Randolph, Thomas · published 1632 · first performed or written 1632 [Mar 20] (Annals) comedy · before the Court T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.82 · 534 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Then there is witchcraft in't. And are the gods Made parties too against me?— Pardon then If I grow stubborn.— While they pressed my shoulders No more than I could bear, they willingly Submitted to the burden.— Now they wish To cast it off.— What treachery has bribed you, Celestial forms, to be my false accusers? I challenge you (for you can view my thoughts, And read the secret characters of my heart.) Give in your verdict, did you ever find Another image graven in my soul Besides Techmessa? No! 'Tis hell has forged These fly impostures! all these plots are coined Out of the devil's mintage! Certainly There's no false fire in this. These cannot be. Pray, Sir, direct me where I may embalm My Tyndarus with my tears. There gentle Lady. Is this a casket fit to entertain A jewel of such value? Where must I Pay my devotions? There your dead Saint lies. Hail Tyndarus, may earth but lightly press thee: And mayst thou find those joys thou art gone to taste, As true as my affection. Now I know Thou canst not choose but love me, and with longing Expect my quick arrival: for the soul Freed from the cloud of flesh, clearly discerns Forms in their perfect nature. If there be A guilt upon thy blood, thus I'll redeem it, And lay it all on mine. What mean you, Lady? Stay not my pious hand. Your impious rather. If you were dead, who then were left to make Lustration for his crime? shall foolish zeal Persuade you to a hasty death, and so Leave Tyndarus to eternity of flames? Pardon me, Tyndarus, I will only see That office done, and then I'll follow thee. Thou gentle soul of my deceased love, If thou still hover'st hereabouts, accept The vows of Pamphilus.— If I ever think Of woman with affection, but Techmessa, Or keep the least spark of a love alive But in her ashes: let me never see Those blessed fields where gentle lovers walk In endless joys.— Why do I idly weep! I'll write my grief in blood. What do you mean? Techmessa, I am yet withheld; but suddenly I'll make escape to find thee. O blessed minute! WHere shall I fly to hide me from my guilt? It follows me, like those that run away From their own shadows: that which I would shun I bear about me.— Whom shall I appease? The living, or the dead? for I have injured Both you, and them.— O Tyndarus, here I kneel, And do confess myself thy cruel murderess; And thine, Techmessa.— Gentle daughter, pardon me. But how shall I make satisfaction, That have but one poor life, and have lost two? Oh Pamphilus! my malice ruined thee, But most Evadne: for at her I aimed, Because she is no issue of my womb, But trusted by her father to my care. Her have I followed with a stepdame's hate, As envious that her beauty should eclipse My daughter's honour.— But the gods in justice Have ta'en her hence to punish me.— My sins March up in troops against me.— But this potion Shall purge out life and them.
nodes 2441–2516 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 39 of 47 in this edition
Length
534 words · 707 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.817 (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)
Then there is witch-craft in't. And are the gods Made parties too against me?—Pardon then If I grow stubborn.—While they prest my shoulders No more then I could beare, they willingly Submitted to the burden.—Now they wish To cast it off.—What treacherie has brib'd you, Celestiall forms, to be my false accusers? I chalenge you (for you can view my thoughts, And reade the secret characters of my heart.) Give in your verdict, did you ever finde Another image graven in my soul Besides Techmessa? No! 'Tis hell has forg'd These flie impostures! all these plots are coyn'd Out of the devils mintage! Certainly There's no false fire in this. These cannot be. Pray, Sir, direct me where I may embalm My Tyndarus with my teares. There gentle Lady. Is this a casket fit to entertain A jewell of such value? Where must I Pay my devotions? There your dead Saint lies. Hail Tyndarus, may earth but lightly presse thee: And mayst thou finde those joyes thou art gone to taste, As true as my affection. Now I know Thou canst not choose but love me, and with longing Expect my quick arrivall: for the soul Freed from the cloud of flesh, clearely discerns Forms in their perfect nature. If there be A guilt upon thy bloud, thus I'le redeem it, And lay it all on mine. What mean you, Lady? Stay not my pious hand. Your impious rather. If you were dead, who then were left to make Lustration for his crime? shall foolish zeal Perswade you to a hasty death, and so Leave Tyndarus to eternity of flames? Pardon me, Tyndarus, I will onely see That office done, and then I'le follow thee. Thou gentle soul of my deceased love, If thou still hoverst here abouts, accept The vows of Pamphilus. —If I ever think Of woman with affection, but Techmessa, Or keep the least spark of a love alive But in her ashes: let me never see Those blessed fields where gentle lovers walk In endlesse joyes. —Why do I idlely weep! I'le write my grief in bloud. What do you mean? Techmessa, I am yet withheld; but suddenly I'le make escape to finde thee. O blest minute! WHere shall I flie to hide me from my guilt? It follows me, like those that run away From their own shadows: that which I would shun I beare about me. —Whom shall I appease? The living, or the dead? for I have injur'd Both you, and them. —O Tyndarus, here I kneel, And do confesse my self thy cruel murdresse; And thine, Techmessa. —Gentle daughter, pardon me. But how shall I make satisfaction, That have but one poore life, and have lost two? Oh Pamphilus! my malice ruin'd thee, But most Evadne: for at her I aim'd, Because she is no issue of my wombe, But trusted by her father to my care. Her have I followed with a stepdames hate, As envious that her beauty should eclipse My daughters honour. —But the gods in justice Have ta'ne her hence to punish me. —My sinnes March up in troops against me. —But this potion Shall purge out life and them.