Middleton, Thomas · published 1625 · first performed or written 1624 [licensed for stage, Jun 12] (Annals) comedy · King's Men · Globe T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.79 · 481 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Oh (sir) put on the sparlingst trim of glory, Perfection will shine for most, and I know you By the Catholical mark you wear about you, The mark above your forehead. Are you grown So ambitious in your observance: well, your business, I have my Game to follow. I have a worm Follows me, so that I can follow no game, The most faint hearted pawn, if he could see His play, might snap me up at pleasure: I desire (sir) to be absolved, my conscience Being at ease, I could then with more courage Play my Game. 'Twas a base fact. 'Twas to a Schismatic pawn (sir.) What's that to the ability of revenge Suffices I have neither will nor power To give you absolution for that violence, Make your petition to the penance Chamber, If the Tax Register relieve you in't, By the black bishop's clemency you ha'wrought out, A single piece of favour with your money, It's all your refuge now. This sting shoots deeper. Yonder's my Game, which like a politic Chessner, I must not seem to see. Oh my heart. That 'tis. The very same that the Magical Presented lately unto me. Aud how like A most regardless stranger he walks by, Merely ignorant of that sat, you are not indeed The principal'st part of him, what strange mysteries Inscrutable love works by. The time you see, Is not yet come. But 'tis in our power now To bring time nearer, knowledge is a mastery, And make it observe us, and not we it I would force nothing From its proper virtue, Let time have his full course. I'd rather die The modest death of undiscovered love, You have heavens left and lowest servant suffer, Or in his motion receive check for me: How is my soul's growth altared that single life, The fittest garment that peace ere made for't Is grown too straight, too stubborn on the sudden. He comes this way again. Oh here's a Traitor Leapt from my heart into my cheek all ready. That will betray all to his powerful eye, If it but glance upon me. By my verity Look, he's passed by again, down in neglect Without the prosperous hint of so much happiness To look upon his forehead, how close fate Seals up the eye of humane understanding, Till like the sun's flower, time and love encloses it, 'Tis pity he should dwell in ignorance longer. What will you do? Yes, die a bashful death, do And let the remedy pass by unused skill, You're chained enough all ready, look into't, Absolute (Sir) with your most noble pardon, For this my rude intrusion I am bold To bring the knowledge of a secret nearer, By many days (sir) then would it arrive, In its own proper revelation with you, Pray turn and fix, do you know yond noble goodness,
nodes 1529–1600 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 23 of 35 in this edition
Length
481 words · 625 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.791 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
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)
Oh (ſir) put on the ſparlingſt trim of glory▪ Perfection will ſhine for moſt, and I know you By the Catholicall marke you weare about you, The marke aboue your fore-head. Are you growne So ambitious in your obſeruance: well, your buſineſſe, I haue my Game to follow. I haue a worme Followes me, ſo that I can follow no game, The moſt faint hearted pawne, if hee could ſee His play, might ſnap me vp at pleaſure: I deſire (ſir) to be abſolued, my conſcience Being at eaſe, I could then with more courage Play my Game. 'Twas a baſe fact. 'Twas to a Schiſamticke pawne (ſir.) What's that to the ability of reuenge Suffices I haue neither will nor power To giue you abſolution for that violence, Make your petition to the penance Chamber, If the Taxe Regeſter relieue you in't, By the blacke biſhops clemency you hau'wrought out, A ſingle peece of fauour with your money, It's all your refuge now. This ſting ſhootes deeper. Yonder's my Game, which like apoletick Cheſſner, I muſt not ſeeme to ſee. Oh my heart. That 'tis. The very ſame that the Magicall Preſented lately vnto me. Aud how like A moſt regardleſſe ſtranger hee walkes by, Meerely ignorant of that ſate, you are not indeede The principall'ſt part of him, what ſtrange miſteries Inſcrutable loue workes by. The time you ſee, Is not yet come. But 'tis in our power now To bring time neerer, knowledge is a maſtery, And make it obſerue vs, and not wee it I would force nothing From it's proper vertue, Let time haue his full courſe. I'de rather die The modeſt death of vndiſcouered loue, You haue heau'ns leaft and loweſt ſeruant ſuffer, Or in his motion receiue checke for me: How is my ſoules growth altar'd that ſingle life, The fitteſt garment that peace ere made for't Is growne too ſtreight, too ſtubborn on the ſuddain. Hee comes this way agen. Oh here's a Traytor Leapt from my heart into my cheeke all ready. That will betray all to his powerfull eye, If it but glance vpon me. By my verity Looke, he's paſt by agen, downe in neglect Without the proſperous hin't of ſo much happines To looke vpon his forrude, how cloſe fate Seales vp the eye of humaine vnderſtanding, Till like the Sunnes flower, time and loue incloſes it, 'Tis pitty he ſhould dwell in ignorance longer. What will you do? Yes, dye a baſh full death, doe And let the remedy paſſe by vnuſ'd skill, You're chayn'd enough all ready, looke into't, Abſolute (Sir) with your moſt noble pardon, For this my rude intruſion I am bold To bring the knowledge of a ſecret neerer, By many daies (ſir) then would it arriue, In its owne proper reuelation with you, Pray turne and fix, do you know yon'd noble goodnes,