Hoffman, or A Revenge for a Father · chunk 39 of 39
Chettle, Henry · published 1631 · first performed or written 1602 [Dec 29, payment] (Annals) tragedy · Admiral's (Nottingham's) Men · Phoenix/Cockpit T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.87 · 502 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Virtue and modesty bids me say no, Yet trust me Hoffman thou'rt so sweet a man, And so beloved of me, that I must go. I am crowned the King of pleasure. Hateful slave, thou goest to meet destruction in the cave. 'Sdeath who stands here? What's that? Lorrique's pale ghost? I am amazed: nay slave stand of: Thy weapons sure, the prize is ours. Come forth dear friends, murder is in our powers Yield thee, base son of shame. How now what's here? am I betrayed? By dotage, by the falsehood of a face? Oh wretched fool fall'n by a woman's hand From high revenge's sphere, the bliss of souls. Cut out the murderer's tongue. What do you mean? Whom have I murdered; wherefore bind ye me; They are justices to punish thy bare bones, Look with thy bloodshed eyes on these bare bones, And tell me that which dead Lorrique confessed Who is't thou villained that least? who was't? Why Otho thy sons, and that's my fathers by him. O merciless and cruel murderer To leave me childless. And me husbandless. Me brotherless. oh smooth tongued hypocrite How thou didst draw me to my brother's death. Talk no more to him, he seeks dignity, Reason he should receive his desperate hire, And wear his crown made flaming hot with fire: Bring forth the burning crown there. Do old dog, thou helpest to worry my dead Father And must thou kill me too? 'tis well, 'tis fit, I that had sworn unto my father's soul To be revenged on Austria, Saxony, Prussia, Luningberg, and all there heirs: Had prospered in the downfall of some five; Had only three to offer to the fiends, And then must fall in love; oh wretched eyes That have betrayed my heart; be you accursed; And as the melting drops run from my brows, So fall they on the strings that guide your heart Whereby their oily heat may crack them first, I so, boil on thou foolish idle brain, For giving entertainment to love's thoughts. A man resolved in blood, bound by a vow For no less vengeance, than his father's death, Yet become amorous of his foe's wife! Oh sin against all conceit! worthy this shame And all the tortures that the world can name. Call upon heaven, base wretch, think on thy soul. In charity and prayer To no purpose without charity. We pardon thee, and pray for thy soul's health. So do not I for yours, nor pardon you; You killed my father, my most warlike father, Thus as you deal by me, you did by him; But I deserve it that have slacked revenge Through fickle beauty, and a woman's fraud; But Hell the hope of all despairing men, That wring the poor, and eat the people up, As greedy beasts the harvest of their spring: That Hell, where cowards have their seats prepared, And barbarous asses, such as have robbed trojans of Reward, and punish true desert with scorned death.
nodes 2185–2250 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 39 of 39 in this edition
Length
502 words · 666 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.874 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T7 · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Vertue and modesty bids me say noe, Yet trust me Hoffman tha'rt so sweet a man, And so belou'd of me, that I must goe. I am crown'd the King of pleasure. Hatefull slaue, thou goest to meete destruction in the caue. S'death who stands here? What's that? Lorriques pale ghost? I am amaz'd: nay slaue stand of: Thy weapons sure, the prize is ours. Come forth deere friends, murder is in our powers Yeild thee, base son of shame. How now whats here? am I betrayd? By dotage, by the falshood of a face? Oh wretched foole falne by a womans hand From high reuenges spheare, the blisse of soules. Cut out the murtherers tongue. What doe you meane? Whom haue I murder'd; wherefore bind yee me; They are Iustices to punish thy bare bones, Looke with thy blood-shed eyes on these bare bones, And tell me that which dead Lorrique confest Who ist thou villained that least? who wast? Why Otho thy sons, and that's my fathers by him. O mercilsse and cruell murtherer To leaue me childlsse. And mee husbandlesse. Me brotherlesse. oh smooth tongu'd hypocrite How thou didst draw me to my brothers death. Talke noe more to him, he seekes dignity, Reason he should receaue his desperate hire, And weare his crowne made flaming hot with fire: Bring forth the burning crowne there. Doe old dog, thou helpst to worry my dead Father And must thou kill me too? 'tis well, 'tis fit, I that had sworne vnto my fathers soule To be reueng'd on Austria, Saxony, Prussia, Luningberg, and all there heires: Had prosper'd in the downefall of some fiue; Had onely three to offer to the fiends, And then must fall in loue; oh wretched eyes That haue betray'd my heart; bee you accurst; And as the melting drops run from my brows, Soe fall they on the strings that guide your heart Whereby their oylye heat may cracke them first, I soe, boyle on thou foolish idle braine, For giuing entertainement to loues thoughts. A man resolu'd in blood, bound by a vow For noe lesse vengeance, then his fathers death, Yet become amorous of his foes wife! Oh sin against all conceit! worthy this shame And all the tortures that the world can name. Call vpon heauen, base wretch, thinke on thy soule. In charity and prayer To no purpose without charity. We pardon thee, and pray for thy soules health. Soe doe not I for yours, nor pardon you; You kild my father, my most warlike father, Thus as you deale by me, you did by him; But I deserue it that haue slackt reuenge Through fickle beauty, and a womans fraud; But Hell the hope of all dispayring men, That wring the poore, and eate the people vp, As greedy beasts the haruest of their spring: That Hell, where cowards haue their seats prepar'd▪ And barbarous asses, such as haue rob'd souldrers of Reward, and punish true desert with scorned death.