Field, Nathan / Massinger, Philip · published 1632 · first performed or written 1619 [1617-1619] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men · Blackfriars T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.75 · 476 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
They come, observe their order. How like a silent stream shaded with night, And gliding softly with our windy sighs; Moves the whole frame of this solemnity! Tears, sighs and blacks, filling the fimily, Whilst I the only murmur in this grove Of death, thus hollowly break forth Vouchsafe To stay a while, rest, rest in peace, dear earth, Thou that brought'st rest to their unthankful lives Whose cruelty denied thee rest in death: Here stands thy poor Executor thy son, That makes his life prisoner, to bale thy death; Who gladlier puts on this captivity, Than Virgins long in love, their wedding weeds: Of all that ever thou hast done good to, These only have good memories, for they Remember best, forget not gratitude. I thank you for this last and friendly love. And though this Country, like a viperous mother, Not only hath eat up ungratefully All means of thee her son, but last thyself, Leaving thy heir so bare and indigent, He cannot raise thee a poor Monument, Such as a flatterer, or a usurer hath. Thy worth, in every honest breast builder one, Making their friendly hearts thy funeral stone. Sir. Peace, O peace, this scene is wholly mine. What weep ye, soldiers? Blanch not, Romont weeps. Ha. let me see, my miracle is eased, The jailer and the creditors do weep; Even they that make us weep, do weep themselves. Be these thy Body's balm: these and thy virtue Keep thy fame ever odoriferous, Whilst the great, proud, rich, undeserving man, Alive stinks in his vices, and being vanished, The golden calf that was an Idol decked With Marble pillars jet, and Porphyrie, Shall quickly both in bone and name consume, Though wrapped in lead, spice, cerecloth and perfume Sir. What! Away for shame: you profane rogues Must not be mingled with these holy relics: This is a Sacrifice, our shower shall crown His sepulchre with Olive, Myrrh and bays The plants of peace, of sorrow, victory, Your tears would spring but weeds. Would they not so? we'll keep them to stop bottles then: No; keep 'em for your own sins, you Rogues, Till you repent: you'll die else and be damned. Damned, ha! ha, ha. Laugh ye? Yes faith. Sir, we'd be very glad To please you either way. Y'are ne'er content, Crying not laughing. Both with a birth she rogues. Our wives, Sir, taught us. Look, look you slaves, your thankless cruelty And savage manners, of unkind Dijon, Exhaust these floods, and not his father's death. Slid, Sir, what would ye, yeare so choleric? Most soldiers are so i'faith, let him alone: They have little else to live on, we have not had A penny of him, have we? 'Slight, would you have our hearts? We have nothing but his body here in durance For all our money. On.
nodes 675–744 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 11 of 42 in this edition
Length
476 words · 671 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.752 (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)
They come, obserue their order. How like a silent streame shaded with night, And gliding softly with our windy sighe; Moues the whole frame of this solemnity! Teares, sighes and blackes, filling the fimily, Whilst I the onely murmur in this groue Of death, thus hollowly break forth Vouchfafe To stay a while, rest, rest in peace, deare earth, Thou that brought'st rest to their vnthankfull lyues Whose cruelty deny'd thee rest in death: Heere stands thy poore Executor thy sonne, That makes his life prisoner, to bale thy death; Who gladlier puts on this captiuity, Then Virgins long in loue, their wedding weeds: Of all that euer thou hast done good to, These onely haue good memories, for they Remember best, forget not gratitude. I thanke you for this last and friendly loue. And tho this Country, like a viperous mother, Not onely hath eate vp vngrateully All meanes of thee her sonne, but last thy selfe, Leauing thy heire so bare and indigent, He cnnot rayse thee a poore Monument, Such as a flatterer, or a vsurer hath. Thy worth, in euery honest brst buylder one, Making their friendly hearts hy funerall stone. Sir. Peace, O peace, this sceane is wholy mine. What weepe ye, souldiers? Blanch not, Romont weepes. Ha. let me see, my miracle is eas'd, The iaylors and the creditors do weepe; Euen they that make vs weepe, do weepe themselues. Be these thy bodies balme: these and thy vertue Keepe thy fame euer odoriferous, VVhilst the great, proud, rich, vndeseruing man, Aliue stinkes in his vices, and bein vanish'd, The golden calfe that was an Idoll dect VVith Marble pillars Iet, and Porphyrie, Shall quickly both in bone and name consume, Though wrapt in lead, spice, Searecloth and perfume Sir. VVhat! Away for shame: you prophane rogues Must not be mingled with these holy reliques: This is a Sacrifice, our showre shall crowne His sepulcher with Oliue, Myrrh and Bayes The plants of peace, of sorrow, victorie, Your teares would spring but weedes. VVould they not so? VVee'll keepe them to stop bottles then: No; keepe 'em for your owne sins, you Rogues, Till you repent: you'll dye else and be damn'd. Damn'd, ha! ha, ha. Laugh yee? Yes faith. Sir, weel'd be very glad To please you yther way. Y'are ne're content, Crying not laughing. Both with a birth shee rogues. Our wiues, Sir, taught vs. Looke, looke you slaus, your thanklesse cuelty And sauge manners, of vnkind Dijon, Exhaust these flouds, and not his fathers death. Slid, Sir, what would yee, ye'are so cholericke? Most souldiers are so y faith, let him alone: They haue little else to liue on, we haue not had A penny of him, haue wee? 'Slight, wo'd you haue our hearts? We haue nothing but his body heere in durance For all our mony. On.