The Spanish Bawd (Calisto and Meliboea) (Celestina) · chunk 205 of 205
Mabbe, James / Rojas, Fernando de · published 1631 · first performed or written 1631 (Annals) tragicomedy; literary play unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 399 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
O thou enemy to all reason! To those that serve thee least, thou givest thy greatest rewards, until thou hast brought them at last into this thy troublesome dance. Thou art an enemy to thy friends, and a friend to thy enemies; and all this is, because thou dost not govern thyself according to order & reason. They paint thee blind, poor, and young; they put a Bow into thy hand, wherein thou drawest, and shootest at random; but more blind are they that serve thee. For they never taste or see the unsavoury & distasteful recompense, which they receive by thy service; thy fire is of hot burning lightning, which scorches unto death, yet leaves no impression or print of any wound at all. The sticks which thy flames consume, are the souls and lives of humane creatures, which are so infinite, and so numberless, that it scarce accurreth unto me, with whom I should first begin, not only of Christians, but of Gentiles & of Jews; and all forsooth in requital of their good services. What shall I speak of that Macias of our times; and how by loving, he came to his end? Of whose sad and woeful death, thou wast the sole cause. What service did Paris do thee? What Helena? What Clytaemnestra? What Aegisthus? All the world knows how it went with them. How well likewise didst thou requite Sapho, Ariadne, and Leander, and many other besides, whom I willingly silence, because I have enough to do in the repetition of mine own misery? I complain me of the world, because I was bred up in it; for had not the world given me life, I had not therein begot Melibea; not being begot, she had not been borne; not being borne, I had not loved her; and not loving her, I should not have mourned, as now I do, in this my latter and uncomfortable old age! O my good companion! O my bruised daughter, bruised even all to pieces! Why wouldst thou not suffer me to divert thy death? why wouldst thou not take pity of thy kind and loving mother? why didst thou show thyself so cruel against thy aged father? why hast thou left me thus in sorrow? why hast thou left me comfortless, and all alone, in hâc lachrimarum valle, in this veil of tears, and shadow of death?
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)
O thou enemy to all reason! To those that serue thee least, thou giuest thy greatest rewards, vntill thou hast brought them at last into this thy troublesome dance. Thou art an enemy to thy friends, and a friend to thy enemies; and all this is, because thou dost not gouerne thy selfe according to order & reason. They paint thee blind, poore, and young; they put a Bowe into thy hand, wherein thou drawest, and shootest at random; but more blind are they that serue thee. For they neuer taste or see the vnsauory & distastful recompence, which they receiue by thy seruice; thy fire is of hot burning lightning, which scorches vnto death, yet leaues no impression or print of any wound at all. The sticks which thy flames consume, are the soules and liues of humane creatures, which are so infinit, and so numberlesse, that it scarce accurreth vnto me, with whom I should first begin, not only of Christians, but of Gentiles & of Iewes; and all foooth in requitall of their good seruices. What shall I speak of that Macias of our times; and how by louing, he came to his end? Of whose sad and woful death, thou wast the sole cause. What seruice did Paris do thee? What Helena? What Clytemnestra? What Aegisthus? All the world knowes how it went with them. How well likewise didst thou requite Sapho, Ariadne, and Leander, and many other besides, whom I willingly silence, because I haue enough to do in the repetition of mine own misery? I complaine me of the world, because I was bred vp in it; for had not the world giuen me life, I had not therein begot Melibea; not being begot, shee had not beene borne; not being borne, I had not lou'd her; and not louing her, I should not haue mourned, as now I do, in this my latter and vncomfortable old age! O my good companion! O my bruised daughter, bruised euen all to pieces! Why wouldst thou not suffer me to diuert thy death? why wouldst thou not take pitty of thy kinde and louing mother? why didst thou shew thy selfe so cruell against thy aged father? why hast thou left me thus in sorrow? why hast thou left me comfortlesse, and all alone, in hâc lachrimarum valle, in this vaile of teares, and shadow of death?