Dekker, Thomas / Massinger, Philip · published 1622 · first performed or written 1620 [licensed for stage, Oct 6; revised and re-licensed for stage, Jul 7, 1624] (Annals) tragedy · Red Bull (Revels) Company (first) unassigned nearest T36 Hell, Furies and the language of punishm · 499 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T36: hell, earth, gods, death, ghosts, blood, bloody, heaven, night, ghost.
Sirrah, bandog, Wilt thou in pieces tear, our Iupiter, For her? our Mars, for her? our Sol, for her? A whore, a hellhound, in this globe of brains Where a whole world of tortures for such furies Have fought as in a Chaos) which should exceed, These nails shall grubbing lie, from scull to scull, To find one horrider, than all, for you, You three. Threaten not, but strike, quick vengeance flies Into thy bosom, caitiff: here all loves dies. O I am thunder-struck! we are both over whelmed. With one high raging billow. You a soldier, And sink beneath the violence of a woman? A woman! a wronged Princess: from such a star Blazing with fires of hate, what can be looked for But tragical events? my life is now The subject of her tyranny. That fear, is base, Of death, when that death doth but life displace Out of her house of earth; you only dread The stroke, and not what follows when you are dead, There's the great fear indeed: come, let your eye, Dwell where mine do, you'll scorn their tyrannies. My father's nerves put vigour in mine arm, And I his strength must use; because I once Shed beams of favour on thee, and with the Lion Played with thee gently when thou struckst my heart, He not insult on a base humbled prey, By lingering out thy terrors, but with one frown Kill thee: hence with 'em to execution. Seize him, but let even death itself be weary In torturing her: He change those smiles to shrieks, Give the fool what she is proud of (martyrdom) In pieces rack that Bawd to: Albeit the reverence I owe our gods and you, are in my bosom Torrents so strong, that pity quite lies drowned From saving this young man, yet when I see What face death gives him, and that a thing within me, Says 'tis my son, I'm forced to be a man, And grow fond of his life, which thus I beg. And I deny. Sir you dishonour me, To sue for that which I disclaim to have, I shall more glory in my sufferings gain, Than you in giving judgement, since I offer My blood up to your anger: nor do I kneel To keep a wretched life of mine from ruin: Preserve this temple (builded fair as your is) And Caesar never went in greater triumph Than I shall to the scaffold. Are you so brave Sir, Set forward to his triumph, and let those two Go cursing along with him. No, but pitying, (For my part, I) that you lose ten times more By torturing me, than I that dare your tortures, Through all the army of my sins, I have even Lobord to break, and cope with death to th'face; The visage of a hangman frights not me; The sight of whips, racks, gibbets, axes, fires Are scaffoldings, by which my soul climbs up To an Eternal habitation.
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)
Sirra, bandog, Wilt thou in peeces teare, our Iupiter, For her? our Mars, for her? our Sol, for her? A whore, a hel-hound, in this globe of braines Where a whole world of tortures for such furies Haue fought as in a Chaos) which should exceed, These nailes shall grubbing lye, from scull to scull, To finde one horrider, then all, for you, You three. Threaten not, but strike, quicke vengeance flies Into thy bosome, caitife: here all loues dies. O I am thunder-struckel Wee are both ore whelm'd. With one high raging billow. You a souldier, And sinke beneath the violence of a woman? A woman! a wrongd Princesse: from such a starre Blazing with fires of hate, what can be look'd for But tragicall euents? my life is now The subiect of her tyranny. That feare, is base, Of death, when that death doth but life displace Out of her house of earth; you onely dread The stroke, and not what followes when you are dead, There's the great feare indeed: come, let your eye, Dwell where mine doe, youle scorne their tyrannies. My fathers nerues put vigour in mine arme, And I his strength must vse; because I once Shed beames of fauour on thee, and with the Lyon Playd with thee gently when thou strokst my heart, He not insult on a base humbled prey, By lingring out thy terrors, but with one frowne Kill thee: hence with 'hem to execution. Seize him, but let euen death it selfe be weary In torturing her: He change those smiles to shreekes, Giue the foole what she is proud of (martyrdome) In peeces racke that Bawd to: Albeit the reuerence Iowe our gods and you, are in my bosome Torrents so strong, that pitty quite lies drownd From sauing this yong man, yet when I see What face death giues him, and that a thing within me, Sayes 'tis my sonne, I'am forc'd to be a man, And grow fond of his life, which thus I beg. And I deny. Sir you dishonour me, To sue for that which I disclay me to haue, I shall more glory in my sufferings gaine, Then you in giuing iudgement, since I offer My blood vp to your anger: nor do I kneele To keepe a wretched life of mine from ruine: Preserue this temple (builded faire as your is) And Caesar neuer went in greater triumph Then I shall to the scaffold. Are you so braue Sir, Set forward to his triumph, and let those two Go cursing along with him. No, but pittying, (For my part, I) that you loose ten times more By torturing me, than I that dare your tortures, Through all the army of my sinnes, I haue euen Lobord to breake, and cope with death to th'face; The visage of a hangman frights not me; The sight of whips, rackes, gibbets, axes, fires Are scaffoldings, by which my soule climbes vp To an Eternall habitation.