Davenant, William · published 1630 · first performed or written 1629 [licensed for stage, Oct 2] (Annals) tragicomedy · King's Men · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 501 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Behold my Coral hands, they seem to blush With guilt of humane sacrifice. methinks I look like to a Memphian Priest, that had Dissection made of Hecatombs t'appease Their false Divinity. Alteza's dead. I want pretence to soothe my faith: Else I Would hope your hands deprived her not of breath? Fathers that feed on Sons, and Sons that drink Their mother's blood, reach not that cruelty Which her stern guilt did throw into my Breast. May some kind Saint, weep o'er your Soul until With holy dew, he wash this sin away. Thou dost misspend thy vestal charity. I'th' solitary age of Night I come, To find those Angels that have business now On Earth, in Synod here with thee: hoping I shall receive reward for my just Act. The hours that gave her opportunity To err, were known so few; that my belief Concludes her guiltless of the actual sin. Before the hindmost part of her vexed Soul Forsook her thrilling Lips, she did confess, Sciolto had performed all circumstance That doth engender Man. Sciolto too, Confirmed her attestation as a truth. Be deaf (sweet heaven) to this. Did Sciolto Iterate her foul speech? He did, which I, o'er heard, and forced a passage to his Heart. From its warm Throne, I snatched the aching Lump, And threw it straight unto a hungry Fiend. Is he dead too? The Genius of the world Is sick, all Forms must cease. Dost weep for him? O Sir, should I restrain the flux, my Eyes Would drop from their loose Strings instead of Tears. This obsequy, doth make Compassion sin. O Sciolto. Art thou so early fled, To taste eternity, and unknown fate. Stint thy hoarse Dirge, pernicious Whore. I had Some hope, the interview that you enjoyed Might be enforced by his unruly strength: But now, I find it was with thy consent Procured. Y'have struggled in each others lust. All now is evident as light. I bring My innocence, to' th'clear survey of Heaven. Though dull, to Men of harsh, strict discipline, Yet know, I have some cunning in my rage. I came to fright this secret from thy Heart: M Hands I did not bath in humane blood, Alteza, and Sciolto are alive. This joy will make my Heart dance in my Breast.— Sink into th'Earth, where sorrow dwells. Ere yond— Dim Morn shall add one Hour unto her Age, Sciolto's Soul shall take a doubtful flight: It only stayed to mingle company With thine. My anger was so just, I Would Not prosecute thy life; until my doubts Were cleared. Go, go, and number o'er thy Beads. Is there in all your veins, no drop (unmixed With Gaul) that from our Mother is derived, And so may tempt compassion from your Breast? Alteza mourns, as if t'expiate A Nation with her grief. Hadst thou revealed Such penitence, it might have softened my Decree. But thou art sour and stern of Soul. No mercy, for our Noble Mother's sake?
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)
Behold my Corall hands, they ſeeme to bluſh With guilt of humane ſacrifice. Me thinkes I looke like to a Memphian Prieſt, that had Diſſection made of Hecatombs t'appeaſe Their falſe Diuinitie. Alteza's dead. I want pretence to ſooth my faith: Els I Would hope your hands depriued her not of breath? Fathers that feed on Sonnes, and Sonnes that drinke Their mothers blood, reach not that cruelty Which her ſterne guilt did throw into my Breaſt. May ſome kinde Saint, weepe o're your Soule vntill With holy dew, he waſh this ſinne away. Thou doeſt mis-ſpend thy veſtall charitie. I'th ſollitary age of Night I come, To finde thoſe Angells that haue buſineſſe now On Earth, in Synod heere with thee: hoping I ſhall receiue reward for my iuſt Act. The howers that gaue her opportunitie To erre, were knowne ſo few; that my beliefe Concludes her guiltleſſe of the actuall ſinne. Before the hindmoſt part of her vex'd Soule Forſooke her thrilling Lipps, ſhe did confeſſe, Sciolto had perform'd all circumſtance That doth ingender Man. Sciolto too, Confirm'd her atteſtation as a truth. Be deafe (ſweete heauen) to this. Did Sciolto Iterate her foule ſpeech? He did, which I, Ore hear'd, and forc'd a paſſage to his Heart. From its warme Throane, I ſnatch'd the aking Lumpe, And threw it ſtraight vnto a hungry Fiend. Is he dead too? The Genius of the world Is ſicke, all Formes muſt ceaſe. Doſt weepe for him? O Sir, ſhould I reſtraine the flux, my Eies Would drop from their looſe Stringes inſtead of Teares. This obſequie, doth make Compaſſion ſinne. O Sciolto. Art thou ſo early fled, To taſt eternitie, and vnknowne fate. Stint thy hoarce Dirge, pernicious Whore. I had Some hope, the interuiew that you inioy'd Might be enforc'd by his vnruly ſtrength: But now, I finde it was with thy conſent Procur'd. Y'haue ſtruggled in each others luſt. All now is euident as light. I bring My innocence, to'th'cleere ſuruay of Heauen. Though dull, to Men of harſh, ſtrict diſcipline, Yet know, I haue ſome cunning in my rage. I came to fright this ſecret from thy Heart: M Hands I did not bath in humane blood, Alteza, and Sciolto are aliue. This ioy will make my Heart dance in my Breaſt.— Sinke into th'Earth, where ſorrow dwells. Ere yon— Dimme Morne ſhall adde one Howre vnto her Age, Scioltos Sowle ſhall take a doubtfull flight: It only ſtai'd to mingle company With thine. My anger was ſo iuſt, I Would Not proſecute thy life; vntill my doubts Were cleer'd. Goe, goe, and number o're thy Beades. Is there in all your vaines, no drop (vnmix'd With Gaule) that from our Mother is deriu'd, And ſo may tempt compaſſion from your Breaſt? Alteza mournes, as if t'expiate A Nation with her griefe. Hadſt thou reueald Such penitence, it might haue ſoftned my Decree. But thou art ſowre and ſterne of Soule. No mercie, for our Noble Mothers ſake?