Davenant, William · published 1629 · first performed or written 1628 [1626-1629] (Annals) tragedy · Unacted T38 Death, parting and grief at court typicality 0.91 · 482 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T38: queen, king, death, dead, heart, life, die, lord, royal, news.
The Queen there too! O trivial Arts with my Own Mine I've blown myself e'en into dust! I will now see, if thou canst bleed like things mortal— Deprived of my defence! If thoust a soul (Great as thy fame) restore my Sword. Thou barkest against the Moon! I will requite Thy own tyrannous scorn. That destiny Was just, that thus betrayed thee to my mirth. There, Stygian Dog— Oh, oh! whilst I have warmth, I'll move with violence— Where now are all the subtle Trophies of Thy brain? Plots, dark as hell! projections grim! Such, as threatened Nature, and seemed to fright The Genius of the world. Now, now prevent These dire salutes— Return my Sword, then manage Steeples like To Pikes; yet, I'll affront thy fury— Hardy as the Scythians race, I greet thy heart— I stagger, and am drunk with my own blood!— Take my last anger, and good night! Oh, oh! thou hast stuck Needles in my heart! Now I do swell with horror and stern rage: I will distract the whole world. Fire! fire! fire! Murder, Treason, & incestuous rapes! Fire! fire! I spy A white Soul hovering in the air! one when Corporeal, was sure some humble Hermit Here on earth. He's acquainted with the way To Heaven: should mine take flight alone, I fear 'T would stray! Hoa! you, you that ascend the Spheres! We sinners still seem hoarse to Angels ears. What, hoa! he turns not yet: who knows but he Still lived in low Valleys, built his Mansion In some aged wall? but my path ever lay On hills, where the good Patriarchs never trod. Vain Arts! Ambition in all sacred Schools, Is held the sin of Heathens, and of Fools. O dire and tragic sight! The King, the Queen And fair Valdaura slain! here's another object fit for wonder, Though not for pity. Hah! he dead too? Whence should these sorrows flow? Lay hold on Paradine. All stay. I'll bore his haggard soul that strives With saucy strength, to captivate my Limbs: Hark, the big drum recovers breath, and speaks! March on! The scattered foe retires, and all The glorious Horse are slain. I am magnanimous, And high! O ye unkind false stars! ye mock Poor Paradine! A few clean Tears to wash My sins away, and I am seen no more. Cease on him; on forfeit of your lives! Their lives are forfeited to me— Here, here, it galled my very heart!— Convey him gently in, and use all help Of surgery to stop his wounds: for from His mouth, we must receive the knowledge of These fatal deeds. Some give th'alarum to The Ports! You Signiors, lead to th'Citadel; Where, we'll proclaim Albovines young Issue By's former wife, to be his lawful heir. Wild Fancy may project things strange and new: But Time records no Tale so sad, and true.
seed 43: T44 · 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 Queene there too! O triuiall Arts with my Owne Myne I'ue blowne my ſelfe e'en into duſt! I will now ſee, if thou canſt bleed like things mortall— Depriu'd of my defence! If th'aſt a ſoule (Great as thy fame) reſtore my Sword. Thou bark'ſt againſt the Moone! I will requite Thy owne tyrannous ſcorne. That deſtinie Was iuſt, that thus betray'd thee to my mirth. There, Stygian Dogge— Oh, oh! whilſt I haue warmth, Ile moue with violence— Where now are all the ſubtill Tropheys of Thy braine? Plots, darke as hell! proiections grimme! Such, as threatned Nature, and ſeem'd to fright The Genius of the world. Now, now preuent Theſe dire ſalutes— Returne my Sword, then manage Steeples like To Pikes; yet, Ile affront thy fury— Hardy as the Scythians race, I greet thy heart— I ſtagger, and am drunk with my owne blood!— Take my laſt anger, and good night! Oh, oh! thou haſt ſtuck Needles in my heart! Now I doe ſwell with horror and ſterne rage: I will diſtract the whole world. Fire! fire! fire! Murder, Treaſon, & inceſtuous rapes! Fire! fire! I ſpie A white Soule houering in the ayre! one when Corporeall, was ſure ſome humble Hermit Here on earth. He's acquainted with the way To Heauen: ſhould mine take flight alone, I feare 'T would ſtray! Hoa! you, you that aſcend the Spheares! We ſinners ſtill ſeeme hoarce to Angels eares. VVhat, hoa! he turnes not yet: who knowes but he Still liu'd in low Valleyes, built his Manſion In ſome ag'd wall? but my path euer lay On hills, where the good Patriarkes neuer trod. Vaine Arts! Ambition in all ſacred Schooles, Is held the ſinne of Heathens, and of Fooles. O dire and tragick ſight! The King, the Queene And faire Valdaura ſlaine! Heere's another obiect fit for wonder, Though not for pitty. Hah! he dead too? Whence ſhould theſe ſorrowes flow? Lay hold on Paradine. All ſtay. Ile bore his haggard ſoule that ſtriues With ſawcy ſtrength, to captiuate my Limmes: Harke, the bigge drumme recouers breath, and ſpeakes! March on! The ſcatter'd foe retires, and all The glorious Horſe are ſlaine. I am magnanimous, And high! O ye vnkind falſe ſtarres! ye mocke Poore Paradine! A few cleane Teares to waſh My ſinnes away, and I am ſeene no more. Ceaze on him; on forfeit of your liues! Their liues are forfeited to me — Heere, heere, it gauld my very heart!— Conuay him gently in, and vſe all helpe Of ſurgery to ſtop his wounds: for from His mouth, wee muſt receiue the knowledge of Theſe fatall deeds. Some giue th'Allarum to The Ports! You Siginors, leade to th'Cittadell; Where, we'le proclaime Albouines young Iſſue By's former wife, to bee his lawfull heire. Wilde Fancy may proiect things ſtrange and new: But Time records no Tale ſo ſad, and true.