Gomersall, Robert · published 1628 · first performed or written 1628 [1622-1628] (Annals) tragedy T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.86 · 476 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
My good Lord, Pardon the zeal of my intrusion, I bring hid danger with me: 'twas my chance As I was passing to the bedchamber, Just at the door to find this muffled man, Waiting some treacherous opportunity. Each circumstance swelled with suspicion, The place, the time, the person, all did seem To bear a danger worthy of your fear, At least your wiser disquisition. Thou art all goodness, and deserv'st of us Beyond the niggardly reward of thanks: But what are you that thus be cloud your face, Who, not unlike that over-bashful fowl, Delight in darkness? Ha! Vitellio! The wonder is resolved by a new wonder. Sforza I live: d'ye stare? I live: these words Are not the fond delusions of the Air, As you officiously would gull yourself; But from a solid substance, had not we been by your diligent spy too soon surprised, Before our projects full maturity, Thy death more fully should have proved my life. Fool that I was, who thought to take thy life By that which nourished it: there's none so mad Would poison Serpents, I'll work surely now, Once more I'll try your immortality. Strangle the Monster. 'Twas a doubtful chance Within this hour who first should own those words. But, Tyrant, weary thy invention To find variety of punishment, Yet all that thou canst do, exceeds not this, A pin could do as much: weak, silly Sforza, All thou canst do to me exceeds not that Which I did on the person of thy Prince: Disease would prove a better murderer. Stop that malignant throat.— O my Ascanio, Thus must they toil which work an height by blood, How I could wish an innocent descent To new subjection? how I hate that wish How scorn all thoughts that have not danger in them! Get us more Remora's, sweet Cardinal, Or rather than to droop to Idleness, we'll work to be no Prince, ourself recalling: In rising, most, some wit there is in falling. ASsist me, Hell, for I intend an Act, Which should your puny fiends but think upon, Would make their blacker cheeks receive a blush, Would give a redness which your weaker Fire Had ne'er that heating power to work in them: An act, the Heavens did only then declare They would permit to be performed by man When they created Night: for were all Day, Could such a Crime be as well seen as done, Their Immortality might justly fear, Lest all the guilt should be removed on them, As Idle, or as Cruel lookers on, Whilst Heaven, on Earth did suffer: this black night Must Isabella die, die, by this hand: This Chapel is her ordinary walk, Discovered to me by her Iulia, Where when she comes to see her husband's tomb, This hand shall make her fit for such a room.
nodes 951–1014 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 15 of 32 in this edition
Length
476 words · 633 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.855 (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)
My good Lord, Pardon the zeale of my intruſion, I bring hid danger with me: 'twas my chance As I was paſſing to the bedchamber, Iuſt at the doore to finde this muffled man, VVaiting ſome trecherous opportunity. Each circumſtance ſwell'd with ſuſpition, The place, the time, the perſon, all did ſeeme To beare a danger worthy of your feare, At leaſt your wiſer diſquiſition. Thou art all goodneſſe, and deſeru'ſt of vs Beyond the niggardly reward of thankes: But what are you that thus be cloud your face, VVho, not vnlike that ouer-baſhfull fowle, Delight in darkneſſe? Ha! Vitellio! The wonder is reſolu'd by a new wonder. Sforza I liue: d'yee ſtare? I liue: theſe words Are not the fond deluſions of the Ayre, As you officiouſly would gull your ſelfe; But from a ſolid ſubſtance, had not we Bin by your diligent ſpy too ſoone ſurpriz'd, Before our proiects full maturity, Thy death more fully ſhould haue prou'd my life. Foole that I was, who thought to take thy life By that which nouriſht it: there's none ſo mad Would poiſon Serpents, Ile worke ſurely now, Once more Ile try your immortality. Strangle the Monſter. 'Twas a doubtfull chance Within this houre who firſt ſhould owne thoſe words. But, Tyrant, weary thy inuention To finde variety of puniſhment, Yet all that thou canſt doe, exceeds not this, A pinne could doe as much: weake, ſilly Sforza, All thou canſt doe to me exceeds not that Which I did on the perſon of thy Prince: Diſeaſe would proue a better murtherer. Stop that malignant throat.—O my Aſcanio, Thus muſt they toyle which worke an hight by bloud, How I could wiſh an innocent deſcent To new ſubiection? how I hate that wiſh How ſcorne all thoughts that haue not danger in them▪ Get vs more Remora's, ſweet Cardinall, Or rather then to droope to Idleneſſe▪ Wee'll worke to be no Prince, our ſelfe re-calling: In riſing, moſt, ſome wit there is in falling. ASſiſt me, Hell, for I intend an Act, Which ſhould your puny fiends but thinke vpon, Would make their blacker cheekes receiue a bluſh, Would giue a redneſſe which your weaker Fire Had ne're that heating pow'r to worke in them: An act, the Heau'ns did onely then declare They would permit to be perform'd by man When they created Night: for were all Day, Could ſuch a Crime be as well ſeene as done, Their Immortality might iuſtly feare, Leſt all the guilt ſhould be remou'd on them, As Idle, or as Cruell lookers on, Whilſt Heau'n, on Earth did ſuffer: this blacke night Muſt Iſabella dye, dye, by this hand: This Chappell is her ordinary walke, Diſcouer'd to me by her Iulia, Where when ſhe comes to ſee her husbands tombe, This hand ſhall make her it for ſuch a roome.