Hoffman, or A Revenge for a Father · chunk 13 of 39
Chettle, Henry · published 1631 · first performed or written 1602 [Dec 29, payment] (Annals) tragedy · Admiral's (Nottingham's) Men · Phoenix/Cockpit unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 491 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
I cannot tell I left him with his loved Lucibell. But she has got another love, Dishonoured all this rich assembly, Left the memorial of such infamy, As cannot die while men have memory. How? pray you how? what hath the princess done? she with a Grecian is but new fled hence, Belike some other love of hers before: Our tilt and tournament is spoilt and crossed. The fair we should defend, her faith hath lost. Fled with a Grecian? saw you them go Prince Otho? ay, ay, I saw them go. And would not stay them? My true servant knows, How at the sight of such inconstancy My gentle heart was smit with inward grief And I sunk down with sorrow. 'sdeath; what path? which way? that I may track her harlot-steps, Fled now: gone now: i'll go seek Lodowick Nay then you add an irreligious work, To there lascivious act; follow yourself, I and my man will bear your company Lorrique, as I think, thou namedst a chapel, A hermit, some such thing: I have lost the form. I heard her say, she could not travel far, He told her, they would rest the dead of night, near to a chapel, by a hermitage. Where is that chapel? where's that hermitage? If you love honour Princely Luningberg, let's to that chapel: if you know the way, That I may kill our shame, ere it see day. I'll guide you to the chapel, aid your arm, In your revenge, against that Grecian, But for the Lady spare her, she is fair. I will do what I can; oh hell of life! Who, but a fool would strive to win a wife? shall we call Lodowick? Noah, 'twould smite his soul in sunder, split his heart, If he should hear of such adulterate wrong, Cover the fault or punish as you please: Yet I would save her fain, for she deserves pity for beauty. Nothing, no for nothing. she is as harlots, fair, like guilded tombs Goodly without; within all rottenness: she's like a painted fire upon a hill, set to allure the frost-nipped passengers, And starve them after hope: she is indeed As all such strumpets are, Angel in show, Devil in heart: Come, come if you love me go. Follow Lorrique; we are in the right way. To hell I fear: tush let all fear go by, who'll shun a bad way with good company. Are you not faint divinest Lucibell? Noah, the clear moon strews silver in our path, And with her moist eyes weeps a gentle dew Upon thee the spotted pavement of the earth, Which softens every flower whereon I tread Besides; all travel in your company Seems but a walk made in some goodly bower, Where loves fair mother strips her paramour. This is the Chapel, and behold a bank, Covered with sleeping flowers, that miss the Sun: Shall we repose us till Mathias come?
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)
I cannot tell I left him with his loued Lucibell. But shee has got another loue, Dishonored all this rich assembly, Left the mmoriall of such infamy, As cannot die while men haue memory. How? pay you how? what hath the princesse done? she with a Grecian is but new fled hence, Belike some other loue of hers before: Our tilt and turnament is spoild and crost. The faire we should defend, her faith hath lost. Fled with a Grecian? saw you them goe Prince Otho? I, I, I saw them goe. And would not stay them? My true seruant knowes, How at the sight of such inconstancy My gentle heart was smitt with inward griefe And I sunke downe with sorrow. s'death; what path? which way? that I may track her harlot-steps, Fled now: gone now: ile goe seeke Lodowicke Nay then you add an irreligious worke, To there lasciuious act; follow your selfe, I and my man will beare your company Lorrique, as I thinke, thou nam'dst a chappell, A Hermet, some such thing: I haue lost the forme. I heard her say, she could not trauell far, He told her, they would rest the dead of night▪ Neere to a chappell, by a hermitage. Where is that chappell? wher's that hermitage? If you loue honor Princely Luningberg, Lets to that chappell: if you know the way, That I may kill our shame, ere it se day. Ile guide you to the chappell, ayd your arme▪ In your reuenge, against that Grecian, But for the Lady spare her, she is faire. I will doe what I can; oh hell of life! Who, but a foole would striue to winne a wife? shall we call Lodowick? no, t'would smite his soule in sunder, split his heart, If he should heare of such adulterate wronge, Couer the fault or punish as you please: Yet I would saue her faine, for she deserue pitty for beanty. Nothing, noe for nothing. Shee is as harlots, faire, like guilded tombs Goodly without; within all rottennes: shee's like a painted fire vpon a hill, set to allure the frost-nipt passengers, And starue them after hope: she is indeed As all such strumpets are, Angell in shew, Diuell in heart: Come, come if you loue me goe. Follow Lorrique; we are in the right way. To hell I feare: tush let all feare goe by, Whoo'l shun a bad way with good company. Are you not faint diuinest Lucibell? Noe, the cleare moone strowes siluer in our path, And with her moist eyes weepes a gentle dew Vpon the the spotted pauement of the earth, Whih softens euery flowre whereon I tread Besides; all trauell in your company Seemes but a walke made in some goodly bowre, Where loues faire mother strips her paramoure. This is the Chappell, and behold a banke, Couer'd with sleeping flowers, that misse the Sunne: Shall Wee repose vs till Mathias come?