Davenant, William · published 1629 · first performed or written 1628 [1626-1629] (Annals) tragedy · Unacted unassigned nearest T38 Death, parting and grief at court · 484 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T38: queen, king, death, dead, heart, life, die, lord, royal, news.
To whom sir? To him I hate. But be thou sure, he wear It not till near his death: for it's a happiness To live enthroned, but 'tis not safe to die A King. He doth pervert my sense. Let the Drum cease! I'll have no more battles. He that to waste his trivial rage, doth fight A battle, rides a Hawking with the devil. Mad as the Northern wind! He sends a thousand drinking Animals To take their flight i'th' air, whilst little black Devils (d'ye not see 'em?) They look like Ravens. Mark how they prey on those immortal fowl, And plume 'em in their Talents! I do not like This Falconry: it is too sad a game For sinners— Oh, oh, There died the noblest Trophy of our war! The Lombard's now have lost their victory. So hardy of creation, his heartstrings Were as Cordage, tough; cracked like a Cable, When the frighted Bark starts from the Anchor. All that are nursed in war, shall mourn for thee. Our Ensigns now we will of Cypress make. Hah! It is the wind that whispers! he must Be hid. I'm sure this noise can never wake him— O, are ye come? Thou hast a wild aspect! Is it done? He has paid for his wharfage already, And is now entering Charon's Boat. thouart precious as my Soul! There's the old Face. He looks like a pale Country Virgin That longed to eat Mortar. Our chief design Is finished: but thou must add one knot more T' oblige my gratitude, and then we shall Triumph with safety. Hermegild must die; He knows too much. It is as if the Parca spoke. If there Be any other whom your envy, or Your hate would have dismissed the world, make him But known, and he is numbered with the dead. Dear Paradine, I sure shall ravish thee, My appetite is grown so fierce. Let me Begin with thy moist lip— Let's to't like Monkeys, or the reeking Goat. Oh! oh! oh! Help! help! Cease your loud clamour, Royal Whore. Thou didst eat my lips. Thy flesh is sour, musty; more tainted than A Carrion in a phlegmatic ditch for else Like th' Anthropophagus, I had devoured thee up. This made Valdaura bleed, and must let forth Thy swarthy soul— Oh! oh! oh!— For Albovine my Royal Master, this— And this to pacify Valdaura's Ghost— Oh, oh, oh! So hard and stony is thy heart, that it Reverts the point of my bright steel. Mercy Heaven! Since thou hast received my justice, I wish Thee mercy too— My Lord. 'tis Hermegild, now I shall end my chief Discovery. What a full Sepulchre is this— Now I must practise my disguise. Revert The Spring twice, and you may enter. My Lord, I have lost my honour in your service, You may choose one that shall affect you worse.
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)
To whom ſir? To him I hate. But be thou ſure, he weare It not 'till neere his death: for it's a happineſſe To liue enthron'd, but tis not ſafe to dye A King. He doth peruert my ſenſe. Let the Drum ceaſe! Ile haue no more battailes. He that to waſte his triuiall rage, doth fight A battaile, rides a Hawking with the diuell. Mad as the Northerne winde! He ſends a thouſand drinking Animals To take their flight ith' ayre, whilſt little blacke Diuels (d'ye not ſee 'em?) They looke like Rauens. Marke how they prey on thoſe immortall Fowle, And plume 'em in their Talents! I doe not like This Falconry: it is too ſad a game For ſinners—Oh, oh, oh!— There dy'd the nobleſt Trophey of our war! The Lombards now haue loſt their victory. So hardy of creation, his heart-ſtrings Were as Cordage, tough; crack'd like a Cable, When the frighted Barke ſtarts from the Anchor. All that are nours'd in warre, ſhall mourne for thee. Our Enſignes now we will of Cypreſſe make▪ Hah! It is the winde that whispers▪ he must Be hid. I'm ſure this noyſe can neuer wake him— O, are ye come? Thou haſt a wilde aſpect! Is it done? He has paid for his wharfage already, And is now entring Charons Boate. Th'art precious as my Soule! There's the old Face. He lookes like a pale Country Virgin That long'd to eate Morter. Our chiefe deſigne Is finiſh'd: but thou muſt adde one knot more T' obliege my gratitude, and then we ſhall Triumph with ſafety. Hermegild muſt die▪ He knowes too much. It is as if the Parca ſpoke. If there Be any other whom your enuy, or Your hate would haue diſmiſt the world, make him But knowne, and he is numbred with the dead. Deare Paradine, I ſure ſhall thee, My appetite is growne ſo fierce. Let me Begin with thy moyſt lip— Let's to't like Monkeys, or the reeking Goat. Oh! oh! oh! Helpe! helpe! Ceaſe your loud clamor, Royall Whore. Thou didſt eate my lips. Thy fleſh is ſowre, muſty; more tainted then A Carion in a phlegmatick ditch for elſe Like th' Anthropophagus, I had deuour'd thee vp. This made Valdaura bleed, and muſt let forth Thy ſwarthy ſoule— Oh! oh! oh!— For Albouine my Royall Maſter, this— And this to pacifie Valdaura's Ghoſt— Oh, oh, oh! So hard and ſtony is thy heart, that it Reuerts the point of my bright ſteele. Mercy Heauen! Since thou haſt receiu'd my iuſtice, I wiſh Thee mercy too— My Lord. Tis Hermegild, now I ſhall end my chiefe Diſcouery. What a full Sepulcher is this— Now I muſt practiſe my diſguize. Reuert The Springe twice, and you may enter. My Lord, I haue loſt my honor in your ſeruice, You may chuſe one that ſhall affect you worſe.