Davenant, William · published 1629 · first performed or written 1628 [1626-1629] (Annals) tragedy · Unacted unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 489 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Stay! methinks I feel no insurrection In my blood, nor need an Iron Corselet To contain my flesh; sure it swells not yet. It takes a subtle leisure to disperse Thorough all your Organs, and your Arteries, That it may strait with abler violence Consume your strength. And then I shall look goggle-eyed! and stretch Ith' cheeks, till my face show like a pompion, Round and yellow? Far, far more deformed. Will't make my eyes start from my skull, or drop Like bullets at my feet? Speak, shall I foam At mouth like some young Courser, that is hot And angry with his bit? Not the first Chaos was so ugly and Confused, as you'll appear, when this distillment works. Yet I forgive you all, e'en from my heart: Whilst my cogitations now are sober, And can distinguish things with pregnant sense. I do applaud this cruel benefit. These subtle vanities of Court have tired My observation. I was nursed within Some Armoury, and took a proud delight In active War; but since our Drums have ceased Their noble clamour, I find no business Upon Earth for me; 'tis fit I grow immortal. I did not think, his fancy, at this news, Could prove so temperate. To sleep in cold earth, whilst my dead neighbour Never at my Coffin knocks, to inquire my health, By way of visit: for all are silent In the grave. Harsh destiny! Such as I Could ne'er expect from thee, Valdaura. My nature you shall find much different, From what your knowledge heretofore discerned. I have contrived another way to punish Thy adulterous heat. You find my sufferance tame enough. Publish all! To meet your sin with apt revenge, I'm grown A foul loose whore. Hah! contain thy speech. Express but so much Modesty, as may secure thy life: for My death doth not concern my rage so much, As this foul murder of thy fame. 'tis truth: and I confirm't with pride. Oh, oh! these are the Mandrake's groans (fatal!) For whoso hears them, straight encounters death. Now smile (sweet Heaven) since thus I but return Her own justice. For my adulterous act, She takes my life, and shall I let that bold Adulteress live?— Oh, oh! Hold, hold! Leave me a little breath To use in prayer. I am not fraught with devil's spleen; I would Not hurt thy soul: here solitary sit, Whilst I send up an humble sacrifice, That shall bespeak a pardon for thy crime, Ere thou arrive near heaven. Dare you trust my last utterance? O speak, ere thou dost catch an everlasting cold, And shalt be heard no more. I am not false unto your bed: I ne'er In act, nor guilty thought, did violate My Marriage vows. Art thou not a Whore? No Vestal that preserved with quickening oil, The sacred flame, was in her chastity More cold, more timorous than I: nor are You poisoned.
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)
Stay! Me thinks I feele no inſurrection In my blood, nor need an Iron Corſelet To containe my fleſh; ſure it ſwels not yet. It takes a ſubtill leaſure to diſperſe Thorow all your Organs, and your Arteries, That it may ſtraite with abler violence Conſume your ſtrength. And then I ſhall look goggle-ey'd! and ſtretch Ith' cheekes, till my face ſhew like a Pompeon, Round and yellow? Farre, farre more deform'd. Will't make my eies ſtart from my skull, or drop Like bullets at my feete? Speake, ſhall I fome At mouth like ſome young Courſer, that is hot And angry with his bit? Not the firſt Chaos was ſo vgly and Confus'd, as you'll appeare, when this diſtilment works. Yet I forgiue you all, e'en from my heart: Whilſt my cogitations now are ſober, And can diſtinguiſh things with pregnant ſenſe. I doe applaude this cruell benefit. Theſe ſubtill vanities of Court haue tyr'd My obſeruation. I was nourc'd within Some Armory, and tooke a proud delight In actiue Warre; but ſince our Drummes haue ceas'd Their noble clamour, I finde no buſineſſe Vpon Earth for me; tis fit I grow immortall. I did not thinke, his fancy, at this newes, Could proue ſo temperate. To ſleepe in cold earth, whilſt my dead neighbour Neuer at my Coffin knocks, to inquire my health, By way of viſit: for all are ſilent In the graue. Harſh deſtiny! Such as I Could ne'r expect from thee, Valdaura. My nature you ſhall finde much different, From what your knowledge heretofore diſcern'd. I haue contriu'd another way to puniſh Thy adulterous heate. You find my ſufferance tame enough. Publiſh all! To meet your ſin with apt reuenge, I'm growne A foule looſe whore. Hah! containe thy ſpeech. Expreſſe but ſo much Modeſty, as may ſecure thy life: for My death doth not concerne my rage ſo much, As this foule murder of thy fame. Tis truth: and I confirm't with pride. Oh, oh! theſe are the Mandrakes groanes (fatall!) For whoſo heares them, ſtraight incounters death. Now ſmile (ſweet Heauen) ſince thus I but returne Her owne iuſtice. For my adulterous act, She takes my life, and ſhall I let that bold Adultereſſe liue?— Oh, oh! Hold, hold! Leaue me a little breath To vſe in prayer. I am not fraught with diuels ſpleene; I would Not hurt thy ſoule: here ſolitary ſit, Whilſt I ſend vp an humble ſacrifice, That ſhall beſpeake a pardon for thy crime, Ere thou ariue neere heauen. Dare you truſt my laſt vtterance? O ſpeak, ere thou doſt catch an euerlaſting cold, And ſhalt be heard no more. I am not falſe vnto your bed: I ne'r In act, nor guilty thought, did violate My Marriage vowes. Art thou not a Whore? No Veſtall that preſeru'd with quickning oyle, The ſacred flame, was in her chaſtity More cold, more timorous then I: nor are You poyſon'd.