Davenant, William · published 1630 · first performed or written 1629 [licensed for stage, Oct 2] (Annals) tragicomedy · King's Men · Blackfriars T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.71 · 502 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
M Mother when she lay, a cold paterne for The figure on her Tomb, spent her last breath In praise of thee. Quoth she; For my sake use Thy Sister well: th'acqaintance that she hath In Heaven is great. I'th' blossom of her growth She shall o'ercome the Eyes of men, and in Her Age, she shall have skill in Prophecy. But O false lore! Our Mother kind, (whom I A Sibyl held) thou now hast proved a Witch. I am too weak to force from your belief Mistakes so strong. Go pray, the Hours are swift: I've purposed thee a prisoner here till my Return.— This is a sickly rheum and not Compunction in my Eyes.— The last of all My merits shall be called obedience to Your will: If you do owe a kindness to yourself; think on Religion and the Laws. Nature do thou direct my spleen. The Laws Are sinfully contrived. justice should weigh The present crime, not future inference On Deeds. But now they cheapen blood: 'tis spilled To punish the example, not the guilt. Religion too, on our Italian Earth, Grows like the Cedar big and high; but yields No fruit. The abject race of men she doth Confound with hope, and bids them not obey, T'augment humility, but her own sway. Your strength does but entangle ye the more. I'll not be trussed (Sir) like a Pullet thus— Leave nothing that can minister defence. Disarm him of his Pins. Pare my nails too.— You shall be angered straight, till you bestow The time to bite ''em off. Soon as we spied You scaling o'er the Orchard wall; we guessed The hopes of your visit. There have been snares Laid for your feet, ere since you left the House.— There is some danger in this chance, my dull Heart beats with slow, and ominous leisure.— Pale Planet shine! It must be he. My Ears Persuade me they o'ertook his voice. Sir, Sir!— Hah! Scoperta? A cruel destiny Ha murdred all our ioy. endeuouring an Add all for stealth of thee, I was surprised, Disarmed; even here i'th' presence of my Stars. There's not a Star in all the Firmament Belongs to us. O none! Or if there be, Their influence is so weak that at This distance Babes may blow'em out. Sure our Creation we have took unknown to Fate. Our love was of too nimble growth unless Philosophy give hope, that after death We may converse; this is the last of all Our interviews. That fatal Prophecy Will shake my Soul from out my flesh; and like Some tame Hermit I shall unwounded die. The word that's heard abbreviates our discourse And live: the Sand that limits both is fall'n Into the reach of number now: and I Have spent with thee the hasty time prefixed For a devout employment of my Beads. The murderers are within. Grim wild horror! Hast thou no weapons there that I may use T'annihilate their vigour and their shape?
nodes 1498–1566 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 22 of 31 in this edition
Length
502 words · 672 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.709 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T10 · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
M Mother when ſhe lay, a cold paterne for The figure on her Toombe, ſpent her laſt breath In praiſe of thee. Quoth ſhe; For my ſake vſe Thy Siſter well: th'acqaintance that ſhe hath In Heauen is great. I'th bloſſome of her growth She ſhall ore'come the Eies of men, and in Her Age, ſhe ſhall haue skill in Prophecie. But O falſe lore! Our Mother kind, (whom I A Sybill held) thou now haſt proou'd a Witch. I am too weake to force from your beliefe Miſtakes ſo ſtrong. Goe pray, the Howres are ſwift: I'ue purpoſd thee a priſ'ner heere till my Returne. — This is a ſicklie Rhume▪ and not Compunction in my Eyes. — The laſt of all My merits ſhall be calld obedience to Your will: If you doe owe a kindneſſe to Your ſelfe; thinke on Religion and the Lawes. Nature doe thou direct my ſpleene. The Lawes Are ſinfullie contriu'd. Iuſtice ſhould weigh The preſent crime, not future inforence On Deedes. But now they cheapen blood: 'tis ſpilt To puniſh the example, not the guilt. Religion too, on our Italian Earth, Growes like the Cedar big and high; but yeelds No fruit. The abiect race of men ſhe doth Confound with hope, and bids them not obay, T'augment humilitie, but her owne ſway. Your ſtrength does but intangle ye the more. I'le not be truſ'd (Sir) like a Pullet thus— Leaue nothing that can miniſter defence. Diſarme him of his Pinnes. Pare my nailes too.— You ſhall be angerd ſtrait, till you beſtow The time to bite'm off. Soone as we ſpi'd You ſcaling ore the Orchard wall; we gueſſ'd The hopes of your viſit. There haue beene ſnares Lai'd for your feete, ere ſince you left the Houſe. — There is ſome danger in this chance, my dull Heart beates with ſlow, and ominous leaſure. — Pale Planet ſhine! It muſt be he. My Eares Perſwade me they oretooke his voice. Sir, Sir! — Hah! Scoperta? A cruell deſtinie Ha murdred all our ioy. endeuouring an Add for ſtealth of thee, I was ſurpriſ'd, Diſamd; euen heere 'ith preſence of my Starres. There's not a Starre in all the Firmament Belongs to vs. O none! Or if there be, Thei influence is ſo weake that at This diſtance Babes may blow'em out. Sure ou Creation we haue tooke vnknowne to Fate. Our loue was of too nimble growth vnleſſe Philoſophie giue hope, that after death We may conuerſe; this is the laſt of all Our interuiewes. That fatall Prophecie Will ſhake my Soule from out my fleſh; and like Some tame Hermit I ſhall vnwounded die. The word that's heard abreuiates our diſcourſe And lie: the Sand that limits both is falne Into the reach of number now: and I Haue ſpent with thee the haſty time prefix'd For a deuout imployment of my Beades. The murderers are within. Grimme wild horrour! Haſt thou no weapons there that I may vſe T'anihilate their vigor and their ſhape?