Goffe, Thomas · published 1633 · first performed or written 1617 [c.1613-c.1618] (Annals) tragedy · at University unassigned nearest T34 Thebes and royal catastrophe: siege, sla · 535 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T34: thebes, antigone, polynices, creon, eteocles, war, theban, gods, dear, country.
Lullaby, lullaby Baby, Great Argos joy, The King of Greece thou art borne to be, In despite of Troy. Rest ever wait upon thy head, Sleep close thine eyes, The blessed guard tend on thy bed Of Deities. O, how this brow will beseem a crown! How these locks will shine! Like the rays of the Sun on the ground, These locks of thine. The Nurse of heaven still send thee milk, mayst thou suck a Queen. Thy drink Ioues Nectar and clothes of silk, A God mayst thou seem. Cupid sit on this Rosean cheek, On these ruby lips May thy mind like a Lamb be meek, In the vales which trips, Lullaby, Lullaby Baby, &c. You never heard from my brother, Uncle, Nor from your son, they have been long away? In troth, Electra, I am in despair, Almost of ever seeing them again; Sure if Orestes live, and ever hear, Unto what pass Aegisthus brings his state, Seated him in the throne of his mother's bed, And like to leave Argos hereditary To his posterity, it cannot e'er be borne, Orestes spirit will endure no scorn. Uncle, his long delays make me surmise, Or he will never come, or come with prize; He, if now come, he must not show himself, But live unknown, unnamed, or change his name. His name, Electra, yes, and's nature too, Which I do fear me he will hardly do. But if we hear not from them now ere long, I'll listen by some means about the land, To hear of them; mean time you to your charge, Officious duty must our lives enlarge. Come Nurse. O, here's the Palace under whose kind roof My tender years were gently fostered: But now the sight on't seems to strike my soul, When I but think it holds within the walls, The patrons of such lust incarnate devils, Mere Pythonists, that fascinate the world. Nay, but Orestes, think now of yourself, Complain not of your wrongs, but seek to right them. We might have lived i'th' woods still to complain, And to that purpose we may turn again. Whet up your former thoughts, and spend not time, To rave, but to revenge this odious act. We know they were their shapes, and no chimera's. O, Pylades, knew I thou art my friend? I hope you think it. I do, I dare swear it, So I dare swear it was Aegisthus, and The dumb witch, the O, what things enough To be an attribute to term her by. The Clytaemnestra, O, we saw her do't. 'Twas a black deed indeed, and past all thought. O, hell itself has not the pattern to't: Some stench, some fogs, vapours stop their breath, Exhaled from out the dampish womb of Styx, Did ever foul, disastrous, friendlike hands, Cast up so huge a heap of hell-bred mischief. Were I to dive toth' depth of Phlageton, Or fetch young Ganymede from the arms of Ioue, To rend Proserpina from Pluto's bed, Or take the vulture from off Titius' heart, And set it on my mothers, I'd do't; I'll break ope doors, and nail'em to their bed; Harka, revenge calls me, ay, I come, I come,
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)
Lullaby, lullaby Baby, Great Argos ioy, The King of Greece thou art borne to be, In despight of Troy. Rest euer wait vpon thy head, Sleepe close thine eyes, The blessed guard tend on thy bed Of Deities. O, how this brow will beseeme a crowne! How these lockes will shine! Like the raies of the Sun on the ground, These lockes of thine. The Nurse of heauen still send thee milk, Maist thou suck a Queene. Thy drinke Ioues Nectar and cloaths of silke, A God mayst thou seeme. Cupid sit on this Rosean cheeke, On these rubie lips May thy minde like a Lambe be meeke, In the vales which trips, Lullaby, Lullaby Baby, &c. You neuer heard from my brother, Vncle, Nor from your sonne, they haue beene long away? In troth, Electra, I am in despaire, Almost of euer seeing them againe; Sure if Orestes liue, and euer heare, Vnto what passe Aegystheus brings his state, Seated him in the throne of his mothers bed, And like to leaue Argos hereditary To his posterity, it cannot e'r be borne, Orestes spirit will endure no scorne. Vncle, his long delayes make mee surmise, Or he will neuer come, or come with prize; Hee, if now come, hee must not shew himselfe, But liue vnknowne, vnnam'd, or change his name. His name, Electra, yes, and's nature too, Which I doe feare me hee will hardly doe. But if we hear not from them now e're long, I'll listen by some meanes about the land, To heare of them; meane time you to your charge, Officious duty must our liues enlarge. Come Nurse. O, here's the Palace vnder whose kinde roofe My tender yeeres were gently fostered: But now the sight on't seemes to strike my soule, When I but thinke it holds within the walls, The patrons of such lust incarnate diuells, Mere Pythonists, that fascinate the world. Nay, but Orestes, thinke now of your selfe, Complaine not of your wrongs, but seeke to right them. We might haue liu'd i'th woods still to complaine, And to that purpose wee may turne againe. Whet vp your former thoughts, and spend not time, To raue, but to reuenge this odious act. We know they were their shapes, and no Chymera's. O, Pylades, knew I thou art my friend? I hope you thinke it. I doe, I dare sweare it, So I dare sweare it was Aegystheus, and The dumbe witch, the O, what things enough To be an attribute to terme her by. The Clytemnestra, O, wee saw her do't. 'Twas a blacke deede indeede, and past all thought. O, hell it selfe has not the patterne to't: Some stench, some fogs, vapours stop their breath, Exhald from out the dampish wombe of Styx, Did euer foule, disastrous, friendlike hands, Cast vp so huge a heape of hell-bred mischiefe. Were I to diue to'th depth of Phlageton, Or fetch young Ganimed from the armes of Ioue, To rend Proserpina from Pluto's bed, Or take the vulture from off Titius heart, And set it on my mothers, I'd do't; I'll breake ope doores, and nayle'em to their bed; Harka, reuenge calls mee, I, I come, I come,