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 · 528 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T38: queen, king, death, dead, heart, life, die, lord, royal, news.
Sir, curb this lavish speech, or I'll forget You are my son, and make you but a subject. Good Cousin add not disobedience Unto your mother's griefs. My mother, no, She is not here, no, she hath hid herself In some odd nook, or angle unperceived, She might not see this impious stygian world. Aegisthus, canst thou still suffer thy dull sword i'th' sheath? Take the rank head from this o'ergrowing weed. Remember Clytaemnestra, he's your son. He is so, and I'll learn him to be so: Had I a brazen bull, it should be heat, Hotter than for the Tyrant: Disobedient? More harsh than Adders hisses is thy voice, Sir, you shall die, but with a living death, He still shall live, but live to know he dies; Who straight threats death, knows not to Tyrannize. What temper's grown on the distracted Queen! Hath grief conceived for her late husband's death, Brought her so far, she hath forgot herself? No Uncle, no, by heaven, I do suspect, O, my prophetic soul divines much ill: Well, I will fly, but hear this stratagem, It shall be rumoured i'th' ear o'th' Court I was found dead, I'll put a new shape on, And live alone, to hear how things go here. Nay, not alone Orestes, whilst I live, Shouldst make thy bed upon the rigid Alps, Or frozen Caucasus, wrapped in sheets of snow, I'd freeze unto thy side; we will tell tales Of Trojan warriors, and deposed Kings, Tell of strange shipwreck, of old Priam's fall, How mad Andromacha did tear her hair, When the wild horses tore brave Hector's limbs: we'll think they all do come, and weep with us; Grief loves companions, and it helpeth woe, When it hears every one groan forth his (Oh) It easeth much, and our plaints fall more sweet, When a whole consort, in one tune do meet. The half-dead shipman, which hath shipwreck borne, Seeing many drowned, it makes him less to mourn: It made Deucalion care the less to die, When he had all the world in company. Thus we will sit, and our tears turns shall keep, Thou for thy father, I for thee will weep; If actors on the stage having no cause, But for to win an hearers hands applause, Can let fall tears, we'll think we Actors be, And only do but play grief's Tragedy. O, but dear friend, should we but act a part, The play being ended, passion left the heart, And we should share of joy, but my whole age Must never move from off this woeful Stage: But we must take our leave; Uncle, farewell, Remember what I spoke; and Sister, you Must tarry here, my thoughts shall busied be, To find the man that let my father blood; Can I but find Aegisthus did consent, To spill one drop, O I would pierce his heart With venomed daggers, and so butcher him, That all Apollo's skill in physic herbs, Nor Aesculapius th' Epidaurian God, Should keep his soul out of Enio's hand; Come my dear friend, to all the rest farewell, If heaven relate it not, I'll know't from hell.
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)
Sir, curbe this lauish speech, or I'll forget You are my sonne, and make you but a subiect. Good Cousin adde not disobedience Vnto your mothers griefes. My mother, no, She is not here, no, she hath hid her selfe In some odde nooke, or angle vnperceiu'd, She might not see this impious stygian world. Aegistheus, canst thou still suffer thy dul sword i'th sheath? Take the ranke head from this o'r-growing weed. Remember Clytemnestra, he's your sonne. He is so, and I'll learne him to be so: Had I a brazen bull, it should be heat, Hotter then for the Tyrant: Disobedient? More harsh then Adders hisses is thy voyce, Sir, you shall die, but with a liuing death, He still shall liue, but liue to know he dies; Who strait threats death, knowes not to Tyrannize. What temper's growne on the distracted Queene! Hath griefe conceiu'd for her late husbands death, Brought her so farre, shee hath forgot her selfe? No Vncle, no, by heauen, I doe suspect, O, my propheticke soule diuines much ill: Well, I will flie, but heare this stratagem, It shall be rumor'd i'th eare o'th Court I was found dead, I'll put a new shape on, And liue alone, to heare how things goe here. Nay, not alone Orestes, whilst I liue, Shouldst make thy bed vpon the rigid Alps, Or frozen Caucasus, wrapt in sheets of snow, I'd freeze vnto thy side; we will tell tales Of Troian warriers, and deposed Kings, Tell of strange shipwracke, of old Priams fall, How mad Andromacha did teare her hayre, When the wild horses tore braue Hectors limbs: Wee'll thinke they all doe come, and weepe with vs; Griefe loues companions, and it helpeth woe, When it heares euery one grone forth his (Oh) It easeth much, and our plaints fall more sweet, When a whole consort, in one tune doe meet. The halfe-dead ship-man, which hath shipwracke borne▪ Seeing many drown'd, it makes him lesse to mourne: It made Deucalion care the lesse to die, When hee had all the world in company. Thus we will sit, and our teares turnes shall keepe, Thou for thy father, I for thee will weepe; If actors on the stage hauing no cause, But for to winne an hearers hands applause, Can let fall teares, wee'll thinke wee Actors be, And onely doe but play griefes Tragedie. O, but deare friend, should we but act a part, The play being ended, passion left the heart, And we should share of ioy, but my whole age Must neuer moue from off this wofull Stage: But we must take our leaue; Vncle, farewell, Remember what I spake; and Sister, you Must tarry here, my thoughts shall busied be, To finde the man that let my father blood; Can I but finde Aegystheus did consent, To spill one drop, O I would pierce his heart With venom'd daggers, and so butcher him, That all Apollo's skill in physicke hearbs, Nor Aesculapius th' Epidaurian God, Should keepe his soule out of Enio's hand; Come my deare friend, to all the rest farewell, If heauen relate it not, I'll know't ftom hell.