Gomersall, Robert · published 1628 · first performed or written 1628 [1622-1628] (Annals) tragedy T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.83 · 492 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Welcome Vitellio, thy haste is welcome: Nay compliment with him, whom thou wouldst kill, Be free to us as we do know thee true. Speak, yet I need not bid thee, for thine eye Sparkles a joyful answer. It is done. 'tis done my Lord, and now my Lord, 'tis told (That Galeazzo is no more a man) And with an even scruple, for to me The act's as easy as relation. Thou speak'st true manhood: 'tis thy art alone That gives us certain honour: there are some Strive for Eternity with loss of life, At least with hazard of the loss of it, And think they are revenged when they are killed? These are our valiant duelists, and these Do bleed whilst we do conquer; heal their wounds, Whilst we receive none: then, at last, unfold (Man of deep Art, that canst prevent the Fates, And cut a thread, which they had thought to spun forty years younger) thy wise mysteries. Thy constant, neuer- failing stratagems, Which cause a death, without a fear of death, Here are some drugs, but of these some, not one But can command a life where ere it is, And ruinate the strongest workmanship That Heaven ere bragged to have composed of Earth. Powders of speedy Fate, but above all The instruments, which make me near to death Of such endeared familiarity, This glass has nimblest operation: Whose liquour cast upon the face of man Straight dulls him to an everlasting sleep. Is this the liquour of Eternity? Then take thy Lethe, and go sleep for ever. I am deceived, or esse this is the place Which Sforza chooseth when he is alone. Yes, this is it. What Malatesta come? What Devil brought him hither? O cross stars! Be sudden, Sforza, now, or thou art lost: He must believe our guilt was accident. Speak, my Vitellio, O tune thy lips But to one syllable, but to one groan And I am satisfied. What fight is here? Vitellio dead, and Sforza turned a Mourner? Shouldst thou die thus, how would my name be soiled? For though I am at guiltless of thy death, As Innocence, or if there be a name That hath less being: yet the envious world Will quit curst Fortune of so great a crime, And give it me: yet speak. I' my Lord, To ask your honour when this dismal chance First frighted Heaven? Now, Malatesta, now: When could unhappiness reign so, but now? As if he meant to be before his Lord, He had no sooner told the Prince must die, But he straight died. Then courage, my good Lord. Since it is thus, make the best use of it: For now you need not fear to be revealed, When one mouth's stopped, and th'other is your own: But since your last retirement, we have been Instructed by the speed of frequent Posts, Of the a rival of the King of France.
nodes 262–328 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 5 of 32 in this edition
Length
492 words · 666 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.833 (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)
VVelcome Vitellio, thy haſt is welcome: Nay complement with him, whom thou wouldſt kill, Be free to vs as we doe know thee true. Speak, yet I need not bid thee, for thine eye Sparkles a ioyfull anſwer. It is done. Tis done my Lord, and now my Lord, 'tis told (That Galeazzo is no more a man) And with an euen ſcruple, for to me The act's as eaſie as relation. Thou ſpeak'ſt true manhood: 'tis thy art alone That giues vs certaine honour: there are ſome Striue for Aeternity with loſſe of life, At leaſt with hazard of the loſſe of it, And thinke they are reueng'd when they are kill'd? Theſe are our valiant duelliſts, and theſe Doe bleed whilſt we doe conquer▪ heale their wounds, VVhilſt we receiue none: then, at laſt, vnfold (Man of deepe Art, that canſt preuent the Fates, And cut a thread, which they had thought to ſpunne Fourty yeares yonger) thy wiſe myſteries. Thy conſtant, failing , Which cauſe a death, without a feare of death, Here are ſome drugs, but of theſe ſome, not one But can command a life where ere it is, And ruinate the ſtrongeſt workemanſhip That Heau'n ere brag'd to haue compos'd of Earth. Powders of ſpeedy Fate, but aboue all The inſtruments, which make me neere to death Of ſuch indear'd familiarity, This glaſſe has nimbleſt operation: Whoſe liquor caſt vpon the face of man Straight duls him to an euerlaſting ſleepe. Is this the liquor of Aeternity? Then take thy ethe, and goe ſleepe for euer. I am deceiu'd, or eſſe this is the place Which Sforza chooſeth when he is alone. Yes, this is it. What Malateſta come? What Deuill brought him hither? O croſſe ſtarres▪ Be ſudden, Sforza, now, or thou art loſt: He muſt beleeue out guilt was accident. Speake, my Vitellio▪ O tune thy lips But to one ſyllable, but to one groane And I am ſatisfi'd. What fight is here? Vitellio dead, and forza tur'nd a Mourner? Shouldſt thou dye thus, how would my name be oyl ▪ For though I am at guiltleſſe of thy death, As Innocence, or if there be a name That hath leſſe beeing: yet the enuious world Will quit curft Fortune of ſo great a crime, And giue it me: yet ſpeake. I' my Lord, To aske your when chanc Firſt frighted Heau'n? Now, Malateſta, now▪ When could vnhappineſſe rane ſo, but now? As if he meant to be before his Lord, He had no ſooner told the Prince muſt dye, But he ſtraight dy'd. Then courage, my good Lord. Since it is thus, make the beſt vſe of it: For now you need not feare to be reueal'd, When one mouth's ſtopt, and th'other is your owne: But ſince your laſt retyrement, we haue beene Inſtructed by the ſpeed of frequent Poaſts, Of the a riuall of the King of France.