Rowley, William · published 1633 · first performed or written 1619 [c.1619-1620(?)] (Annals) tragedy · Prince Charles's Men (first) · Phoenix/Cockpit T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.85 · 477 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Bring forth that traitor, same that lustful whore. What wilt thou monster? Any thing that's monstrous. Reward a traitor. Traitor? Be thine own judge, What art thou but thy Kings, and kingdom's ruin? Was it thy hopes, that ever I should trust thee? traitors are poisoned arrows drawn toth' head. Which we shoot home at mischief; being struck dead, Then let the arrow be consumed in fire. Hast not betrayed thy King and Country basely For thee (ingrateful, villainous Moore) I have, I have deserved to die, but not by thee, And I beseech thee, bloody Tyrant, hasten My punishment. That boone is easily g. Tis now full glory to thee, to strike h Set the black character of death upon me, Give me a sentence horrid as thyself art, Speak in thy barbarous language, thy last doom, A tyrant's Axe sends me to a blessed home. Pluck out his eyes, and her exclaiming tongue, She shall in silent sorrow then lead him, Her eyes shall be his st. O spare her tyrant. By her offence and wrong thou hast aspired, Then tread not on her virtues, 'tis enough That I do suffer for the good ill I did To set thy captived foot above my head: Oh spare my child. Entreat for me? forbear Sir, Either be you dumb or let him not hear, I shall have mental prayers left for heaven, Fuller effectual than this tongue can utter. And for the author of my wrongs and sin, I shall have harty curses O justice, justice, thou that fill'st the throne Iustice . Give me thy sharpest rigor. Against My selfe the . . Yes, and see, here's more, A ghost! murdred by me, and . To kill my friend, (my supposed friend) not me. Thou strangledst L O my hard My aim, was full at thee. End thy just hate, For I am parting from thee; see those two That wronged thee are both wounded to the death, With grief she, I by poison lose my breath. Forgive him, but spare not me. How came you wounded? I clap my hands at this your tragedy, My birth was base, but my revenge flew high. A noble girl, a lusty stout Virago. Iul, for a wrong done to his daughter, (The fatal Engine that hath beat down Spain) Revolted from his King, and set that Moore up, Who now insults, being but a captive then, And cause in honest language I was just In taxing this revole of , He bid a soldier kill me, who refusing He himself struck me; life was lent thus long, But for the cleansing of my conscience: I feel death pangs, forgive me both, and all, Let my soule , any body fll With honour I got honor, thus my sin thrives, Thus falls the wretched husband of two wives
nodes 1864–1935 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 31 of 33 in this edition
Length
477 words · 631 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.847 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T7 · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Bring forth that traytor, same that lustfull whore. What wilt thou monster? Any thing that's monstrous. Reward a traytor. Traytor? Be thine owne iudge, What art thou but thy Kings, and Kingdomes ruine? Was it thy hopes, that ever I should trust thee? Traytors are poyson'd arrowes drawne toth'head. Which we shoot home at mischiefe; being struck dead, Then let the arrow be consumed in fire. Hast not betrayd thy King and Country basely For thee (ingratefull, villanous Moore) I have, I have deserv'd to die, but not by thee, And I beseech thee, bloody Tyrant, hasten My punishment. That boone is easily g. Tis now full glory to thee, to strike h Set the black character of death upon Give me a sentence horrid as thy selfe art, Speake in thy barbarous language, thy last doome, A tyrants Axe sends me o a st home. Pluck out his eyes, and her exclaiming tongue, She shall in silent sarrow then lead him, Her eyes shall be his st. O spare her tyrant. By her offence and wrong thou hast aspirde, Then tread not on her vertues, enough That I doe suffer for the good I did To set thy above my head: Oh spare my child. Entrt for me? forbeare Sir, Either be you dumbe or let him not heare, I shall have mentall for heaven, Fuller effectuall then this tongue . And for the author of my and , I shall have . O Iustice, Iustice, thou that ilst the throne Iustice . Give me thy sharpest . Against My selfe the . . Yes, and see, here's A ghost! murdred by me, and . To kill my friend, (my friend) . Thou strangledst L O my hard My aim, was full at thee. End thy just hate, For I am parting from thee; see those two That wrong'd thee are both wounded to the death, With griefe she, I by poyson lose my breath. Forgive him, but spare not me. How came you wounded? I clap my hands at this your tragedy, My birth was base, but my revenge flew high. A noble girle, a lusty stout Virago. Iul, for a wrong done to his daughter, (The fatall Engine that hath beat downe Spaine) Revolted from his King, and set that Moore up, Who now insults, being but a captive the, And cause in honest language I was just In taxing this revole of , He bid a soldier kill me, who reing , He himselfe struck me; life was thus long, But for the clensing of my conscience: I feele deathe pngs, forgive me both, and all, Let my soule , any body fll With honor I got hon, my hrves, Thus fals the wretched husband of two wivs