Goffe, Thomas · published 1633 · first performed or written 1617 [c.1613-c.1618] (Annals) tragedy · at University T34 Thebes and royal catastrophe: siege, sla typicality 0.83 · 487 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T34: thebes, antigone, polynices, creon, eteocles, war, theban, gods, dear, country.
O, 'twas Orestes, 'twas my Pylades, Which arm in arm did follow him to death. O my Orestes, O my dearest brother 'Tis he, 'tis he that thus hath drowned himself. Why, then if Agamemnon and his son Have brought their leaf of life to the full end; I am Thyestes son, and the next heir, To sit in Argos Throne of Majesty. Thanks to our Alpheus' sea, who as' t'had strived To gratify Aegisthus, raised his force, And gathered all his waters to one place, They might be deep enough to drown Orestes: But come my Queen, let us command a feast. To get a kingdom, who'd not think it good, To swim unto it through a sea of blood. Our daughter send for us? how fares she? well? She mourns I'm sure for her husband's death. My Lord, she took it sadly at the first: But time hath lessened it. ay, grief soon ends That flows in tears; they still are women's friends: But how is't rumoured now in Argos, though, That Agamemnon dyde. Why, he was old, And death thought best to seize on him at home, 'Twas a long home, he got by coming home, Well, well, Misander, I like not the course, The people's murmur makes my cheeks to blush. My gracious Lord, who trusts their idle murmur, Must never let the blush go from his cheek, They are like flags growing on muddy banks, Whose weak thin heads blown, with one blast of wind, They all will shake, and bend themselves one way: Great minds must not esteem what small tongues say. All things in state must ever have this end, The vulgar should both suffer, and commend, If not for love, for fear; great majesty Should do those things the vulgar dare not see. O, Sir, but those that do commend for fear, Do in their hearts a secret hatred bear. Ever learn this; the truest praise indeed, Must from the heart, and not from words proceed. I fear some foul play: doth Aegisthus mean, Then totally for to invest himself In Agamemnon's seat? Where's young Orestes? Why my Lord? he for the great grief conceived, Being young, not knowing well to rule himself With sway of reason, ran upon his death, And threw himself with my Lord Strophius' son, Into the midst of Alpheus, so was drowned. How took my daughter that? Why, wisely too, And like herself; not being in despair: Her royal womb will bring forth many more, Shall be as dear as e'er Orestes was. I fear heaven cannot look with equal eyes Upon so many deaths, but means to send Plague after plague; for in a wretched state, One ill begets another dismal Fate: But go and tell my daughter I will come, And help to solemnize her nuptial night: Her hasty wedding, and the old king's neglect, Makes my conjectural soul some ill suspect.
seed 43: T30 · seed 44: T33 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
O, 'twas Orestes, 'twas my Pylades, Which arme in arme did follow him to death. O my Orestes, O my dearest brother 'Tis he, 'tis he that thus hath drown'd himselfe. Why, then if Agamemnon and his sonne Haue brought their leafe of life to the full end; I am Thyestes sonne, and the next heyre, To sit in Argos Throne of Maiesty. Thanks to our Alpheus sea, who as't'ad striu'd To gratifie Aegystheus, rais'd his force, And gathered all his waters to one place, They might be deepe inough to drowne Orestes: But come my Queene, let vs command a feast. To get a kingdome, who'ld not thinke it good, To swim vnto it through a sea of blood. OVr daughter send for vs? how fares she? well? She mournes I'm sure for her husbands death. My Lord, shee tooke it sadly at the first: But time hath lessen'd it. I, griefe soone ends That flowes in teares; they still are womens friends: But how is't rumord now in Argos, though, That Agamemnon dyde. Why, hee was old, And death thought best to seise on him at home, 'Twas a long home, hee got by comming home, Well, well, Misander, I like not the course, The peoples murmure makes my cheekes to blush. My gracious Lord, who trusts their idle murmure, Must neuer let the blush goe from his cheeke, They are like flagges growing on muddy banks, Whose weake thin heads blowne, with one blast of winde, They all will shake, and bend themselues one way: Great mindes must not esteeme what small tongues say. All things in state must euer haue this end, The vulgar should both suffer, and commend, If not for loue, for feare; great maiesty Should doe those things the vulgar dare not see. O, Sir, but those that doe commend for feare, Doe in their hearts a secret hatred beare. Euer learne this; the truest praise indeed, Must from the heart, and not from words proceed. I feare some foule play: doth Aegystheus meane, Then totally for to inuest himselfe In Agamemnons seat? Where's young Orestes? Why my Lord? hee for the great griefe conceiu'd, Being young, not knowing well to rule himselfe With sway of reason, ranne vpon his death, And threw himselfe with my Lord Strophius sonne, Into the midst of Alpheus, so was drown'd. How took my daughter that? Why, wisely too, And like her selfe; not being in despaire: Her royall wombe will bring forth many more, Shall be as deare as e'r Orestes was. I feare heauen cannot looke with equall eyes Vpon so many deaths, but meanes to send Plague after plague; for in a wretched state, One ill begets another dismall Fate: But goe and tell my daughter I will come, And helpe to solemnize her nuptiall night: Her hasty wedding, and the old Kings neglect, Makes my coniecturall soule some ill suspect.