Markham, Gervase / Sampson, William · published 1622 · first performed or written 1622 [c.1619-1622] (Annals) tragedy · Red Bull (Revels) Company (first) · Red Bull T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.83 · 507 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
His picture lies within you; pluck it out, And let your false heart follow. It is truth's part to suffer; so must I. Vengeance upon such sufferance. Come, you're a barbarous Creature. Base Edomite. Slanderous Grecian. Old Beldame. Young Cockatrice. 'Sdeath, I could tear thine eyes out. Do but (This) that motion shall destroy thee. Marry mew. Hold in the name of Verve; here's a brawl Able to inflame patience: Beauteous Queen, Divinest Alexandra; what can move These storms in this calm weather. Flattering Sir, You best can close up mischief. If I may, I'll lay my life a subject to your mercies; Make me your footstools to appease your wraths; My blood I'll make your sacrifice. No more; I that but now shed tears, now laugh: O God! To see so brave a Masterpiece of Villainy By such a Bastard Issue be compacted: Thou make atonement? Hence Bastard, hence; The dregs of Lust, the foul Disease of Wine, That wert begot when sin was revelling: Thou make atonement? No; go learn to drown The Lords elected people; here stands she That looks to taste thy poison. Miracles! Wrest not my good thoughts (Madam) for I call Just Heaven to witness how I loved your Son; And would myself have died to ransom him; But your misprision I impute to heat And Choleric spleen, which now misgoverns you. Nay, you should thank her for abusing you; we are become her vassals. Think not so. Yes, and cry vengeance for it; wicked one, There's wire whips in making, and I know Furies will soundly lash you; you, and you; Both are marked out to perish; faith you are. How now; what means this outrage? Peace for shame; This talk fits Stews and Brothels: Come, no more; Mother, your judgement should be far more wise; And Madam, you should be more temperate: A Princes hands, all iniuries should looke Not for revenge but patience. Thou which art made of Cowardice and fear; Dost thou confirm their actions? Yes, 'tis fit; Lust still must flatter falsehood. Ha; what's that? why Wife— Call me not Wife; The sound of death hath far more Music in it: Wife? O, my fate! Wife unto such a Lecher? Why Salumith. I'll be no Salumith of thine, there's your Love; She whom you foster in her insolences; she's your Salumith: O credulous women, How easily are you gulled, with a seducing kiss! Now it works. A fair word makes the Devil seem a Saint; But I'll be revenged, and in so strange a course As never woman took. D'ye perpetrate my goodness? There's your Salumith. Admirable still. And there's th'old Hen her Mother, A couple of seasoned dishes, fall too, fall too. Nay Madam, you're too bitter. By Heaven & happiness, I know not what this means; Yet were the King not suddenly returned, And craved our swift attendance; I would sift And try this language strangely. Is the King returned? He is, and safely. Then my hate, I'll give thee fire to work on.
nodes 816–895 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 13 of 44 in this edition
Length
507 words · 741 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.829 (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)
His picture lies within you; plucke it out, And let your false heart follow. It is Truths part to suffer; so must I. Vengeance vpon such sufferance. Come, y'are a barbarous Creature. Base Edomite. Slanderous Grecian. Old Beldame. Young Cocatrice. S'death, I could teare thine eyes out. Do but (This) that motion shall destroy thee. Marry mew. Hold in the name of Verue; heere's a braule Able to inflame patience: Beautious Queene, Diuinest Alexandra; what can moue These stormes in this calme weather. Flattering Sir, You best can close vp mischiefe. If I may, Ile lay my life a subiect to your mercies; Make me your footstooles to appease your wrathes; My blood Ile make your sacrifice. No more; I that but now shed teares, now laugh: O God! To see so braue a Maister-piece of Villany By such a Bastard Issue bee compacted: Thou make attonement? Hence Bastard, hence; The dregges of Lust, the foule Disease of Wine, That wert begot when sinne was reuelling: Thou make attonemenr? No; goe leane to drowne The Lords elected people; heere stands shee That lookes to tast thy poyson. Miracles! Wrest not my good thoughts (Madam) for I call Iust Heauen to witnesse how I lou'd your Sonne; And would my selfe haue dyed to ransome him; But your misprision I impute to heate And Chollericke spleene, which now misgouernes you. Nay, you should thanke her for abusing you; Wee are become her vassals. Thinke not so. Yes, and cry vengeance for it; wicked one, There's wier whips in making, and I know Furies will soundly lash you; you, and you; Both are mrkt out to perish; faith you are. How now; what means this outrage? Peace for shame; This talke fits Stewes and Brothels: Gome, no more; Mother, your iudgement should be farre more wise; And Madam, you should be more temperate: A Princes hands, all iniuries should looke Not for reuenge but paience. Thou which art made of Cowardise and feare; Dost thou confirme their actions? Yes, tis fit; Lust still must flatter falshood. Ha; what's that? why Wife— Call me not Wife; The sound of death hath farre more Musique in it: Wife? O, my fate! Wife vnto such a Letcher? Why Salumith. Ile be no Salumith of thine, ther'es your Loue; She whom you foster in her insolencies; Shee's your Salumith: O crudulous women, How easily are you guld, with a seducing kisse! Now it workes. A faire word makes the Diuell seeme a Saint; But Ile be reueng'd, and in so strange a course As neuer woman tooke. D'yee perpetrate my goodnes? There's your Salumith. Admirable still. And there's th'old Hen her Mother, A couple of season'd dishes, fall too, fall too. Nay Madam, y'are too bitter. By Heauen & happines, I know not what this meanes; Yet were the King not sodainly return'd, And crau'd our swift attendance; I would sift And try this language strangely. Is the King return'd? He is, and safely. Then my hate, Ile giue thee fire to worke on.