Gomersall, Robert · published 1628 · first performed or written 1628 [1622-1628] (Annals) tragedy T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.80 · 492 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
'Twas a foolish dream, That stole my colour from my paler cheeks. Last night I saw Vitellio. And what? Canst thou fear shadows? Yes if shadows speak, If that their threatenings be substantial. From such a paper as your Highness holds, He forced me breath in Death. This Paper holds A strange perfume, of such a cunning virtue, That at a distance it scarce smells at all. And at the nose it gives the best of scents. Make the experiment: O! I am slain. heavens what a stillness here is? what a death Of the whole man at once? the wandering eye Now finds a station, and the busy pulse Is now for ever idle: where's the tongue That but e'en now could say as much as this, When that the soul could prompt it? but e'en now Here was a thing could speak, and poison too, That knew more ways to kill, than ever Heaven Did to make man: and could his subtlety, That could give death, not know to keep out death? Fie, what a bulk it is, what a great lump Of Nothing, that shall lose that nothing too? What a dead toy is Man, when his thin breath Flies to its kindred Air? o why at all Did Heaven bestow, or why at all bereave Man of this Vapour of Eternity? And must we one day be a stock like this, Fit only to enrich the greedy Earth, And fill an house of Death, perhaps before We see the issue of another Plot? Must we lie subject to be trampled on, By some, perhaps not Politicians? Where's then our Wisdom? our deep Providence Are they dirt too? o heavens! but if they are Or dirt, or nothing, I'll enjoy my fame. And rottenness shall seize me, not my name. Are those the Instruments? well my black friends, I eased you of a labour: all succeeds According to the flattery of my wish, And my suspicion turns to prophecy. But my so bloody, and so wary Sforza, Your Agent's dead, but not your crime: 'twill out, And by this carcase: I will fly to France, Divulge loud papers,— they are writ already,— And here they are, these I will swear were found In the dead poisoner's pockets: by this means Sforza's proclaimed a murderer, I'm freed, And make it be his guilt, which was my deed. madam I have some news of that import, That (if you please to command privacy) Will both desire, and fright your patience. Be brief. First know I am Vitellio. Thou art a villain, and a poisoner then, Hast thou a drug for us? Yes such an one Shall make you love a poison: read, and wonder. I do: and more, how thou couldst purchase this Without a guilt. I did peruse the spoils Of Malatesta's carcase, whom I found Most strangely guilty, and as strangely dead, Whose pockets furnished me with these instructions.
nodes 751–815 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 12 of 32 in this edition
Length
492 words · 640 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.795 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
'Twas a fooliſh dreame, That ſtole my colour from my paler cheekes. Laſt night I ſaw Ʋitellio. And what? Canſt thou feare ſhadowes? Yes if ſhadowes ſpeake, If that their threatnings be ſubſtantiall. From ſuch a paper as your Highneſſe holds, He forc't me breath in Death. This Paper holds A ſtrange perfume, of ſuch a cunning vertue, That at a diſtance it ſcarce ſmels at all. And at the noſe it gives the beſt of ſents. Make the experiment: O! I am aine. Heau'ns what a ſtilneſſe here is? what a death Of the whole man at once? the wandring eye Now findes a ſtation, and the buſie pulſe Is now for euer idle: where's the tongue That but eu'n now could ſay as much as this, When that the ſoule could prompt it? but e'en now Here was a thing could ſpeake, and poiſon too, That knew more wayes to kill, then euer Heau'n Did to make man: and could his ſubtlety, That could giue death, not know to keepe out death? Fye, what a bulke it is, what a great lumpe Of Nothing, that ſhall loſe that nothing too? What a dead toy is Man, when his thin breath Flyes to its kindred Ayre? ô why at all Did Heau'n beſtow, or why at all bereaue Man of this Vapour of Eternity? And muſt we one day be a ſtocke like this, Fit onely to inrich the greedy Earth, And fill an houſe of Death, perhaps before We ſee the iſſue of another Plot? Muſt we lye ſubiect to be trampled on, By ſome, perhaps not Politicians? Where's then our Wiſedome? our deepe Prouidence Are they durt too? ô heau'ns! but if they are Or durt▪ or nothing, Ile enioy my fame. And rottenneſſe ſhall ceize me, not my name. Are thoſe the Inſtrumens? well my black friends, I eas'd you of a labour: all ſucceeds According to the flatt'ry of my wiſh, And my ſuſpition turnes to prophecy. But my ſo bloody, and ſo wary Sforza, Your Agent's dead, but not your crime: 'twill out, And by this carcaſſe: I will flye to France, Divulge loud papers,—they are writ already,— And here they are, theſe I will ſweare were found In the dead pois'ners pockets: by this meanes Sforza's proclaim'd a murtherer, I'me freed, And make it be his guilt, which was my deed. MAdame I haue ſome newes of that import, That (if you pleaſe to command priuacy) Will both deſire, and fright your patience. Be briefe. Firſt know I am Vitellio. Thou art a villaine, and a pois'ner then, Haſt thou a drugge for vs? Yes ſuch an one Shall make you loue a poyſon: reade, and wonder. I doe: and more, how thou couldſt purchaſe this Without a guilt. I did peruſe the ſpoyles Of Malateſta's carcaſſe, whom I found Moſt ſtrangely guilty, and as ſtrangely dead, Whoſe pockets furniſht me with theſe inſtructions.