Davenant, William · published 1629 · first performed or written 1628 [1626-1629] (Annals) tragedy · Unacted unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 483 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
The Sun doth melt us with his scorching beams. Go fill my usual beverage: I'll drink Till I am cold. The constitution of my Soul, agrees Not with this Climate. I grow weary Of mortality. even in my first growth (Since my Corselet was my load) I have took My breeding in the Camp; where had I still Remained a dull practic soldier, and ne'er seen A Woman, nor the Court, I might have had Some hope, to gain by faith, but now I reach At wild despair. My Lady, Sir, commends her love, and this To your acceptance; she made the mixture With her own hands. The Queen prescribed this hour for her return. That she grows black with sin, perverts my sense, I must seem not to know't. Say, I greet her health-drinks. Hah! why, Valdaura, dost thou appear like A funeral night, in dark, and swarthy weeds! I mourn for you, since you must hasten your Eternal absence now from me, and all That else are mortal. Speak things, that are less dangerous to my sense. This wonder will distract me. Ere winged Time, shall with swift motion add Another hour, to th' life of this sick day; Thou shalt begin thy last sleep. A pale Swan hath sung my Dirge! O fatal Music! but how comes this intelligence To Ears of flesh and blood? have you of late Been gossipping with the grim Stygian Dames, And seen their scissors gall my vital Thread? For to my own sense I need no Physic. My faculties enjoy that pleasant strength Which appertains to youth and temperance; Why should I yet die? How, Paradine? Art thou so full of guilt, (Most ulcerous and deformed) yet thinkst to keep Thy life at Nature's charge, t' exist till age Makes thee a Cripple: then in thy bed, (Like some good old Patriarch) thy soul dismiss With a divine rapture? No, no; just Heaven Provides more rash and horrid deaths for such, As in adultery bathe their silken limbs. Hah! I know thy guilt; the King hath told me all. 'Twas wondrous strange! Our vows but new arrived In heaven, that did oblige our mutual Faiths In love: and thou with savage lust to break them? Though grief hath much consumed my tears, yet I Have some still left t' express my pity. My adultery already known, both to The King and her? why, these are prodigies Indeed. How sin emboldens the aspect! She doth accuse me for a guilt, which yet Remains unpardoned in herself. Mine was A dire mistake: but hers— that must be known, And then her veins shall weep. You are poisoned, Paradine. With that cold draught you sent me now i'th' Bowl? The viper's vomit, nor the blue steam, Which fat Toads do breathe in tired motion, Bears not such a dangerous enmity 'Gainst humane Nature, as that you drunk.
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)
The Sun doth melt vs with his ſcorching beames. Goe fill my vſuall Beuiridge: Ile drinke Till I am cold. The conſtitution of my Soule, agrees Not with this Climate. I grow weary Of mortalitie. Euen in my firſt growth (Since my Corſelet was my loade) I haue tooke My breeding in the Campe; where had I ſtill Remain'd a dull practike ſouldier, and nere ſeene A Woman, nor the Court, I might haue had Some hope, to gaine by faith, but now I reach At wilde deſpaire. My Lady, Sir, commends her loue, and this To your acceptance; ſhe made the mixture With her owne hands. The Queene preſcrib'd this houre for her returne. That ſhe growes black with ſinne, peruerts my ſenſe, I muſt ſeem not to know't. Say, I greet her health-drinks. Hah! why, Valdaura, doſt thou appeare like A funerall night, in darke, and ſwarthy weedes! I mourne for you, ſince you muſt haſten your Eternall abſence now from me, and all That elſe are mortall. Speak things, that are leſſe dangerous to my ſenſe. This wonder will diſtract me. Ere winged Time, ſhall with ſwift motion adde Another houre, to th' life of this ſicke day; Thou ſhalt begin thy laſt ſleepe. A pale Swanne hath ſung my Dirge! O fatall Muſick! but how comes this intelligence To Eares of fleſh and blood? haue you of late Been goſſiping with the grim Stygian Dames, And ſeene their Ciſers gall my vitall Thread? For to my owne ſenſe I need no Phyſicke. My faculties enioy that pleaſant ſtrength Which appertaines to youth and temperance; Why ſhould I yet die? How, Paradine? Art thou ſo full of guilt, (Moſt vlcerous and deform'd) yet thinkſt to keepe Thy life at Natures charge, t' exiſt till age Makes thee a Cripple: then in thy bed, (Like ſome good old Patriarke) thy ſoule diſmiſſe With a diuine rapture? No, no; iuſt Heauen Prouides more raſh and horrid deaths for ſuch, As in adultery bathe their ſilken limmes. Hah! I know thy guilt; the King hath told me all. 'Twas wondrous ſtrange! Our vowes but new arriu'd In heauen, that did obliege our mutuall Faiths In loue: and thou with ſauage luſt to breake them? Though griefe hath much conſum'd my teares, yet I Haue ſome ſtill left t' expreſſe my pitty. My adultery already knowne, both to The King and her? why, theſe are prodigies Indeed. How ſinne imboldens the aſpect! She doth accuſe me for a guilt, which yet Remaines vnpardon'd in her ſelfe. Mine was A dire miſtake: but hers—that muſt be knowne, And then her veines ſhall weepe. You are poyſon'd, Paradine. With that cold draught you ſent me now ith' Bowle? The Vipers vomit, nor the blue ſteame, Which fat Toades doe breathe in tired motion, Beares not ſuch a dangerous enmitie 'Gainſt humane Nature, as that you drunke.