Goffe, Thomas · published 1633 · first performed or written 1617 [c.1613-c.1618] (Annals) tragedy · at University T7 The Trojan war: conflict and its afterma typicality 0.76 · 440 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T7: hector, troy, achilles, greeks, aeneas, priam, ulysses, troilus, trojan, trojans.
Nay Niece, methinks I now do see the Haven. Where my aged soul, must leave this tossed bark, Made weak with years and woes, yet I commend Unto my Son the heart of a true friend, That's all the will I leave, and let him know Friendship should ever be, but most in woe. And so I leave thee Niece, I first must die, To haste a period to this Tragedy. O envious Fates could you not use me thus? Have not I grief enough to burst my heart? Was my life's thread twisted and knit so strong? That the keen edge of all these miseries Can never cut it off; Must I bear more? 'Tis all my safety now not to be safe, Are there so many ways to rid one's life? And can I hit on none? they say that death Is everywhere, and yet I find him not: Tush, but I seek him not, why my own hand Might grasp him to me, if I did but strive. Now hand help ease my heart, and make a way To let out grief, that hath so long dwelled here, Now knife thou'st done good service, there lie by, Heaven well decreed it, nothing life can give, But every thing can make us not live. NOw Priam's ghost, haste, haste, I say to look, With cheerful eyes on the sinister book, And there to Hecuba my mother show The tragic story of thy conquered foe. And let Andromacha my sister see, What Agamemnon's race is come to be. Now Troy gratify that most sad doom, Conquered by those that thus themselves overcome, Let Greece so flourish still, let Argos be Puffed with the pride of their great victory. Let it bear Soldiers, so withal it bear Orestes too; now mother never fear Argos makes me to laugh, which made thee weep, The Trojans in the grave now sweetly sleep. Their sorrow hath the end, now these begin To overflow themselves with mutual sin: And after all, Orestes, we may see, Hath lost his reason, man's sole property. BY heaven you shall not, nay, I am decreed, Do tear, tear me, yes, I have deserved it. O brave, O brave, he's mad as well as I; I'm glad my madness hath got company. Mother, why mother will you kill my father? Then I'll kill you; tush, I have done't already. Much patience will grow fury in time, Follow you me, you beast, you damned Aegisthus, I'll hew thee piece by piece, look of my mother. I am she, or one loves thee well. Out you witch, you witch. Murderer, murderer,
seed 43: T12 · seed 44: T11 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Nay Neece, me thinks I now doe see the Hauen. Where my ag'de soule, must leaue this tossed barke, Made weak with yeeres and woes, yet I commend Vnto my Son the heart of a true friend, That's all the will I leaue, and let him know Friendship should euer be, but most in woe. And so I leaue thee Neece, I first must die, To haste a periode to this Tragedy. O enuious Fates could you not vse me thus? Haue not I griefe inough to burst my heart? Was my life's thred twisted and knit so strong? That the keen edge of all these miseries Can neuer cut it off; Must I beare more? 'Tis all my safety now not to be safe, Are there so many wayes to rid ones life? And can I hit on none? they say that death Is euery where, and yet I finde him not: Tush, but I seeke him not, why my owne hand Might graspe him to me, if I did but striue. Now hand helpe ease my heart, and make a way To let out griefe, that hath so long dwelt here, Now knife tha'st don good seruice, there lie by, Heauen well decreed it, nothing life can giue, But euery thing can make vs not liue. NOw Priams ghost, haste, haste, I say to looke, With chearefull eyes on the sinister booke, And there to Hecuba my mother show The tragique story of thy conquered foe. And let Andromacha my sister see, What Agamemnons race is come to be. Now Troy gratifie that most sad doome, Conquered by those that thus themselus or'ecome, Let Greece so florish still, let Argos be Puft with the pride of their great victory. Let it beare Souldiers, so withall it beare Orestes too; now mother neuer feare Argos makes me to laugh, which made thee weep, The Troians in the graue now sweetly sleep. Their sorrow hath the end, now these begin To ouerflow themselues with mutuall sin: And after all, Orestes, we may see, Hath lost his reason, mans sole propertie. BY heauen you shall not, nay, I am decreed, Doe teare, teare me, yes, I haue deseru'd it. O braue, O braue, hee's mad as well as I; I'me glad my madnes hath got companie. Mother, why mother will you kill my father? Then I'll kill you; tush, I haue don't already. Much patience will grow fury in time, Follow you me, you beast, you damn'd Aegysteus, I'll hew thee piece by piece, looke of my mother. I am she, or one loues thee well. Out you witch, you witch. Murderer, murderer,