The Devil's Law Case (When Women Go to Law the Devil Is Full of Business) · chunk 16 of 45
Webster, John · published 1623 · first performed or written 1619 [1617-1621] (Annals) tragicomedy · Queen Anne's Men T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.72 · 499 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
O, I am lost for ever. Denied Christian burial, I pray what does that, Or the dead lazy march in the Funeral, Or the flattery in the Epitaphs, which shows More sluttish far than all the spider's webs Shall ever grow upon it: what do these Add to our well being after death? Not a scruple. Very well then, I have a certain Meditation, If I can think of somewhat to this purpose, I'll say it to you, while my mother there Numbers her Beads. You that dwell near these graves and vaults, Which oft do hide physician's faults, Note what a small Room does suffice, To express men's good, their vanities, Would fill more volume in small hand, Than all the Evidence of Churchland. Funerals hide men in civil wearing, And are to the Drapers a good hearing, Make the Heralds laugh in their black Payment, And all die Worthies die worth payment. To the Altar Offerings, though their fame, And all the charity of their name, 'tween heaven and this yield no more light, Then rotten trees, which shine i'th' night. Oh look the last Act be the best i'th' Play, And then rest gentle bones, yet pray, That when by the precise you are viewed, A Supersede as be not sued, To remove you to a place more airy, That in your stead they may keep chary Stockfish, or sea-coal, for the abuses Of sacrilege have turned graves to vilder uses. How then can any Monument say, Here rest these bones, till the last day, When time swift both of foot and feather, May bear them the Sexton ken not whither. What care I then, though my last sleep, Be in the Desert, or in the deep, No Lamp, nor Taper, day and night, To give my Charnel chargeable light: I have there like quantity of ground, And at the last day I shall be found. Now I pray leave me. I am sorry for your losses. umh sir the more spacious that the Tennis court is, The more large is the Hazard. I dare the spiteful Fortune do her worst, I can now fear nothing. Oh sir, yet consider, He that is without fear, is without hope, And sins from presumption; better thoughts attend you. Poor Iolenta, should she hear of this? She would not after the report keep fresh, So long as flowers in graves. How now Prospero. Contarino has sent you here his Will, Wherein a has made your sister his sole heir. Is he not dead? he's yet living. Living? the worse luck. The worse: I do protest it is the best, That ever came to disturb my prayers. How? Yet I would have him live To satisfy public justice for the death Of Ercole: oh go visit him for heaven's sake. I have within my Closet a choice Relic, Preservative 'gainst swooning, and some earth, Brought from the Holy Land, right sovereign To staunch blood: has he skilful Surgeons, think you?
nodes 1001–1073 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 16 of 45 in this edition
Length
499 words · 655 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.723 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T10 · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
O, I am lost for euer. Denide Christian buriall, I pray what does that, Or the dead lazy march in the Funerall, Or the flattery in the Epitaphs, which shewes More sluttish farre then all the Spiders webs Shall euer grow vpon it: what doe these Adde to our well being after death? Not a scruple. Very well then, I haue a certaine Meditation, If I can thinke of somewhat to this purpose, Ile say it to you, while my mother there Numbers her Beades. You that dwell neere these graues and vaults, Which oft doe hide Physicions faults, Note what a small Roome does suffice, To expresse mens good, their vanities, Would fill more volume in small hand, Then all the Euidence of Church-land. Funerals hide men in ciuill wearing, And are to the Drapers a good hearing, Make the Heraulds laugh in their blacke Payment, And all die Worthies die worth payment. To the Altar Offerings, tho their fame, And all the charitie of their name, 'Tweene heauen and this yeeld no more light, Then rotten trees, which shine i'th night. Oh looke the last Act be the best i'th Play, And then rest gentle bones, yet pray, That when by the precise you are vewed, A Supersede as be not sued, To remooub you to a place more ayrie, That in your stead they may keepe chary Stockfish, or Seacole, for the abuses Of sacriledge haue turn'd graues to vilder vses. How then can any Monument say, Here rest these bones, till the last day, When time swift both of foo and feather, May beare them the Sexton ens not whither. What care I then, tho my last sleepe, Be in the Desart, or in the deepe, No Lampe, nor Taper, day and night, To giue my Charnell chargeable light: I haue there like quantitie of ground, And at the last day I shall be found. Now I pray leaue me. I am sorry for your losses. Vm sir the more spatious that the Tennis court is, The more large is the Hazard. I dare the spitefull Fortune doe her worst, I can now feare nothing. Oh sir, yet consider, He that is without feare, is without hope, And sins from presumption; better thoughts attend you. Poore Iolenta, should she heare of this? Shee would not after the report keepe fresh, So long as flowers in graues. How now Prospero. Contarino has sent you here his Will, Wherein a has made your sister his sole heire. Is he not dead? Hee's yet liuing. Liuing? the worse lucke. The worse: I doe protest it is the best, That euer came to disturbe my prayers. How? Yet I would haue him liue To satisfie publique Iustice for the death Of Ercole: oh goe visit him for heauens sake. I haue within my Closet a choyce Relicke, Preseruatiue 'gainst swounding, and some earth, Brought from the Holy Land, right soueraigne To staunch bloud: has he skilfull Surgeons, thinke you?