Goffe, Thomas · published 1633 · first performed or written 1617 [c.1613-c.1618] (Annals) tragedy · at University unassigned nearest T38 Death, parting and grief at court · 511 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T38: queen, king, death, dead, heart, life, die, lord, royal, news.
O but he'll bear a still suspicious eye; And who in bloody Scenes doth act a part, Thinks every eye doth penetrate his heart. Nor can we ere be free, or I enjoy True pleasures, we must be but thieves at most, Close in delights, and have a Pander still To be a Factor, twixt thy bed and mine This we could have before, what now we do The world should see done, and applaud it too. Why my dear Love, I that would set my hand To stain my marriage sheets with husband's blood Would let these hands instructed now in ill, Not leave one arm of that uprooted tree; Could but Aegisthus give me any hope, That from this top there should one spreading branch Grow up and flourish. Now thou art thyself, Yes, yes my love, there shall one spring from us Shall be a lofty Pine, let this be cropped, Murder must murder guard, guilt add to guilt, After one drop whole streams of blood be spilled. Dear friend, what mean you, to o'erwhelm yourself, In such a sea of grief? Father dear Agamem. Nay let this tempest fall, thou hast lost a father, Why, 'tis but change, my father shall be thine, I'll be thy brother, nay, I'll be thyself, Weep when thou weep'st, and where thou go'st I'll go, And bring thee on thy pilgrimage of woe. Brother, look up, have not I lost a father? Yes, and would a river of fresh tears Turn Lethe's stream, and bring him from the wharf, With a North gale of windy blowing sighs, I would expire my soul, become all tears. Come, you have lost a father, I a brother, The Queen a Husband, all the Land a King, Yet all this's but a man; Therefore must die: Our woes may all be in one balance poised, His book of life the Fates had overread, And turned the leaf where his last period stood, Now an immortal wreath circles his brow, And makes him King in heaven, who was before At most a God on earth; Hence difference springs, Kings are earth's Gods, and Gods are heavenly Kings. Let us join words then now, and Swanlike sing, The doleful dirge to a departed King: Thou friend didst of this misery divine, Therefore the burden of the song is mine: Words Orators for woe, which plead the cause, When grief's the judge, and sighs are all the laws, Each one a sob, for Diapason bears, Our tunes shall drown the music of the spheres: O what Hirudo with unsatiate thirst, Could draw the blood from out those Princely veins, From whence flows comfort to so many souls. Mother, when wept you last, here take a scarf Dry your eyes, now by Ioue you need none, What shine of comfort hath dried up your tears? Our son's too saucy with his mother Queen: Why, Sir, shall you tell us a time to weep? Us? good: Who is't makes the plurality? 'Twas wont to be my father, does he live?
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)
O but hee'll beare a still suspitious eye▪ And who in bloudy Scenes doth act a part, Thinks euery eye doth penetrate his heart. Nor can we ere be free, or I inioy True pleasures, we must be but theeues at most, Close in delights, and haue a Pander still To be a Factor, 'twixt thy bed and mine This we could haue before, what now we doe The world should see done, and applaud it too. Why my deare Loue, I that would set my hand To staine my marriage sheets with husbands blood Would let these hands instructed now in ill, Not leaue one arme of that vprooted tree; Could but Aegystheus giue me any hope, That from this top there should one spreading branch Grow vp and flourish. Now thou art thy selfe, Yes, yes my loue, there shall one spring from vs Shall be a lofty Pine, let this be cropt, Murder must murder guard, guilt adde to guilt, After one drop whole streams of blood be spilt. DEare friend, what mean you, to o'rwhelme your selfe, In such a sea of griefe? Father deare Agamem. Nay let this tempest fall, thou hast lost a father, Why, tis but change, my father shall be thine, I'll be thy brother, nay, I'll be thy selfe, Weepe when thou weep'st, and where thou go'st I'll goe, And bring thee on thy pilgrimage of woe. Brother, looke vp, haue not I lost a father? Yes, and would a riuer of fresh teares Turne Lethes streame, and bring him from the wharf, With a North gale of windy blowing sighs, I would expire my soule, become all teares. Come, you haue lost a father, I a brother, The Queene a Husband, all the Land a King, Yet all thi's but a man; Therefore must die: Our woes may all be in one ballance poys'd, His booke of life the Fates had ouer-read, And turn'd the leafe where his last period stood▪ Now an immortall wreath circles his brow, And makes him King in heauen, who was before At most a God on earth; Hence difference springs, Kings are earths Gods, and Gods are heauenly Kings. Let vs ioyne words then now, and Swan-like sing, The dolefull dirge to a departed King: Thou friend didst of this misery diuine, Therefore the burthen of the song is mine: Words Orators for woe, which plead the cause, When griefe's the Iudge, and sighs are all the lawes, Each one a sob, for Diapason beares, Our tunes shall drowne the musique of the spheares: O what Hirudo with vnsatiate thirst, Could draw the blood from out those Princely veynes, From whence flowes comfort to so many soules. Mother, when wept you last, heere take a scarfe Dry your eyes, now by Ioue you need none, What shine of comfort hath dri'd vp your teares? Our sonne's too sawcie with his mother Queene: Why, Sir, shall you tell vs a time to weepe? Vs? good: Who is't makes the plurality? 'Twas wont to be my father, does he liue?