Gascoigne, George / Kinwelmershe, Francis / Yelverton, ChristopherEuripides / Dolce, Lodovico · published 1573 · first performed or written 1566 (Annals) tragedy T34 Thebes and royal catastrophe: siege, sla typicality 0.85 · 522 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T34: thebes, antigone, polynices, creon, eteocles, war, theban, gods, dear, country.
Lo here mine own city and native soil, Lo here the nestle I ought to nestle in, Yet being thus entrenched with mine own towers, And that, from him the safe conduct is given Which doth enjoy as much as mine should be, My feet can tread no step without suspect: For where my brother bides, even there behoves More wary scout than in an enemies camp. Yet while I may within this right hand hold This brand, this blade, (unyielden ever yet) My life shall not be left without revenge, But here behold the holy sanctuary, Of Bacchus eke the worthy Image lo, The altars where the sacred flames have shot, And where of yore these guiltless hands of mine Full oft have offered to our mighty gods. I see also a worthy company Of Theban dames, resembling unto me The traind of Iocasta my dear mother: Behold them clad in clothes of grisly black, That hellish hew that nay for other harms So well beseemed wretched wights to wear: For why, ere long their selves themselves shall see (Gramercy to their princes tyranny) Some spoiled of their sweet and sucking babes, Some lese their husband, other some their sire, And some their friends that were to them full dear. But now 'tis time to lay this sword aside, And eke of them to know where is the Queen: O worthy dames, heavy, unhappy ye, Where resteth now the restless queen of Thebes? O worthy imp sprung out of worthy race, Renowned Prince, whom we have looked for long, And now in happy hour art come to us, Some quiet bring to this unquiet realm. O queen, O queen, come forth and see thy son, The gentle fruit of all thy joyful seed. My faithful friends, my dear beloved maids, I come at call, and at your words I move My feebled feet with age and agony: Where is my son? O tell me where is he, For whom I sighed have so often sith, For whom I spend both nights and days in tears? Here noble mother, here, not as the king, Nor as a Citizen of stately Thebes, But as a stranger now, I thank my brother. O son, O sweet and my desired son, These eyes they see, these hands of mine thee touch, Yet scarcely can this mind believe the same, And scarcely can this bruised breast sustain The sudden joy that is enclosed therein: O gladsome glass, wherein I see myself. So grant the Gods, that for our common good, You friendly may your sons both friends behold. At thy depart, O lovely child, thou left My house in tears, and me thy wretched dame, Mirror of martyrdom, waymenting still Th' unworthy exile thy brother thee gave: Ne was there ever son or friend far off, Of his dear friends or mother so desired, As thy return, in all the town of Thebes. And of myself more than the rest to speak, I have as thou mayst see, clean cast aside My princely robes, and thus in woeful weed, Bewrapped have these lustless limbs of mine:
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)
LOe here mine owne citie and natiue soyle, Loe here the I ought to nestle in, Yet being thus entrencht with mine owne towres, And that, from him the safe conduct is giuen Which doth enioye as much as mine should be, My féete can treade no step without suspect: For where my brother bides, euen there behoues More warie scout than in an enemyes campe. Yet while I may within this right hand holde This brond, this blade, (vnyelden euer yet) My life shall not be lefte without reuenge▪ But here beholde the holy sancturie, Of Bacchus eke the worthy Image loe, The aultars where the sacred flames haue shoe▪ And where of yore these giltlesse handes of mine Full oft haue offered to our mightie gods. I sée also a worthie compani Of▪ Thibane dames, resembling vnto me The traid of Iocasta my deare mother: Beholde them clad in clothes of griely blacke, That hellishe hewe that nay for other harmes So well besemed wretched wightes to weare: For why, ere long their selues themselues shall sée (Gramery to there princes tyrannie) Some spoyled of their swéete and sucking babes, Some lese their husband, other some their sire, some their friends that were to the full dere. But now tis time to lay this sworde aside, And eke of them to knowe where is the Quéene: O woorthie dames, heaie, vnhappie ye, Where resteth now the restlesse quéene of Thebes? O woorthie impe sprong out of worthie race, Renoumed Prince, whome wée haue lookt for long, And nowe in happie houre arte come to vs, Some quiet bring to this vnquiet realme. O quéene, O quéene, come foorth and sée thy sonne, The gentle frute of all thy ioyfull séede. My faithfull frendes, my deare beloued maydes, I come at call, and at your wordes I moue My féebled féete with age and agonie: Where is my sonne? O tell me where is he, For whome I sighed haue so often syth, For whom I spende bothe nightes and dayes in teares? Here noble mother, here, not as the king, Nor as a Citizen of stately Thebes, But as a straunger nowe, I thanke my brother. O sonne, O swéete and my desyred sonne, These eyes they sée, these handes of myne thée touche, Yet scarsly can this mynde beléeue the same, And scarsly can this brused breast susteyne The sodeyne ioye that is inclosde therein: O gladsome glasse, wherein I sée my selfe. So graunt the Gods, that for our common good▪ You fréendly may your sonnes bothe frendes beholde. At thy departe, O louely chylde, thou lefte My house in teares, and mée thy wretched dame, Myrrour of martirdome, waymenting still Th vnworthie exile thy brother thée gaue: Ne was there euer sonne or friende farre off, Of his deare frendes or mother so desyred, As thy returne, in all the towne of Thebes. And of my selfe more than the rest to speake, I haue as thou mayste sée, cleane cast asyde My princely roabes, and thus in worfull wéede, Bewrapped haue these lustlesse limmes of myne: