Philaster, or Love Lies a-Bleeding · chunk 33 of 40
Beaumont, Francis / Fletcher, John · published 1620 · first performed or written 1609 [May(?)] (Annals) tragicomedy · King's Men · Globe T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.78 · 485 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Ay me, I know him well. Did not you know him? Sir, if it were he, he was disguised. I was so: Oh my stars, that I should live still. Thou ambitious fool, thou that hast laid a train for thy own life, now I do mean to do, I'll leave to talk, bear them to prison. Sir, they did plot together, to take hence this harmless life, should it pass unrevenged, I should to earth, weeping. Grant me then, by all the loves a father bears his child, their custodies, that I may appoint their tortures, and their deaths. Death, soft your law will not reach that for this fault. 'tis granted, take 'em to you with a guard. Come Princely Pharamont, this business past, We shall with more security go on With our intended match. I pray that this action lose not Phylastor the hearts of the people. Fear it not, their overwise heads Will think it but a trick. Has the king sent for him to death? Yes, but the king must know, 'tis not in his power to war with heaven. We linger time, the king sent for Phylastor, and the headsman, an hour ago. Are all his wounds well? All, they were but scratches, but the loss of blood made him faint. We dally Gentlemen. Away. we'll shuffle hard before he perish. Nay, faith Phylaster, grieve not, we are well. Nay, good my Lord forbear, we are wondrous well. Oh Arethusa and Bellario, Leave to be kind, I shall be shut from heaven, If you continue so, I am a man false to a pair Of the truest ones that ever earth bore. Can it bear us all? forgive me, and leave me; But the King hath sent to call me to my death, Oh show it me, and then forget me: and for thee my boy, I shall deliver words, will mollify the hearts of beasts, To spare thy innocence. Alas, my Lord: My life is not a thing worthy Your noble thoughts, 'tis not a life, 'tis but a piece Of childhood thrown away: should I out live you, I should out live virtue and honour: And when that day come, if ever I shall close These eyes but once; may I live spotted for my perjury, And waste by time to nothing. And I the woefull'st maid that ever lived, Forced with my hands to bring my Lord to death, Do by the honour of a Virgin swear. To tell no hour behind it. Make me not hated so. Come from this prison, all joyful to our deaths. People will tear me, when they find you true, To such a wretch as I, I shall die loathed. Enjoy your Kingdom peaceably, whilst I for ever sleep, Forgotten with my faults. Every just maiden, every maid in love, Will have a piece of me, if you be true.
nodes 1434–1484 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 33 of 40 in this edition
Length
485 words · 637 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.780 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T7 · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Ay me, I know him well. Did not you know him? Sir, if it were he, he was disguis'd. I was so: Oh wy starres, that I should liue still. Thou ambitious foole, thou that hast layd a trayne for thy owne life, now I doe meane to doe, I'le leaue to talke, beare them to prison. Sir, they did plot together, to take hence this harmelesse life, should it passe vnreuengd, I should to earth, weeping. Grant mee then, by all the loues a father beares his child, their custodies, that I may appoint their tortures, and their deathes. Death, soft your law will not reach that for this fault. Tis granted, take vm to you with a guard. Come Princely Pharamont, this businesse past, We shall with more security go on With our intended match. I pray that this actionloose not Phylastor the hearts of the people. Feare it not, their ouer-wise heads Will thinke it but a trick. Has the king sent for him to death? Yes, but the king must know, 'tis not in his powor to warre with heauen. We linger time, the king sent for Phylastor, and the headsman, an houre agoe. Are all his wounds well? All, they were but scrarches, but the losse of blood made him faint. We dally Gentlemen. Away. Wee'le shufle hard before he perish. Nay, faith Phylaster, grieue not, we are well. Nay, good my Lord forbeare, we are wondrous well. Oh Arethusa and Bellario, Leaue to be kinde, I shall be shut from heauen, If you continue so, I am a man false to a paire Of the truest ones that euer earth bore. Can it beare vs all? forgiue me, and leaue me; But the King hath sent to call me to my death, Oh shew it me, and then forget me: and for thee my boy, I shall deliuer words, will mollifie the hearts of beasts, To spare thy innocence. Alas, my Lord: My life is not a thing worthy Your noble thoughts, tis not a life, tis but a peece Of child-hood throwne away: should I out liue you, I should out liue vertue and honour: And when that day come, if euer I shall close These eyes but once; may I liue spotted for my periurie, And waste by time to nothing. And I the wofulst maide that euer liu'd, Forc't with my hands to bring my Lord to death, Do by the honour of a Virgin sweare. To tell no houre behind it. Make me not hated so. Come from this prison, all ioyfull to our deaths. People will teare me, when they finde you true, To such a wretch as I, I shall die loath'd. Inioy your Kingdome peaceably, whilst I for euer sleepe, Forgotten with my faults. Euery iust maiden, euery maide in loue, Will haue a peece of me, if you be true.