Randolph, Thomas · published 1632 · first performed or written 1632 [Mar 20] (Annals) comedy · before the Court T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.79 · 501 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
For this one time, husband, I am induced; but insooth I will not make a common practice of it. Knock you up that coffin, and I'll knock up this.— Rich and glorious! Bright as the sun! Come, we must strip you Gallants, the worms care not for having the dishes served up to their table covered. Heaven shield me! O, O, O! HOw poor a thing is man, whom death itself Cannot protect from injuries! O ye gods! Is't not enough our wretched lives are tossed On dangerous seas, but we must stand in fear Of Pirates in the haven too? Heaven made us So many butts of clay, at which the gods In cruel sport shoot miseries.— Yet, I hope, Their spleen's grown milder, and this blessed occasion Offers itself an earnest of their mercy. Their sins have furnished us with fit disguises To quiet our perplexed souls. Techmessa, Let me array you in this woman's robes. I'll wear the sexton's garments in exchange. Our sheets and coffins shall be theirs. Dear Tyndarus! In all my life I never found such peace As in this coffin: it presented me The sweets that death affords.— Man has no liberty But in this prison.— Being once lodged here, He's fortified in an impregnable fort, Through which no doubts, suspicions, jealousies, No sorrows, cares, or wild distractions Can force an entrance to disturb our sleeps. Yet to those prisons will we now commit These two offenders. But what benefit Shall we enjoy by this disguise? A great one: If my Evadne, or thy Pamphilus e'er loved us living, they will haste to make Atonement for our souls, stained with the guilt Of our own blood: if not, they will rejoice Our deaths have opened them so clear a passage To their close loves: and with those thoughts possessed, They will forget the torment's hell provides For those, that leave the warfare of this life Without a pass from the great General. I hope they may prove constant! So pray I. I will desire you statue, be so courteous To part with's beard a while.— So we are now Beyond discovery. O, O, O! O, O, O! Let's use a charm for these! Quiet sleep, or I will make Erinnys whip thee with a snake. And cruel Rhadamanthus take Thy body to the boiling lake, Where fire and brimstone never slake. Thy heart shall burn, thy head shall ache, And every joint about thee quake. And therefore dare not yet to wake. Quiet sleep, or thou shalt see The horrid bags of Tartarie. Whose tresses ugly serpents be, And Cerberus shall bank at thee. And all the Furies that are three, The worst is called Tisiphone, Shall lash thee to ever. And therefore sleep thou peacefully. But who comes hither? Ballio, what's his business? SExton, I'll open first thine ears with these, To make 'em sit to let persuasions in. These, Sir, will cure my deafness. Art thou mine! Sir, you have bought me.
nodes 2226–2295 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 36 of 47 in this edition
Length
501 words · 665 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.785 (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)
For this one time, husband, I am induced; but insooth I will not make a common practise of it. Knock you up that coffin, and I'le knock up this.—Rich and glorious! Bright as the sunne! Come, we must strip you Gallants, the worms care not for having the dishes serv'd up to their table cover'd. Heaven shield me! O, O, O! HOw poore a thing is man, whom death it self Cannot protect from injuries! O ye gods! Is't not enough our wretched lives are toss'd On dangerous seas, but we must stand in fear Of Pyrates in the haven too? Heaven made us So many buts of clay, at which the gods In cruell sport shoot miseries. —Yet, I hope, Their spleen's grown milder, and this blest occasion Offers it self an earnest of their mercy. Their sinnes have furnisht us with fit disguises To quiet our perplexed souls. Techmessa, Let me aray you in this womans robes. I'le weare the Sextons garments in exchange. Our sheets and coffins shall be theirs. Deare Tyndarus! In all my life I never found such peace As in this coffin: it presented me The sweets that death affords. —Man has no libèrtie But in this prison.—Being once lodg'd here, He's fortified in an impregnable fort, Through which no doubts, suspicions, jealousies, No sorrows, cares, or wilde distractions Can force an entrance to disturb our sleeps. Yet to those prisons will we now commit These two offenders. But what benefit Shall we enjoy by this disguise? A great one: If my Evadne, or thy Pamphilus E're lov'd us living, they will haste to make Atonement for our souls, stain'd with the guilt Of our own bloud: if not, they will rejoyce Our deaths have opened them so cleare a passage To their close loves: and with those thoughts possess'd, They will forget the torments hell provides For those, that leave the warfare of this life Without a passe from the great Generall. I hope they may prove constant! So pray I. I will desire you statue, be so courteous To part with's beard a while.—So we are now Beyond discovery. O, O, O! O, O, O! Let's use a charm for these! Quiet sleep, or I will make Erinnys whip thee with a snake. And cruell Rhadamanthus take Thy body to the boyling lake, Where fire and brimstone never slake. Thy heart shall burn, thy head shall ake▪ And every joynt about thee quake. And therefore dare not yet to wake. Quiet sleep, or thou shalt see The horrid bags of Tartarie. Whose tresses ugly serpents be, And Cerberus shall bank at thee. And all the Furies that are three, The worst is call'd Tisiphone, Shall lash thee to ever. And therefore sleep thou peacefully. But who comes hither? Ballio, what's his businesse? SExton, I'le open first thine eares with these, To make 'um sit to let perswasions in. These, Sir, will cure my deafnesse. Art thou mine! Sir, you have bought me.