Massinger, Philip · published 1623 · first performed or written 1621 [1621-1623] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men · Blackfriars T0 Court life: dukes, favour and honour typicality 0.77 · 485 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T0: duke, lord, duchess, love, court, madam, prince, honour, grace, lady.
Blasphemed, for calling of a whore, a whore? O hell, what do I suffer? Or is it treason For me that am a subject, to endeavour To save the honour of the Duke, and that He should not be a wittol on record. For by postery 'twill be believed As certainly as now it can be proved, Francisco the great Minion, that sways all, To meet the chaste embraces of the Duchess, Hath leapt into her bed. Some proof vile creature, Or thou hast spoke thy last. The public fame, Their hourly private meetings, and even now When under a pretence of grief or anger, You are denied the joys due to a husband, And made a stranger to her, at all times The door stands open to him. To a Dutchman This were enough, but to a right Italian, A hundred thousand witnesses. Would you have us To be her bawds? O the malice And envy of base women, that with horror Knowing their own defects and inward guilt, Dare lie, and swear, and damn, for what's most false, To cast aspersions upon one untainted, You're in your nature's devils, and your ends Knowing your reputation sunk for ever, And not to be recovered, to have all, Wear your black livery. Wretches, you have raised A Monumental trophy to her pureness, In this your studied purpose to deprave her, And all the shot made by your foul detraction Falling upon her sure-armed Innocence, returns upon yourselves, and if my love Could suffer an addition, I'm so far From giving credit to you, this would teach me More to admire & serve her, you are not worthy To fall as sacrifices to appease her, And therefore live till your own envy burst you. All is in vain, he is not to be moved. She has bewitched him. 'Tis so past belief, To me it shows a fable. On thy life Provide my horses, and without the Port With care attend me. I shall my Lord. He's come. What crack have we next? Great Sir. Francisco, Though all the joys in woman are fled from me In thee I do embrace the full delight That I can hope from man. I would impart, Please you to lend your care, a weighty-secret, I am in labour to deliver to you. All leave the room, excuse me good Pesc. Ere long I will wait on you. You speak Sir The language I should use. Be within call, Perhaps we may have use of you. We shall Sir. Say on my comfort. Comfort? No, your torment, For so my fate appoints me, I could curse The hour that gave me being. What new monsters Of misery stand ready to devour me? Let them at once dispatch me. Draw your sword then, And as you wish your own peace, quickly kill me, Consider not, but do it. Art thou mad?
seed 43: T0 · seed 44: T0 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Blasphem'd, for calling of a whore, a whore? O hell, what doe I suffer? Or is it treason For me that am a subiect, to endeuour To saue the honour of the Duke, and that He should not be a Wittall on record. For by posterie 'twill be beleeu'd As certainly as now it can be prou'd, Francisco the great Minion, that swayes all, To meet the chast embraces of the Dutches, Hath leap'd into her bed. Some proofe vile creature, Or thou hast spoke thy last. The publique fame, Their hourely priuate meetings, and euen now When vnder a pretence of griefe or anger, You are deny'd the ioyes due to a husband, And made a stranger to her, at all times The dore stands open to him. To a Dutchman This were enough, but to a right Italian, A hundred thousand witnesses. Would you haue vs To be her bawdes? O the mallice And enuie of base women, that with horror Knowing their owne defects and inward guilt, Dare lye, and sweare, and damne, for what's most false, To cast aspersions vpon one vntainted, Y'are in your natures deuils, and your ends Knowing your reputation sunke for euer, And not to be recouer'd, to haue all, Weare your blacke liuerie. Wretches, you haue rays'd A Monumentall trophy to her purenesse, In this your studied purpose to depraue her, And all the shot made by your foule detraction Falling vpon her sure-arm'd Innocence, Return's vpon your selues, and if my loue Could suffer an addition, I'me so farre From giuing credit to you, this would teach me More to admire & serue her, you are not worthy To fall as sacrifices to appease her, And therefore liue till your own enuy burst you. All is in vaine, he is not to be mou'd. She has bewitcht him. 'Tis so past beliefe, To me it shewes a fable. On thy life Prouide my horses, and without the Port With care attend me. I shall my Lord. He's come. What cracke haue we next? Great Sir. Francisco, Though all the ioyes in woman are fled from me In thee I doe embrace the full delight That I can hope from man. I would impart, Please you to lend your care, a waightie-secret, I am in labour to deliuer to you. All leaue the roome, excuse me good Pesc. Ere long I will waite on you. You speake Sir The language I should vse. Be within call, Perhaps we may haue vse of you. We shall Sir. Say on my comfort. Comfort? No, your torment, For so my fate appoints me, I could curse The houre that gaue me being. What new monsters Of miserie stand readie to deuoure me? Let them at once dispatch me. Draw your sword then, And as you wish your own peace, quickly kil me, Consider not, but doe it. Art thou mad?