Hoffman, or A Revenge for a Father · chunk 31 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 T38 Death, parting and grief at court · 505 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T38: queen, king, death, dead, heart, life, die, lord, royal, news.
It is indeed an undelight full walk; But if I do not err in my belief, I think the ground, the trees, the rocks, the springs, Have since my Princely Master Charles his wrack Appeared more dismal, than they did before, I memory of his vntimelesse fall. For hereabouts, hereabouts the place, Where his fair body lay deformed by death Here Hoffman's son, and I embalmed him After we had concluded to deceive Your sacred person, and Duke Ferdinand By causing Hoffman to assume his name. This is very strange. Nay tarry, you shall hear all the knavery anon. And where's the Chapel that you laid him in? it's an old Chapel, near the Hermitage: But was the hermit at his burial? Noah, Hoffman and I only digged the grave Played Priest and clerk, to keep his burial close? Most admirable! Nay, pray you peace. Alas! poor son, the soul of my delights; Thou in thy end wert robbed of Funeral rites, None sung thy requiem, no friend closed thine eyes, Nor laid the hallowed earth upon thy lips, Thou wert not houseled, neither did the bells ring Blessed peals, nor toll thy funeral knell, Thou wontst to death, as those that sink to hell; Where is the apparel that I bade him wear Against the force of witches and their spells. We buried it with him it was his shroud, The desert woods no fitter means allowed. I think he lies. Now by my troth, that gentleman smells knave. Swear one thing to me, ere we leave this place; Whether young Hoffman did the most he might to save my son. By heaven it seems he did, but all was vain The flinty rocks had cut his tender scull, And the rough water washed away his brain. Liar, liar, lick dish. How now what woman's this? what men are these? A poor maiden mistress, has a suit to you, And 'tis a good suit, very good apparel. lo, here I come a-wooing my ding, ding, Lo, here we come a suing, my darling, Lo, here I come a praying, to bidea, How do you Lady, well I thank God, will you buy a bargain I pray, it's fine apparel. Run my life's blood, comfort my troubled heart, That trembles at the sight of this attire: Lorrique, look on them, knowest thou not these clothes? Nor the distracted bringer? prithee speak. Ay me, accurst and damned; I know them both; The bringer is the Austrian Lucibella ay, you say true, I am the very same, The apparel was my Lords, your Princely son's. This is not sea-wet, if my son were drowned Then why thus dry is his apparel found? O me accurst, o miserable me? Fall heaven, and hide my shame, gape earth, rise sea, Swallow, o'erwhelm me, wherefore should I live, The most perfidious wretch that ever breathed, And base consenter to my dear Lords death. Nay, look you here, do you see these poor starved ghosts; can you tell whose they be?
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)
It is indeede an vndelight full walke; But if I doe not erre in my beleefe, I thinke the ground, the trees, the rockes, the springs, Haue since my Princely Master Charles his wracke Appear'd more dismall, then they did before, I memory of his vntimelesse fall. For hereabouts, hereabouts the place, Where his ayre body lay deform'd by death Here Hoffmans son, and I enbalm'd him After we had concluded to decaue Your sacred person, and Duke Ferdinand By causing Hoffman to assume his name. This is very strange. Nay tary, you shall heare all the knauery anon. And where's the Chappell that you layd him in? I'ts an old Chappell, neere the Hermitage: But was the Hermet at his buriall? Noe, Hoffman and I onely dig'd the graue Play'd Priest and Clarke, to keepe his buriall close? Most admirable! Nay, pray you peace. Alas! poore son, the soule of my delights; Thou in thy end wert rob'd of Funerall rites, None sung thy requiem, noe friend clos'd thine eyes, Nor layd the hallowed earth vpon thy lips, Thou wert not houseled, neither did the bells ring Blessed peales, nor towle thy funerall knell, Thou wost to death, as those that sinke to hell; Where is the apparrell that I bad him weare Against the force of witches and their spells. We buried it with him it was his shroude, The desert woods noe fitter meanes allowd. I thinke he lyes. Now by my troth, that gentleman smels knaue. Sweare one thing to me, ere we leaue this place; Whether young Hoffman did the most he might to saue my son. By heauen it seemes hee did, but all was vaine The flinty rockes had cut his tender scull, And the rough water wash't away his braine. Lyer, lyer, licke dish. How now what woman's this? what men are these? Apoore mayden mistris, ha's a suite to you, And 'tis a good suite, very good apparrell. Loe, heere I come a woing my ding, ding, Loe, heere we come a suing, my darling, Loe, heere I come a praying, to biaea, bidea. How doe you Lady, well I thanke God, will you buy a barganei pray, i'ts fine apparrell. Run my liues blood, comfort my troubled heart, That trembles at the sight of this attire: Lorrique, looke on them, knowest thou not these clothes? Nor the distracted bringer? prethee speake. Ay me, accurst and damn'd; I know them both; The bringer is the Austrian Lucibell I, you say true, I am the very same, The apparrell was my Lords, your Princely son's. This is not seawet, if my son were drown'd Then why thus dry is his apparrell found? O me accurst, o miserable me? Fall heauen, and hide my shame, gape earth, rise sea, Swallow, orewhelme me, wherefore should I liue, The most perfidious wretch that euer breath'd, And base consenter to my deare Lords death. Nay, looke you heere, do you see these poore staru'd ghosts; can you tell whose they be?