, but wordes to qualifie The men they wrong'd, thou hast a guilty cause. Thou pleasest me, for so much more like this, Will raise my anger vp aboue my griefes, Which is a passion easier to be knowne, And I shall then be blessed. Take then more, to raise thine anger, tis meere Cowardise makes thee not draw, & I will leaue thee dead How euer, but if thou art so much prest, With guilt and feare, as not to dare to fight, Ile make thy memory loath'd, and fix a farewell Vpon thy name for euer.