Anonymous / Marlowe, Christopher / Shakespeare, William / Nashe, Thomas · published 1623 · first performed or written 1590 (Annals) history · Derby's (Strange's) Men unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 491 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Peasant auant. You have suborned this man Of purpose, to obscure my Noble birth. 'Tis true, I gave a Noble to the Priest, The morn that I was wedded to her mother. Kneel down and take my blessing, good my Girl. Wilt thou not stoop? Now cursed be the time Of thy nativity: I would the Milk Thy mother gave thee when thou suckest her breast, Had been a little Ratsbane for thy sake. Or else, when thou didst keep my Lamb's a-field, I wish some ravenous Wolf had eaten thee. Dost thou deny thy Father, cursed Drab? O burn her, burn her, hanging is too good. Take her away, for she hath lived too long, To fill the world with vicious qualities. First let me tell you whom you have condemned; Not me, begotten of a Shepherd Swaine, But issued from the Progeny of Kings. Virtuous and Holy, chosen from above, By inspiration of Celestial Grace, To work exceeding miracles on earth. I never had to do with wicked Spirits. But you that are polluted with your lusts, Stained with the guiltless blood of Innocents, Corrupt and tainted with a thousand Vices: Because you want the grace that others have, You judge it strait a thing impossible To compass Wonders, but by help of devils. No misconceyved, Ione of Aire hath been A Virgin from her tender infancy, Chaste, and immaculate in very thought, Whose Maiden-blood thus rigorously effused, Will cry for Vengeance, at the Gates of Heaven. I, I: away with her to execution. And hark ye sirs: because she is a Maid, Spare for no Faggots, let there be enough: Place barrels of pitch upon the fatal stake, That so her torture may be shortened. Will nothing turn your unrelenting hearts? Then Ione discovet thine infirmity, That wartanteth by Law, to be thy privilege. I am with child ye bloody Homicides: Murder not then the Fruit within my Womb, Although ye hale me to a violent death. Now heaven forfend, the holy Maid with child? The greatest miracle that ere ye wrought Is all your strict preciseness come to this? She and the Dolphin have been juggling, I did imagine what would be her refuge. Well go too, we'll have no Bastards live, Especially since Charles must Father it. You are deceived, my child is none of his, It was Alencon that enjoyed my love. Alanson that notorious Machevile? It dies, and if it had a thousand lives. Oh give me leave, I have deluded you, 'Twas neither Charles, nor yet the Duke I named, But Reignier King of Naples that prevailed. A married man, that's most intolerable. Why here's a Girl: I think she knows not well (There were so many) whom she may accuse. It's sign she hath been liberal and free. And yet forsooth she is a Virgin pure, Strumpet, thy words condemn thy Brat, and thee. Use no entreaty, for it is in vain.
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)
Pezant auant. You haue ſuborn'd this man Of purpoſe, to obſcure my Noble birth. 'Tis true, I gaue a Noble to the Prieſt, The morne that I was wedded to her mother. Kneele downe and take my bleſſing, good my Gyrle. Wilt thou not ſtoope? Now curſed be the time Of thy natiuitie: I would the Milke Thy mother gaue thee when thou ſuck'ſt her breſt, Had bin a little Rats-bane for thy ſake. Or elſe, when thou didſt keepe my Lambes a-field, I wiſh ſome rauenous Wolfe had eaten thee. Doeſt thou deny thy Father, curſed Drab? O burne her, burne her, hanging is too good. Take her away, for ſhe hath liu'd too long, To fill the world with vicious qualities. Firſt let me tell you whom you haue condemn'd; Not me, begotten of a Shepheard Swaine, But iſſued from the Progeny of Kings. Vertuous and Holy, choſen from aboue, By inſpiration of Celeſtiall Grace, To worke exceeding myracles on earth. I neuer had to do with wicked Spirits. But you that are polluted with your luſtes, Stain'd with the guiltleſſe blood of Innocents, Corrupt and tainted with a thouſand Vices: Becauſe you want the grace that others haue, You iudge it ſtraight a thing impoſsible To compaſſe Wonders, but by helpe of diuels. No miſconceyued, Ione of Aire hath beene A Virgin from her tender infancie, Chaſte, and immaculate in very thought, Whoſe Maiden-blood thus rigorouſly effus'd, Will cry for Vengeance, at the Gates of Heauen. I, I: away with her to execution. And hearke ye ſirs: becauſe ſhe is a Maide, Spare for no Faggots, let there be enow: Place barrelles of pitch vpon the fatall ſtake, That ſo her torture may be ſhortned. Will nothing turne your vnrelenting hearts? Then Ione diſcouet thine infirmity, That wartanteth by Law, to be thy priuiledge. I am with childe ye bloody Homicides: Murther not then the Fruite within my Wombe, Although ye hale me to a violent death. Now heauen forfend, the holy Maid with child? The greateſt miracle that ere ye wrought Is all your ſtrict preciſeneſſe come to this? She and the Dolphin haue bin iugling, I did imagine what would be her refuge. Well go too, we'll haue no Baſtards liue, Eſpecially ſince Charles muſt Father it. You are deceyu'd, my childe is none of his, It was Alanſon that inioy'd my loue. Alanſon that notorious Macheuile? It dyes, and if it had a thouſand liues. Oh giue me leaue, I haue deluded you, 'Twas neyther Charles, nor yet the Duke I nam'd, But Reignier King of Naples that preuayl'd. A married man, that's moſt intollerable. Why here's a Gyrle: I think ſhe knowes not wel (There were ſo many) whom ſhe may accuſe. It's ſigne ſhe hath beene liberall and free. And yet forſooth ſhe is a Virgin pure, Strumpet, thy words condemne thy Bra, and thee. Vſe no intreaty, for it is in vaine.