Davenant, William · published 1630 · first performed or written 1627 [licensed for stage, Jan 12] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men · Blackfriars T40 Sin, guilt and violent loss within famil typicality 0.76 · 468 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T40: brother, death, life, die, heaven, sin, live, father, blood, soul.
Very well Sir! You, you must be a Satirist forsooth, Calumniate by instinct and inspiration. As if just Heaven would borrow Gall of you, Wherewith to write our faults. (O strict account!) Your Gall, which in the Pen so overflows, That still it blots, where in inscribes. You imitate the property of Dogs, Who bark and snarl most at him they know not For else among all those you scandalize Why named you me? (almost a stranger to your Eye) My Ancestors that built no Monument For their fames to dwell in; You also bring Into the knowledge of the critic World. Why I could never see thee yet but drunk: Which makes thy Verses reel and stagger so. Come sir! We may exchange one thrust unseen. They draw fight, close, For stings down Cas & disarms him. A pretty Cur! dare it bite as well as bark! How now sir, your Mathematical thrusts! Then have at ye— Yield me thy Sword, or else thou diest. I have no joy to set at liberty A Soul so unprepared. And as thou art My Enemy, I take a full revenge, By suffering thy corrupted blood to dwell. And taint within thy veins. W'are discovered— Take thy sword Now get thee home and rail upon't, Because 'twould fight no better. Yet we may meet i'th' dark. You have a throat And there are Knives in Italy. A good day attend my ghostly Father! Doth this your tarriance here discover aught, You would with me? Your leisure shall produce my utterance. O Son, your fame is of complexion clear, Such as ensnares the virtuous Eye, to love And adoration. Such as would procure All the skilful Angels suitors to her, And such as serves for my encouragement For I no letters have from Noble friends, Which a requital from themselves invite, By Courtship bold, and troublesome to others, Nor am I with that wicked metal stored, That rules the mighty, and betrays the mind To toil in a design, which angers Heaven, And makes the Devil blush. But yet (dear Son) I have a suit to thee. Which I desire to know. In the ancient Covent of S. Austin There is a holy brother lately dead, Whose place if you will but confirm on me By the Duke's letter to the brotherhood, Then shall I better leisure have to pray For you my Patron. Alas my Father! The times are more observant to your Tribe. It is the method now that your deserts Need not to usher but succeed reward. The Treatise (written lately) to confute, The desperate sect in Mantua, calls it you The Author? It knows no other. There your preferment safely taketh root. Believe me (ghostly Father) I will choose The fittest time to work in your behalf.
seed 43: T37 · seed 44: T36 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Very well Sir! You, you muſt be a Satyriſt forſooth, Calumniate by inſtinct and inſpiration. As if iuſt Heauen would borrow Gall of you, Wherewith to write our faults. (O ſtrict account!) Your Gall, which in the Pen ſo ouerflowes, That ſtill it blots, where in inſcribs. You imitate the propertie of Doggs, Who barke and ſnarle moſt at him they know not For elſe among all thoſe you ſcandalize Why nam'd you me? (almoſt a ſtranger to your Eye) My Anceſtors that built no Monument For their fames to dwell in; You alſo bring Into the knowledge of the criticke World. Why I could neuer ſee thee yet but druke: Which makes thy Verſes reele and ſtagger ſo. Come ſir! We may exchange one thruſt vnſeene. They draw fight, cloſe, For ſtings down Caſ & diſarmes him. A prety Curr! dare it bite as well as barke! How now ſir, your Mathematicall thruſts! Then haue at ye—Yeeld me thy Sword, or elſe thou dy'ſt. I haue no ioy to ſet a liberty A Soule ſo vnprepar'd. And as thou art My Enemy, I take a full reuenge, By ſuffering thy corrupted blood to dwell. And taint within th vaines. W'are diſcouered— Take thy ſword Now get thee home and rayle vpon't, Becauſe t'would fight no better. Yet we may meete i'th' darke. You haue a throat And there are Kniues in Italy. A good day attend my ghoſtly Father! Doth this your tariance heere diſcouer ought, You would with me? Your leaſure ſhall produce my vtterance. O Sonne, your fame is of complexion cleere, Such as enſnares the virtuous Eye, to loue And adoration. Such as would procure All the skilfull Angels ſutors to her, And ſuch as ſerues for my encouragement For I no letters haue from Noble friends, Which a requitall from themſelues inuite, By Courtſhip bold, and troubleſome to others, Noram I with that wicked mettall ſtor'd, That rules the mighty, and betrayes the minde To toyle in a deſigne, which angers Heauen, And makes the Deuill bluſh. But yet (deere Sonne) I haue a ſuite to thee. Which I deſire to know. In the ancient Covent of S. Auſtine There is a holy brother lately dead, Whoſe place if you will but confirme on me By the Dukes letter to the brother-hood, Then ſhall I better leaſure haue to pray For you my Patron. Alas my Father! The times are more obſeruant to your Tribe. It is the method now that your deſerts Need not to vſher but ſucceed reward. The Treatiſe (written lately) to confute, The deſperate ſect in Mantua, calls it you The Author? It knowes no other. There your preferment ſafely taketh roote. Beleeue me (ghoſtly Father) I will chooſe The fitteſt time to woke in your behalfe.