Webster, John · published 1623 · first performed or written 1614 [1612-1614; revised 1617-23(?)] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 495 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Get thee into some unknown part o'th' world That I may never see thee. Let me know Wherefore I should be thus neglected? sir, I served your tyranny: and rather strove, To satisfy yourself, than all the world; And though I loathed the evil, yet I loved You that did council it: and rather sought To appear a true servant, than an honest man. I'll go hunt the Badger by Owl-light: 'Tis a deed of darkness. He's much distracted: Off my painted honour, While with vain hopes, our faculties we tire, We seem to sweat in ice, and freeze in fire; What would I do, were this to do again? I would not change my peace of conscience For all the wealth of Europe: She stirs; here's life: Return (fair soul) from darkness, and lead mine Out of this sensible Hell: She's warm, she breathes: Upon thy pale lips I will melt my heart To store them with fresh colour: who's there? Some cordial drink: Alas! I dare not call: So pity, would destroy pity: her Eye opes, And heaven in it, seems to ope, (that late was shut) To take me up to merry. Antonio. Yes (Madam) he is living, The dead bodies you saw, were but feigned statues; He's reconciled to your brothers: the Pope hath wrought The atonement. Mercy. Oh, she's gone again: there the cords of life broke: Oh sacred Innocence, that sweetly sleeps On Turtles feathers: whilst a guilty conscience Is a black Register, wherein is writ All our good deeds, and bad: a Perspective That shows us hell; that we cannot be suffered To do good when we have a mind to it? This is manly sorrow: These tears, I am very certain, never grew In my Mother's Milk. My estate is sunk Below the degree of fear: where were These penitent fountains, while she was living? Oh, they were frozen up: here is a sight As direful to my soul, as is the sword Unto a wretch hath slain his father: Come, I'll bear thee hence. And execute thy last will; that's deliver Thy body to the reverend dispose Of some good women: that the cruel tyrant Shall not deny me: Then I'll post to Milan, Where some what I will speedily enact Worth my dejection. What think you of my hope of reconcilement To the Aragonian brethren? I misdoubt it For though they have sent their letters of safe conduct For your repair to Milan, they appear But Nets, to entrap you: The Marquis of Pescara, Under whom you hold certain land in escheat, Much 'gainst his noble nature, hath been moved To seize those lands, and some of his dependants Are at this instant, making it their suit To be invested in your Revenues. I cannot think, they mean well to your life, That do deprive you of your means of life, Your living. You are still an heretic. To any safety, I can shape myself.
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)
Get thee into some vnknowne part o'th▪ world That I may neuer see thee. Let me know Wherefore I should be thus neglected? sir, I seru'd your tyranny: and rather stroue, To satisfie your selfe, then all the world; And though I loath'd the euill, yet I lou'd You that did councell it: and rather sought To appeare a true seruant, then an honest man. I'll goe hunt the Badger by Owle-light: 'Tis a deed of darkenesse. He's much distracted: Off my painted honour, While with vaine hopes, our faculties we tyre, We seeme to sweate in yee, and freeze in fire; What would I doe, wee this to doe againe? I would not change my peace of conscience For all the wealth of Europe: She stirres; here's life: Returne (faire soule) from darkenes, and lead mine Out of this sencible Hell: She's warme, she breathes: Vpon thy pale lips I will melt my heart To store them with fresh colour: who's there? Some cordiall drinke: Alas! I dare not call: So pitty, would destroy pitty: her Eye opes, And heauen in it, seemes to ope, (that late was shut) To take me vp to merry. Antonio. Yes (Madam) he is liuing, The dead bodies you saw, were but faign'd statues; He's reconcil'd to your brothers: the Pope hath wrought The attonement. Mercy. Oh, she's gone againe: there the cords of life broake: Oh sacred Innocence, that sweetely sleepes On Turtles feathers: whil'st a guilty conscience Is a blacke Register, wherein is writ All our good deedes, and bad: a Perspectiue That showes vs hell; that we cannot be suffer'd To doe good when we haue a mind to it? This is manly sorrow: These teares, I am very certaine, neuer grew In my Mothers Milke. My estate is suncke Below the degree of feare: where were These penitent fountaines, while she was liuing? Oh, they were frozen vp: here is a sight As direfull to my soule, as is the sword Vnto a wretch hath slaine his father: Come, I'll beare thee hence. And execute thy last will; that's deliuer Thy body to the reuerend dispose Of some good women: that the cruell tyrant Shall not denie me: Then I'll poast to Millaine, Where some what I will speedily enact Worth my deiection. What thinke you of my hope of reconcilement To the Aragonian brethren? I misdoubt it For though they haue sent their letters of safe conduct For your repaire to Millaine, they appeare But Nets, to entrap you: The Marquis of Pescara, Vnder whom you hold certaine land in Cheit, Much 'gainst his noble nature, hath bin mou'd To ceize those lands, and some of his dependants Are at this instant, making it their suit To be inuested in your Reuenewes. I cannot thinke, they meane well to your life, That doe depriue you of your meanes of life, Your liuing. You are still an heretique. To any safety, I can shape my selfe.