The Spanish Bawd (Calisto and Meliboea) (Celestina) · chunk 168 of 205
Mabbe, James / Rojas, Fernando de · published 1631 · first performed or written 1631 (Annals) tragicomedy; literary play T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.80 · 440 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
O my Parmeno, my love; what sorrow do I feel for thy sake? How much doth thy death torment me? It grieves me, for that my great love, which in so short a space, I had settled upon him, sithence it was not my fortune to enjoy him longer. But being that this ill success hath ensued, being that this mischance hath happened, and being that their lives now lost, cannot be bought, or restored by tears, do not thou vex thyself so much in grieving and weeping out thine eyes: I grieve as much, and believe, thou hast but little advantage of me in thy sorrowing; and yet thou seest with what patience I bear it, and pass it over. O! I grow mad. O wretch that I am, I am ready to run out of my wits! Ay me, there is not anybody's grief, that is like to mine; there is not anybody, that hath lost that which I have lost! O how much better, and more honest had my tears been in another persons passion, than mine own! whither shall I go? for I have lost both money, meat, drink, and clothes; I have lost my friend, and such a one, that had he been my husband, he could not have been more kind unto me. O thou wise Celestina, thou much honoured Matron, and of great authority; how often didst thou cover my faults by thy singular wisdom? Thou took'st pains, whilst I took pleasure; thou went'st abroad, whilst I stayed at home; thou went'st in tatters and rags, whilst I did ruffle in Silks and satins; thou still camest home like a Bee, continually laden, whilst I did nothing but spend, and play the unthrift: for I knew not else what to do. O thou worldly happiness, and joy, which whilst thou art possessed, art the less esteemed! nor dost thou ever let us know what thou art, till we know that thou art not; finding our loss, greater by wanting, then in enjoying thee; never knowing what we have, till we have thee not. O Calisto and Melibea, occasioners of so many deaths! let some ill attend upon your love; let your sweet meat have some sour sauce; your pleasure, pain; let your joy be turned into mourning; the pleasant flowers whereon you took your stolen solace, let them be turned into Serpents and Snakes; your songs, let them be turned into howlings; the shady trees of the garden, let them be blasted and withered with your looking on them; your sweet scenting blossoms and buds, let them be black and dismal to behold.
nodes 1144–1145 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 168 of 205 in this edition
Length
440 words · 572 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.796 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
O my Parmeno, my loue; what sorrow doe I feele for thy sake? How much doth thy death torment mee? It grieues me, for that my great loue, which in so short a space, I had settled vpon him, sithence it was not my fortune to inioy him longer. But being that this ill successe hath insued, being that this mischance hath hapned, and being that their liues now lost, cannot be bought, or restored by teares, doe not thou vexe thy selfe so much in grieuing and weeping out thine eyes: I grieue as much, and beleeue, thou hast but little aduantage of mee in thy sorrowing; and yet thou seest with what patience I beare it, and passe it ouer. O! I grow mad. O wretch that I am, I am ready to run out of my wits! Ay me, there is not any bodies griefe, that is like to mine; there is not any body, that hath lost that which I haue lost! O how much better, and more honest had my teares beene in another persons passion, then mine owne! whither shall I goe? for I haue lost both money, meate, drinke, and clothes; I haue lost my friend, and such a one, that had hee beene my husband, hee could not haue beene more kinde vnto mee. O thou wise Celestina, thou much honoured Matrone, and of great authority; how often did'st thou couer my faults by thy singular wisdome? Thou took'st paines, whil'st I tooke pleasure; thou went'st abroad, whil'st I staid at home; thou went'st in tatters and ragges, whil'st I did ruffle in Silkes and Satens; thou still camest home like a Bee, continually laden, whil'st I did nothing but spend, and play the vnthrift: for I knew not else what to doe. O thou worldly happinesse, and ioy, which whilest thou art possessed, art the lesse esteemed! Nor'dost thou euer let vs know what thou art, till we know that thou art not; finding our losse, greater by wanting, then in inioying thee; neuer knowing what we haue, till we haue thee not. O Calisto and Melibea, occasioners of so many deaths! let some ill attend vpon your loue; let your sweete meate haue some sowre sauce; your pleasure, paine; let your ioy be turned into mourning; the pleasant flowres whereon you tooke your stolne solace, let them be turned into Serpents and Snakes; your songs, let them be turned into howlings; the shady trees of the garden, let them be blasted and withered with your looking on them; your sweet senting blossomes and buddes, let them be blacke and dismall to behold.