Marlowe, Christopher · published 1633 · first performed or written 1589 [c.1589-1590] (Annals) tragedy · Unknown · before the Court T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.75 · 497 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
What tell you me of Iob? I wot his wealth Was written thus: he had seven thousand sheep, Three thousand Camels, and two hundred yoke Of labouring Oxen, and five hundred She Asses: but for every one of those, Had they been valued at indifferent rate, I had at home, and in mine Argosy And other ships that came from Egypt last, As much as would have bought his beasts and him, And yet have kept enough to live upon; So that not he, but I may curse the day, Thy fatal birthday, forlorn Barabas; And henceforth wish for an eternal night, That clouds of darkness may enclose my flesh, And hide these extreme sorrows from mine eyes: For only I have toiled to inherit here The months of vanity and loss of time, And painful nights have been appointed me. Good Barabas be patient. ay, I pray leave me in my patience. You that were ne'er possessed of wealth, are pleased with want. But give him liberty at least to mourn, That in a field amidst his enemies, Doth see his soldiers slain, himself disarmed, And knows no means of his recovery: ay, let me sorrow for this sudden chance, 'Tis in the trouble of my spirit I speak; Great injuries are not so soon forgot. Come, let us leave him in his ireful mood, Our words will but increase his ecstasy. On then: but trust me 'tis a misery To see a man in such affliction: Farewell Barabas. ay, fare you well. See the simplicity of these base slaves, Who for the villains have no wit themselves, Think me to be a senseless lump of clay That will with every water wash to dirt: No, Barabas is borne to better chance, And framed of finer mould then common men, That measure nought but by the present time. A reaching thought will search his deepest wits, And cast with cunning for the time to come: For evils are apt to happen every day But whither wends my beauteous Abigal? Oh what has made my lovely daughter sad? What? woman, moan not for a little loss: Thy father has enough in store for thee. Not for myself, but aged Barabas: Father, for thee lamenteth Abigail: But I will learn to leave these fruitless tears. And urged thereto with my afflictions, With fierce exclaims run to the Senate-house, And in the Senate reprehend them all, And rent their hearts with tearing of my hair, Till they reduce the wrongs done to my father. No, Abigail, things past recovery Are hardly cured with exclamations. Be silent, Daughter, sufferance breeds ease, And time may yield us an occasion Which on the sudden cannot serve the turn. Besides, my girl, think me not all so fond As negligently to forgo so much Without provision for thyself and me. Ten thousand Portuguese, besides great Pearls, Rich costly jewels, and Stones infinite, Fearing the worst of this before it fell, I closely hid.
before the Court;Phoenix/Cockpit;Whitehall;Indoor Professional
Genre (British Drama)
tragedy
Play type
Adult Professional;Professional
Edition / TCP / DEEP
edition 998 · TCP A06991 · DEEP 812
Edition role
Representative edition — used in the analysis
Position
nodes 453–520 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 8 of 37 in this edition
Length
497 words · 646 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.746 (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)
What tell you me of Iob? I wot his wealth Was written thus: he had seuen thousand sheepe, Three thousand Camels, and two hundred yoake Of labouring Oxen, and fiue hundred Shee Asses: but for euery one of those, Had they beene valued at indifferent rate, I had at home, and in mine Argosie And other ships that came from Egypt last, As much as would haue bought his beasts and him, And yet haue kept enough to liue vpon; So that not he, but I may curse the day, Thy fatall birth-day, forlorne Barabas; And henceforth wish for an eternall night, That clouds of darknesse may inclose my flesh, And hide these extreme sorrowes from mine eyes: For onely I haue toyl'd to inherit here The months of vanity and losse of time, And painefull nights haue bin appointed me. Good Barabas be patient. I, I pray leave me in my patience. You that were ne're possest of wealth, are pleas'd with want. But giue him liberty at least to mourne, That in a field amidst his enemies, Doth see his souldiers slaine, himselfe disarm'd, And knowes no meanes of his recouerie: I, let me sorrow for this sudden chance, 'Tis in the trouble of my spirit I speake; Great iniuries are not so soone forgot. Come, let vs leaue him in his irefull mood, Our words will but increase his extasie. On then: but trust me 'tis a misery To see a man in such affliction: Farewell Barabas. I, fare you well. See the simplicitie of these base saues, Who for the villaines haue no wit themselues, Thinke me to be a senselesse lumpe of clay That will with euery water wash to dirt: No, Barabas is borne to better chance, And fram'd of finer mold then common men, That measure nought but by the present time. A reaching thought will search his deepest wits, And cast with cunning for the time to come: For euils are apt to happen euery day But whither wends my beauteous Abigall? Oh what has made my louely daughter sad? What? woman, moane not for a little losse: Thy father has enough in store for thee. Not for my selfe, but aged Barabas: Father, for thee lamenteth Abigaile: But I will learne to leaue these fruitlesse teares. And vrg'd thereto with my afflictions, With fierce exlaimes run to the Senate-house, And in the Senate reprehend them all, And rent their hearts with tearing of my haire, Till they reduce the wrongs done to my father. No, Abigail, things past recouery Are hardly cur'd with exclamations. Be silent, Daughter, sufferance breeds ease, And time may yeeld vs an occasion Which on the sudden cannot serue the turne. Besides, my girle, thinke me not all so fond As negligently to forgoe so much Without prouision for thy selfe and me. Ten thousand Portagnes, besides great Perles, Rich costly Iewels, and Stones infinite, Fearing the worst of this before it fell, I closely hid.