Davenant, William · published 1629 · first performed or written 1628 [1626-1629] (Annals) tragedy · Unacted T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.81 · 471 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Lady, this is no time to woo: but D'ye think I'm so profane to violate My vow? Nimbly depart, I do conjure Your absence with this kiss— If you should prove false— 'Slight, these Wenches at fifteen, are as riotous as Elephants. Marry a Court Kitten! There he sits! Hah, sick! My sweet Lord, how thrives your health? D'your pulses Still preserve their temperate music? have you Effected yet our great business? The King is dead, that sanguine instrument Did set his Soul at liberty. The Laurel, Myrtle, and the Bay shall still Cold and naked stand before the Winter's Frosty breath; still strip their Boughs, to make Your head triumphant wreathes. Where is the Queen? methinks (my Lord) your body and your mind Seem much disturbed. Oh, oh! the poison works— Alas, my sweet dear Lord! (precious medicine!) He cannot possibly survive the next Minute. Does it destroy your strength? Oh, oh! It scorches all my entrails up: As if like Porcia I had swallowed coals. I spit scum, such as o'er th' hot cauldron boils— And are you fastened in the chair with weakness? I cannot rise. A stiff convulsion in My Sinews fetters all my limbs— Hah! hah! ha! O heaven, will you permit him laugh? I know th'Ingredients of thy poisonous draught. 'Twas I that gave it to thy wife. 'Twas I Did counsel her to mingle it in thy wine, When thou wert hot, and all thy Pores open As thy mouth. Oh, oh, oh! Do, groan, till thou raise an echo in this Square roof. Ere long thy Ribs will start from thy Loose Chine, thy lank Belly swell into a hill. O horror! horror! Is Heaven asleep? The King ne'er knew of thy adulterous crime. 'Twas I told it to Valdaura, and made Her think, thy guilt proceeded not from a Mistake, but from thy wilful lust. I've strung Thy nostril with a spinner's thread, so led Thee through subtle Labyrinths, t'involve Thy senses; and now I triumph o'er thy fate. This is Italian Spleen. Had I but strength to actuate my revenge? Good, dull Soldier! why didst thou leave the Camp, Thy rusty Morion there; thy battered Corselet; And thy shivered Lance, t' amble here at Court In slippery silks; to walk in cloudy mists Of perfumed air? 'tis I have shaked thy brains That heretofore were thick as Curds, into A pale, thin whey. Draw near, and let me then but kill thee— Troth, thou art so feeble now, that were I killed By thee, I scarce should think that I were dead. No! that shall arrive unto the test. Dog! grim As th'angry Fiend, that must devour thy soul! I am not poisoned. Hah! does he counterfeit? See here, what abject ruins thou hast made O'the noblest structures in the world—
nodes 2576–2641 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 38 of 39 in this edition
Length
471 words · 691 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.812 (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)
Lady, this is no time to woo: but D'ye thinke I'm ſo prophane to violate My vow? Nimbly depart, I doe coniure Your abſence with this kiſſe— If you ſhould proue falſe— 'Slight, theſe Wenches at Fifteene, are as riotous as Elephants. Marry a Court Kitten! There he ſits! Hah, ſick! My ſweet Lord, how thriues your health? D'your pulſes Still preſerue their temp'rate muſicke? haue you Effected yet our great buſineſſe? The King is dead, that ſanguine inſtrument Did ſet his Soule at liberty. The Lawrell, Mertle, and the Bay ſhall ſtill Cold and naked ſtand before the Winters Froſty breath; ſtill ſtrip their Boughes, to make Your head triumphant wreathes. Where is the Queene? Me thinks (my Lord) your body and your minde Seeme much diſturb'd. Oh, oh! the poyſon works— Alas, my ſweet deare Lord! (precious med'cine!) He cannot poſſibly ſuruiue the next Minute. Does it deſtroy your ſtrength? Oh, oh! It skorches all my entrailes vp: As if like Porcia I had ſwallowed coales. I ſpit ſcumme, ſuch as o're th' hot Caldron boyles— And are you faſtned in the chaire with weaknes? I cannot riſe. A ſtiffe conuulſion in My Sinnewes fetters all my limmes— Hah! hah! ha! O heauen, will you permit him laugh? I know th'Ingredients of thy poyſnous draught. 'Twas I that gaue it to thy wife. 'Twas I Did counſell her to mingle it in thy wine, When thou wert hot, and all thy Pores open As thy mouth. Oh, oh, oh! Doe, groane, till thou raiſe an eccho in this Square roofe. Ere long thy Ribs will ſtart from thy Looſe Chine, thy lanke Belly ſwell into a hill. O horror! horror! Is Heauen aſleepe? The King ne'r knew of thy adultrous crime▪ 'Twas I told it to Valdaura, and made Her thinke, thy guilt proceeded not from a Miſtake, but from thy wilfull luſt▪ I'ue ſtrung Thy Noſthrill with a ſpinners thread, ſo led Thee through ſubtill Labyrinths, t'inuolue Thy ſenſes; and now I triumph o're thy fate. This is Italian Spleene. Had I but ſtrength to actuate my reuenge? Good, dull Souldier! why didſt thou leaue the Camp, Thy ruſty Moriō there; thy batter'd Corſelet; And thy ſhiuer'd Lance, t' amble here at Court In ſlippery ſilkes; to walke in cloudy miſts Of perfum'd ayre? Tis I haue ſhak'd thy braines That heretofore were thicke as Curds, into A pale, thin whay. Draw neere, and let me then but kill thee— Troth, thou art ſo feeble now, that were I kill'd By thee, I ſcarce ſhould thinke that I were dead. No! that ſhall arriue vnto the . Dog! grim As th'angry Fiend, that muſt deuoure thy ſoule! I am not poyſon'd. Hah! does he counterfeit? See heere, what abiect ruines thou haſt made O'the nobleſt ſtructures in the world—