Davenant, William · published 1630 · first performed or written 1627 [licensed for stage, Jan 12] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men · Blackfriars T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.84 · 519 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Not for the world. Thou dost not know his Soul. He's of so soft, so sweet a property, That he enchants where he is known. Besides, I find I am so powerful o'er his youth: That I shall soon extirpate from his memory The wrong I did his Wife, and him. As for Foreste: his experience is of growth Too stubborn, of practice stiff; and will not Be removed from his revenge, by strength of words. Therefore, let him no mercy feel: but let; My Boy be gently used for my sake. Farewell— This is a silly kind of love! But let me think— So to contrive this plot: That Lothario may destroy Foreste, And him to make his silence safe! humh— No; it must not be— My royal Lord! Lucio (my Boy) is not proscribed. Take heed Castruchio! If thou dost extend thy hand: In motion, boisterous, and rough to him; Thou dost infect all thy other kindness: And I shall see thee as a Cockatrice: That will enforce my Optic-nerves to shrink, And pull my Eyes into my skull. Look to't. Most gracious Sir, were his person bulwarked With the Alps: were he hidden in's own fear; He could not be more safe, than you have made him. Once more than good Night. A plague upon this turdy love. Such thoughts When first your Blood did make your Veins to swell (Like Bridges o'er your flesh) had prevented My employment. Softly, softly. Fear, and suspicion ever walk on Eggs. Leave here the Light, and go to Bed. Break ope the door, break open the door. Hah! who counsel so unlawfully? O Foreste! the fatal Hour is come Ring out your Bells, until they wake the dead. Let the Drum murmur in a sable Bag. Reverse your Muskets, and trail your stubborn Pikes In slimy-Channels. Let Trumpets groan, And the shrill Phip be hoarse. The fatal Hour, Is come. Why, what's the matter Sir? O my wife! by this she did entreat me Suddenly, (upon some urgent cause) To haste from Lucca to her: Just now; I lighted from my Horse, entered her Chamber: And found her newly murdered in her Chair. My Servants say that my arrival there, Did just succeed your departure from her. Dismiss your Servants, and you shall know all. Hence, and expect me straight at home. I pray come hither Sir.— Do you dislike That justice which deprived your Wife of breath? Dost thou call it justice? Yes, in the noblest strain: she was defiled. The royal Goat (the Duke) hath ravished her: And I (that never could admit excuse In points of honour) (wherever suspicion Sufficeth to condemn) did summon up My memory: wherein the kind effects, Of your best love to us are registered. And finding you betrayed in your own Fort! I slit her Wrist-veins, and gave perpetual Liberty, to her polluted Blood. O Villain! more bloody than the Tiger; Whose empty Entrails noise, doth (Trumpet like) Encourage cruelty; Though thou didst flight her As my poor Wife: yet she might well expect Some mercy, as being thy own sister.
nodes 2093–2163 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 31 of 35 in this edition
Length
519 words · 713 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.839 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T7 · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Not for the world. Thou doſt not know his Soule. He's of ſo ſoft, ſo ſweete a propertie, That he inchants where he is knowne. Beſides, I finde I am ſo powerfull o're his youth: That I ſhall ſoone extirpate from his memory The wrong I did his Wife, and him. As for Foreſte: his experience is of growth Too ſtubborne, of practiſe ſtiffe; and will not Be remoo'd from his reuenge, by ſtrength of words. Therefore, let him no mercy feele: but let; My Boy be gently vs'd for my ſake. Farewell— This is a ſilly kinde of loue! But let me thinke—So to contriue this plot: That Lothario may deſtroy Foreſte, And him to make his ſilence ſafe! humh— No; it muſt not be— My royall Lord! Lucio (my Boy) is not proſcrib'd. Take heed Caſtruchio! If thou doſt extend thy hand: In motion, boyſterous, and rough to him; Thou doſt infect all thy other kindneſſe: And I ſhall ſee thee as a Cocatrice: That will enforce my Optick-nerues to ſhrinke, And pull my Eies into my skull. Looke to't. Moſt gracious Sir, were his perſon bulwark'd With the Alpes: were he hidden ins owne feare; He could not be more ſafe, then you haue made him. Once more then good Night. A plague vpon this turdy loue. Such thoughts When firſt your Blood did make your Vaines to ſwell (Like Bridges'ore your fleſh) had preuented My imployment. Softely, ſoftely. Feare, and ſuſpition euer walke on Egges. Leaue heere the Light, and goe to Bed. Breake ope the doore, breake ope the doore. Hah! who counſels ſo vnlawfully? O Foreſte! the fatall Houre is come Ring out your Bells, vntill they wake the dead. Let the Drumme murmure in a able Bagge. Reuerſe your Muskets, and traile your ſtubborne Pikes In ſlimy-Channels. Let Trumpets groane, And the ſhrill Phiph be hoarce. The fatall Hower, Is come. Why, what's the matter Sir? O my wife! by this ſhe did entreat me Suddenly, (vpon ſome vrgent cauſe) To haſte from Lucca to her: Iuſt now; I lighted from my Horſe, enter'd her Chamber: And found her newly murdered in her Chayre. My Seruants ſay that my arriuall there, Did iuſt ſucceed your departure from her. Diſmiſſe your Seruants, and you ſhall know all. Hence, and expect me ſtrait at home. I pray come hither Sir.—Doe you diſlike That iuſtice which depriu'd your Wife of breath? Doeſt thou call it Iuſtice? Yes, in the nobleſt ſtraine: ſhe was defil'd. The royall Goate (the Duke) hath rauiſh'd her: And I (that neuer could admit excuſe In points of honor) (where euer ſuſpition Sufficeth to condemne) did ſummon vp My memory: wherein the kinde effects, Of your beſt loue to vs are regiſtred. And finding you betray'd in your owne Fort! I ſlit her Wriſt-aynes, and gaue perpetuall Liberty, to her polluted Blood. O Villaine! more bloody then the Tyger; Whoſe empty Entrailes noyſe, doth (Trumpet like) Encourage cruelty; Though thou didſt flight her As my poore Wife: yet ſhe might well expect Some mercy, as being thy owne ſiſter.