Shakespeare, William / Middleton, Thomas · published 1623 · first performed or written 1604 (Annals) tragicomedy · King's Men T40 Sin, guilt and violent loss within famil typicality 0.89 · 491 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T40: brother, death, life, die, heaven, sin, live, father, blood, soul.
Well: let her be admitted, See you the Fornicatresse be removed, Let her have needful, but not lavish means, There shall be order for't. 'Saue your Honour. Stay a little while: ye are welcome: what's your will? I am a woeful Suitor to your Honour, Please but your Honour hear me. Well: what's your suit. There is a vice that most I do abhor, And most desire should meet the blow of justice; For which I would not plead, but that I must, For which I must not plead, but that I am At war, twixt will, and will not. Well: the matter? I have a brother is condemned to die, I do beseech you let it be his fault, And not my brother. Heaven give thee moving graces. Condemn the fault, and not the actor of it, Why every fault's condemned ere it be done: Mine were the very Cipher of a Function To fine the faults, whose fine stands in record, And let go by the Actor: Oh just, but severe Law: I had a brother then; heaven keep your honour. Give't not over so: to him again, entreat him, Kneel down before him, hang upon his gown, You are too cold: if you should need a pin, You could not with more tame tongue desire it: To him, I say. Must he needs die? Maiden, no remedy. Yes: I do think that you might pardon him, And neither heaven, nor man grieve at the mercy. I will not do't. But can you if you would? Look what I will not, that I cannot do. But might you do't & do the world no wrong If so your heart were touched with that remorse, As mine is to him? he's sentenced, 'tis too late. You are too cold. Too late? why no: I that do speak a word May call it again: well, believe this No ceremony that to great ones longs, Not the King's Crown; nor the deputed sword, The Marshals Truncheon, nor the judge's Robe Become them with one half so good a grace As mercy does: If he had been as you, and you as he, You would have slipped like him, but he like you Would not have been so stern. Pray you be gone. I would to heaven I had your potency, And you were Isabella: should it then be thus? No: I would tell what 'twere to be a judge, And what a prisoner. I, touch him: there's the vain. Your Brother is a forfeit of the Law, And you but waste your words. Alas, alas: Why all the souls that were, were forfeit once, And he that might the vantage best have took, Found out the remedy: how would you be, If he, which is the top of judgement, should But judge you, as you are? Oh, think on that, And mercy than will breathe within your lips Like man new made.
seed 43: T37 · seed 44: T36 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Well: let her be admitted, See you the Fornicatreſſe be remou'd, Let her haue needfull, but not lauiſh meanes, There ſhall be order for't. 'Saue your Honour. Stay a little while: y' are welcome: what's your will? I am a wofull Sutor to your Honour, 'Pleaſe but your Honor heare me. Well: what's your ſuite. There is a vice that moſt I doe abhorre, And moſt deſire ſhould meet the blow of Iuſtice; For which I would not plead, but that I muſt, For which I muſt not plead, but that I am At warre, twixt will, and will not. Well: the matter? I haue a brother is condemn'd to die, I doe beſeech you let it be his fault, And not my brother. Heauen giue thee mouing graces. Condemne the fault, and not the actor of it, Why euery fault's condemnd ere it be done: Mine were the verie Cipher of a Function To fine the faults, whoſe fine ſtands in record, And let goe by the Actor: Oh iuſt, but ſeuere Law: I had a brother then; heauen keepe your honour. Giue't not ore ſo: to him againe, entreat him, Kneele downe before him, hang vpon his gowne, You are too cold: if you ſhould need a pin, You could not with more tme tongue deſire it: To him, I ſay. Muſt he needs die? Maiden, no remedie. Yes: I doe thinke that you might pardon him, And neither heauen, nor man grieue at the mercy. I will not doe't. But can you if you would? Looke what I will not, that I cannot doe. But might you doe't & do the world no wrong If ſo your heart were touch'd with that remorſe, As mine is to him? Hee's ſentenc'd, tis too late. You are too cold. Too late? why no: I that doe ſpeak a word May call it againe: well, beleeue this No ceremony that to great ones longs, Not the Kings Crowne; nor the deputed ſword, The Marſhalls Truncheon, nor the Iudges Robe Become them with one halfe ſo good a grace As mercie does: If he had bin as you, and you as he, You would haue ſlipt like him, but he like you Would not haue beene ſo ſterne. Pray you be gone. I would to heauen I had your potencie, And you were Iſabell: ſhould it then be thus? No: I would tell what 'twere to be a Iudge, And what a priſoner. I, touch him: there's the vaine. Your Brother is a forfeit of the Law, And you but waſte your words. Alas, alas: Why all the ſoules that were, were forfeit once, And he that might the vantage beſt haue tooke, Found out the remedie: how would you be, If he, which is the top of Iudgement, ſhould But iudge you, as you are? Oh, thinke on that, And mercie then will breathe within your lips Like man new made.