Marlowe, Christopher · published 1633 · first performed or written 1589 [c.1589-1590] (Annals) tragedy · Unknown · before the Court unassigned nearest T15 Friars and holy orders in plot · 507 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T15: friar, lord, holy, friars, robin, peggy, lacie, angelo, love, nun.
A masty slave he is; Whether now, Fiddler? Pardona moy, monsieur, we be no well. Farewell Fidler: One letter more to the Iew. prithee sweet love, one more, and write it sharp. No, I'll send by word of mouth now; Bid him deliver thee a thousand Crowns, by the same Token, that the Nuns loved Rice, that friar Bernardine Slept in his own clothes, Any of 'em will do it. Let me alone to urge it now I know the meaning. The meaning has a meaning; come let's in: To undo a Iew is charity, and not sin NOw, Gentlemen, betake you to your Arms, And see that Malta be well fortified; And it behoves you to be resolute; For Calymath having hovered here so long, Will win the Town, or die before the walls. And die he shall, for we will never yield. Oh bring us to the Governor. Away with her, she is a courtesan. whate'er I am, yet Governor hear me speak; I bring thee news by whom thy son was slain: Mathias did it not, it was the Iew. Who, besides the slaughter of these Gentlemen, Poisoned his own daughter and the Nuns, Strangled a Friar, and I know not what Mischief beside. Had we but proof of this. Strong proof, my Lord, his man's now at my Lodging that was his Agent, he'll confess it all. Go fetch him straight, I always feared that Iew. I'll go alone, dogs do not hale me thus. Nor me neither, I cannot outrun you Constable, oh my belly. One dram of powder more had made all sure, What a damned slave was I? Make fires, heat irons, let the rack be fetched. Nay stay, my Lord, 'tmay be he will confess. Confess; what mean you, Lords, who should confess? Thou and thy Turk; 'twas you that slew my son. Guilty, my Lord, I confess; your son and Mathias Were both contracted unto Abigall, Forged a counterfeit challenge. Who carried that challenge? I carried it, I confess, but who writ it? Marry even he that strangled Bernardine, poisoned the Nuns, and his own daughter. Away with him, his sight is death to me. For what, you men of Malta, hear me speak; She is a courtesan and he a thief, And he my bondman, let me have law, For none of this can prejudice my life: Once more away with him; you shall have law. devils do your worst, I live in spite of you. As these have spoke so be it to their souls: I hope the poisoned flowers will work anon. Was my Mathias murdered by the Iew? Ferneze, 'twas thy son that murdered him. Be patient, gentle Madam, it was he, He forged the daring challenge made them fight. Where is the Iew, where is that murderer? In prison till the Law has passed on him. My Lord, the courtesan and her man are dead; So is the Turk, and Barabas the Iew. Dead? Dead, my Lord, and here they bring his body.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
A masty slaue he is; Whether now, Fidler? Pardona moy, Mounsier, we be no well. Farewell Fidler: One letter more to the Iew. Prethe sweet loue, one more, and write it sharp. No, I'le send by word of mouth now; Bid him deliuer thee a thousand Crownes, by the same Token, that the Nuns lou'd Rice, that Fryar Bernardine Slept in his owne clothes, Any of 'em will doe it. Let me alone to vrge it now I know the meaning. The meaning has a meaning; come let's in: To vndoe a Iew is charity, and not sinne NOw, Gentlemen, betake you to your Armes, And see that Malta be well fortifi'd; And it behoues you to be resolute; For Calymath hauing houer'd here so long, Will winne the Towne, or dye before the wals. And dye he shall, for we will neuer yeeld. Oh bring vs to the Gouernor. Away with her, she is a Curtezane. What e're I am, yet Gouernor heare me speake; I bring thee newes by whom thy sonne was slaine: Mathias did it not, it was the Iew. Who, besides the slaughter of these Gentlemen, Poyson'd his owne daughter and the Nuns, Strangled a Fryar, and I know not what Mischiefe beside. Had we but proofe of this. Strong proofe, my Lord, his man's now at my Lodging that was his Agent, he'll confesse it all. Goe fetch him straight, I alwayes fear'd that Iew. I'le goe alone, dogs do not hale me thus. Nor me neither, I cannot out-run you Constable, oh my belly. One dram of powder more had made all sure, What a damn'd slaue was I? Make fires, heat irons, let the racke be fetch'd. Nay stay, my Lord, 'tmay be he will confesse. Confesse; what meane you, Lords, who should confesse? Thou and thy Turk; 'twas you that slew my son. Gilty, my Lord, I confesse; your sonne and Mathias Were both contracted vnto Abigall, Forg'd a counterfeit challenge. Who carried that challenge? I carried it, I confesse, but who writ it? Marry euen he that strangled Bernardine, poyson'd the Nuns, and his owne daughter. Away with him, his sight is death to me. For what, you men of Malta, heare me speake; Shee is a Curtezane and he a theefe, And he my bondman, let me haue law, For none of this can preiudice my life: Once more away with him; you shall haue law. Deuils doe your worst, I liue in spite of you. As these haue spoke so be it to their soules: I hope the poyson'd flowers will worke anon. Was my Mathias murder'd by the Iew? Ferueze, 'twas thy sonne that murder'd him. Be patient, gentle Madam, it was he, He forged the daring challenge made them fight. Where is the Iew, where is that murderer? In prison till the Law has past on him. My Lord, the Curtezane and her man are dead; So is the Turke, and Barabas the Iew. Dead? Dead, my Lord, and here they bring his body.