Dekker, Thomas · published 1631 · first performed or written 1611 [c.1611-c.1613; re-licensed for stage, Aug 21, 1623] (Annals) tragicomedy · Red Bull (Revels) Company (first) · Red Bull T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.71 · 492 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
The people, since men's wives are common Cases. You hear not me say so. To force this Tyrant to mend or end. Good day to your Lordship. Shoot off the Piece you have charged. No, it recoils. You and I shall fall to cutting throats. Why! If ever you speak of this. If we cut one another throats, I shall never Speak of this: fare your Lordship well. Alphonso de Granada. Good health to both your Lordships. Thanks good Alphonso, nay pray stay. Where hast thou been Alphonso! In the marquess of Villa Noua del Rio's, Garden Where I gathered these Grapes. And theyare the fairest Grapes I ever touched. Troth so they are; plump Bacchus' cheeks were never So round and red, the very God of Wine. Swells in this bunch, Lyaeus set this Vine. I have not seen a lovelier. 'Tis your Lordships, if you vouchsafe to take it. Oh I shall rob you, of too much sweetness. No my Lord. I thank you. Make bold to see your honour. Good Alphonso. And (loath to be too troublesome) take my leave: My duty to the King. Farewell good Alphonso. How do you like your Grapes? Most delicate, taste'em: Is it not strange, that on a branch so fair, Should grow so foul a fruit, as Drunkards are! These are the bullets that make Cities reel, More than the Cannon can. This juice infused In man, makes him a beast, good things abused, Convert to poison thus; how now! I'm dizzy Oh! does not all the house run round on wheels! Do not the Posts go round! my Lord this fellow, Loves you I hope? I'll pawn my life he does. Would all we both are worth, were laid to pawn To a broker that's undamned for half a dram For half a scruple,— oh we are poisoned. Ha! What do you feel? A giddiness too methinks. Without there, call the Doctor (slave) He's here Sir. Oh Doctor now or never— give him his last, We are poisoned both. I think our banes are asked. he'll bring that shall forbid it, call him (villain) Well Sir I will call him villain. All thrives not well within me: On my soul 'tis but Conceit, I'm hurt with fear, Don Iohn, Is my Close mortal enemy, and perhaps Under the colour I am poisoned, sends To pay me soundly! to prevent the worst, Preservative or poison, he drinks first. Give it him, No, begin, What is't? Cordial. The Doctor shall begin, quickly, so here, Half this to both our deaths if't come too late. I pledge them both, death is a common fate. Shift hands, is't mortal! It strikes sure. Let it run 'Tis down. I'm glad, thy life's not a span long. How is't! Worse. Better, I do fear this physic Like pardons for men hanged is brought too late. he's gone. Who's without! Some of his men attending with his caroche
1611 [c.1611-c.1613; re-licensed for stage, Aug 21, 1623]
First performance (BritDrama)
1621 [1621-1622]
Company (BritDrama)
Red Bull (Revels) Company (first)
Theater
Red Bull;Phoenix/Cockpit;Indoor Professional;Outdoor Professional
Genre (British Drama)
tragicomedy
Play type
Adult Professional;Professional
Edition / TCP / DEEP
edition 953 · TCP A20088 · DEEP 764
Edition role
Representative edition — used in the analysis
Position
nodes 982–1064 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 18 of 36 in this edition
Length
492 words · 691 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.709 (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)
The people, since mens wiues are common Cases. You heare not me say so. To force this Tyrant to mend or end. Good day to your Lordship. Shoot off the Peece you haue charg'd. No, it recoyles. You and I shall fall to cutting throates. Why! If euer you speake of this. If we cut one another throates, I shall neuer Speake of this: fare your Lordship well. Alphonso de Gramada. Good health to both your Lordships. Thankes good Alphonso, nay pray stay. Where hast thou beene Alphonso! In the Marquesse of Villa Noua del Rios, Garden Where I gathered these Grapes. And th'are the fairest Grapes I euer toucht. Troth so they are; plump Bacchus cheekes were neuer So round and red, the very God of Wine. Swels in this bunch, Lyaeus set this Vine. I haue not seene a louelier. 'Tis your Lordships, if you vouchsafe to take it. Oh I shall rob you, of too much sweetnesse. No my Lord. I thanke you. Make bold to see your honour. Good Alphonso. And (loath to be too troublesome) take my leaue: My duty to the King. Farewell good Alphonso. How doe you like your Grapes? Most delicate, taste'em: Is it not strange, that on a branch so faire, Should grow so foule a fruit, as Drunkards are! These are the bullets that make Cities reele, More then the Cannon can. This Iuice infus'd In man, makes him a beast, good things abus'd, Conuert to poyson thus; how now! I'me dizzie Oh! does not all the house run round on wheeles! Doe not the Posts goe round! my Lord this fellow, Loues you I hope? Ile pawne my life he does. Would all we both are worth, were laid to pawne To a Broaker that's vndamn'd for halfe a dram For halfe a scruple,—oh we are poyson'd. Ha! What doe you feele? A giddynesse too me thinkes. Without there, call the Doctor (slaue) He's here Sir. Oh Doctor now or neuer—giue him his last, We are poyson'd both. I thinke our banes are ask'd. Hee'l bring that shall forbid it, call him (villaine) Well Sir I will call him villaine. All thriues not well within me: On my soule T'is but Conceipt, I'me hurt with feare, Don Iohn, Is my Close mortall enemy, and perhaps Vnder the Cullor I am poyson'd, sends To pay me soundly! to preuent the worst, Preseruatiue or poyson, he drinkes first. Giue it him, No, begin, What is't? Cordiall. The Doctor shall begin, quickly, so heere, Halfe this to both our deathes if't come too late. I pledge them both, death is a common fate. Shift hands, is't mortall! It strikes sure. Let it runne 'Tis downe. I'me glad, thy life's not a span long. How is't! Worse. Better, I doe feare this physick Like pardons for men hang'd is brought too late. Hee's gone. Who's without! Some of his men attending with his Caroach