The Raging Turk, or Bajazet the Second · chunk 24 of 51
Goffe, Thomas · published 1631 · first performed or written 1618 [c.1613-c.1618] (Annals) tragedy · at University T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.83 · 512 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
No more: I will; An Empire be our hopes; that to obtain we'll watch, plot, fight, sweat, and be cold again. Cannot my words add solace to your thoughts? Oh! you are gulfed too deep in a desire Of sovereign pomp, and your high thoughts aspire. All the unshadowed plaineness of my life Doth but contract thick wrinkles of mislike In your Majestic brow, and you distaste Moral receipts, which I have ministered To cool Ambition's Fever. Pardon Sir, Your Holiness mistakes my malady, Another sickness grates my tender breast, And I am ill at heart: alas, I stand An abject now as well in Nature's eye, As erst I did in Fortunes: is my health Fled with mine honour? and the common rest Of man, grown stranger to me in my grief? Some unknown cause hath bred through all my blood A colder operation, than the juice Of Hemlock can produce: O wretched man: Look down propitious Godheads on my woes: Phoebus infuse into me the sweet breath Of cheerful health, or else infectious death. If there an Angel be whom I have crossed In my tormented boldness? and these griefs Are expiatory punishments of sin? Now, now repentance strike quite through my heart, Enough of pains, enough of bitter smart Have tied me to't. I have already been Bolted from joy, content can enter in, Not at the open passage of my heart, I neither hear, nor see, nor feel, nor touch With pleasure; my vexation is so much. My grave can only quit me of annoy; That prevents mischief, which can bring no joy. Now I could curse what mine own hand hath done, And wish that he would vomit out the draught Of direful poison, which infects his blood. Ambitious fire? why 'tis as clean extinct, As if his heart were set beneath his feet, Grief hath boiled out the humours of vain pride, And he was mere contrition. What's the news? Zemes as now he left you, pale and wan, Dragging his weak legs after him, did fall Dead on the stony pavement of the Hall, Not by unhappy chance, but as he walked, Folding his arms up in a pensive knot, And railing at his Fate, as if he staged The wounded Priam, or some falling King, So he, oft lifting up his closing eye, Sunk faintly down, groaned out, I die, I die. It grieves my soul: let Bajazet know this Could our own shortened life, but lengthen his By often sighs I would transfuse my breath Into his breast, and call him back from death. Let not my absence steal away my love, Or local distance weaken the respect Which you have ever borne me: I must fly To shake the yoke of bondage from my neck: My Father's eyes shall not scan out my life In every action; then when I am gone, Our love like precious metal shall not crack In the protraction, but be gently framed Into a subtler thinness, which shall reach From either part, not crazed by any breach.
nodes 1575–1642 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 24 of 51 in this edition
Length
512 words · 671 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.826 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T10 · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
No more: I will; An Empire be our hopes; that to obtaine Wee'le watch, plot, fight, sweat, and be colde againe. Cannot my words add solace to your thoughts? Oh! you are gulft too deepe in a desire Of soueraigne pompe, and your high thoughts aspire. All the vnshadowed plainensse of my life Doth but contract thick wrinckles of mislike In your Majestick brow, and you distast Morall receipts, which I haue ministred To coole Ambitions Feauer. Pardon Sir, Your Holinesse mistakes my malady, Another sicknesse grates my tender breast, And I am ill at heart: alas, I stand An abject now as well in Natures eye, As erst I did in Fortunes: is my health Fled with mine honour? and the common rest Of man, growne stranger to me in my griefe? Some vnknowne cause hath bred through all my bloud A colder operation, then the juice Of Hemlock can produce: O wretched man: Looke downe propitious Godheads on my woes: Phbus infuse into me the sweet breath Of cheerefull health, or else infectious death. If there an Angell be whom I haue crost In my tormented boldnesse? and these griefes Are expiatory punishments of sinne? Now, now repentance strike quite through my heart, Enough of paines, enough of bitter smart Haue tyed me to't. I haue already bin Bolted from ioy, content can enter in, Not at the open passage of my heart, I neither heare, nor see, nor feele, nor touch With pleasure; my vexation is so much. My graue can onely quit me of annoy; That preuents mischiefe, which can bring no ioy. Now I could curse what mine owne hand hath done, And wish that he would vomit out the draught Of direfull poyson, which infects his bloud. Ambitious fire? why 'tis as cleane extinct, As if his heart were set beneath his feet, Griefe hath boil'd out the humours of vaine pride, And he was meere contrition. What's the newes? Zemes as now he left you, pale and wan, Dragging his weake legges after him, did fall Dead on the stony pauement of the Hall, Not by vnhappy chance, but as he walkt, Foldng his armes vp in a pensiue knot, And rayling at his Fate, as if he staged The wounded Priam, or some falling King, So he, oft lifting vp his closing eye, Sunke faintly downe, groan'd out, I dye, I dye. It grieues my soule: let Baiazet know this Could our owne shortned life, but lengthen his By often sighes I would transfuse my breath Into his breast, and call him back from death. Let not my absence steale away my loue, Or locall distance weaken the respect Which you haue euer borne me: I must fly To shake the yoake of bondage from my necke: My Fathers eyes shall not scan out my life In euery action; then when I am gone, Our loue like pretious mettall shall not cracke In the protraction, but be gently fram'd Into a subtler thinnesse, which shall reach From either part, not craz'd by any breach.