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 · 485 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Who did assist your passage to this walk? Mervolle Sir, with whom we used your name. Do you observe the Count, and his two lean janissaries? What in captivity? Certain stratagems (Sir) have been levelled 'Gainst the Prerogative of your life royal. Molard. Ere since the hope of day, they waited your Descent from the Cloister Bridge: but doubting Their own courage, and meeting us disguised, Thus in our original weeds; they would Have bribed us for two Pistolets t'assist The prosecution of your death. Our Grace And strength bound them to their good behaviour. They walk like Caterpillars on a Leaf.— Yield me the cause why you contrived my death. Good faith (Sir) for no harm. Give me a Knife!— Here is one belonged to Hans van Geulicke. Take yourself solemnly aside and cut Your Throat! do't straight, and neatly too, y''had best. The motion I dislike, 'tis dangerous. Have you three throats, can you revive as oft As you are killed, to take new punishment, That thus you mutiny 'gainst kind reason? These thousand years 't has been observed, th'eldest Brothers of her house (Sir) could ne'er endure To cut their Throats. 'tis fit (dear Count) that you Must die; I'm else unjust unto myself. With sapient Arts, we will project to save Th'reputation of your justice. As how? I will promulgate I am dead, and both, My Champions here shall swear't. We'll venture one Commandment to save another sir. This cannot satisfy. howe'er (Sir Count) If you will patiently accept your death. I'll furnish ye with Guides, for your last jaunt. You Punto, and Stoccata too! No more Of your philosophy. Fix Brow, to Brow, Knock out, each others Brains, and show your Lord The way, unto th'Elysian-field. Do it At first encounter too; For I'm in haste— 'slight Sir, I ne'er was in Elysium, I. Nor should I find the way thither, though Signior Argos, lent me ninety Nine of his Eyes. Then Punto shall be conduct to ye both. Good Signior, any courtesy but this You may command. You still do most presume Upon the calmest, and th'easy Nature. They all are pictures to th'Law. If you'll Bestow'em but as prisoners unto us, They shall suffer, or give us large ransom. How? a ransom? These Two are poorer than Carthusian-monks: lean as a Romish Lent. Slaves, who pretend sickness, that they may lie In Hospitals to steal the Sheets. Acorns They eat, such as westphalia-hogs do scorn. The Count (Sir) will untie his Strings for'em. Ransom, I'll give: for I do hate to die. The ransom must Be small. suffle'em together: and pack 'Em hence. I will not hear a syllable Of thanks. Rossa, see'em horsed for Milan. O dismal change! does your victorious Sword Hang now on aged Belt of Bandoleer? Is your high Plume moulted to a sprig, small, As if 'twere made o'th' wing of a Beetle.
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)
Who did aſſiſt your paſſage to this walke? Meruolle Sir, with whom we vſ'd your name. Doe you obſerue the Count, and his two leane Ianizaries? What in captiuity? Certaine ſtratagems (Sir) haue binne leuel'd 'Gainſt the Prerogatiue of your lie roall. Molard. Ere ſince the hpe of day▪ they waied your Deſcent from the Cloyſter Bridge: but doubting Their owne courage, and meeting vs diſguiſ'd, Thus in our originall weedes; they would Haue brib'd vs for two Piſtolets t'aſſiſt The proſecution of your death. Our Grace And ſtrength bound them to their good behauiour. They walke like Caterpillers on a Leafe. — Yeeld me the cauſe why you contriu'd my death. Good faith (Sir) for no harme. Giue me a Knife!— Here is one belong'd to Hans van Geulicke. Take your ſelfe ſolemnly aſide and cut Your Throat! do't ſtrait, and neatly too, y'had beſt. The motion I dſlike, 'tis dangerous. Haue you three throats, can you reuiue as oft As you are kill'd, to take new puniſhment, That thus you mutinie 'gainſt kind reaſon? Theſe thouſand yeeres 't has bn obſeru'd, th'eldeſt Brothers of her houſe (Sir) could nere endure To cut their Throates. Tis fit (deare Count) that you Muſt die; I'm els vniuſt vnto my ſelfe. With ſapint Arts, we will proiect to ſaue Th'reputation of your iſtice. As how? I will promulgate I am dead, and both, My Champions heere ſhall ſwr't. Wele venture one Commandement to ſaue another ſir. This cannot ſatiſfy. How ere (Sir Count) If you will patiently accept your death. I'le furniſh ye with Guides, for your laſt iaunt. You Punto, and Stoccata too! No more Of your phyloſophie. Fix Brow, to Brow, Knock out, each others Braines, and ſhew your Lord The way, vnto th'Elizian-Field. Doe it At firſt encounter too; For I'm in haſte— Slight Sir, I nere was in Elizium, I. Nor ſhould I finde the way thither, though Signior Argos, lent me Nintie Nine of his Eies. Then Punto ſhall be conduct to ye both. Good Signior, any curteſie but this You may command. You ſtill doe moſt preſume Vpon the calmeſt, and th'eaſie Nature. They all are forfeittures to th'Law. If you'le Beſtow'em but as priſners vnto us, They ſhall ſuffer, or giue vs large ranſome. How? a ranſome? Thſe Two are poorer then Carthuſian-Monkes: leane as a Romiſh Lent. Slaues, who pretend ſickneſſe, that they may lie In Hoſpitalls to ſteale the Sheets. Achornes They eate, ſuch as Weſtphalia-Hoggs doe ſcorne. The Count (Sir) will vntie his Strings for'em. Ranſome, I'le giue: for I doe hate to die. The ranſome muſt Be ſmall. Shuffle'em together: and pack 'Em hence. I will not heare a ſillable Of thankes. Roſſa, ſee'em horſ'd for Millaine. O diſmall change! does your victoous Sword Hang now on aged Belt of Bandeleere? Is your high Plume moulted to a ſprigge, ſmall, As if 'twere made o'th wing of a Beetle.