Gascoigne, George / Kinwelmershe, Francis / Yelverton, ChristopherEuripides / Dolce, Lodovico · published 1573 · first performed or written 1566 (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T34 Thebes and royal catastrophe: siege, sla · 507 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T34: thebes, antigone, polynices, creon, eteocles, war, theban, gods, dear, country.
how can that be and thou my joy in war? Hence forth n'am I your joy ne yet your son. Alas the Heavens me whelm with all mishap. Lo here the cause that stirreth me by wrong. Much more is that he proffereth unto me. Well, speak, darest thou come armed to the field? So dare I come, wherefore dost thou demand? For needs or thou must end this life of mind Or quench my thirst with pouring out thy blood. Ah wretch, my thirst is all as dry as thine. Alas and wellaway, what hear I sons? How can it be? dear children can it be That brethren's hearts such rancour should enrage? And that right soon the proof shall plainly show. Oh say not so, yet say not so dear sons. O royal race of Thebes now take thine end. God shield. O slow & sluggish heart of mine, Why do I stay t' imbrue these slothful hands? But for his greater grief I will depart, And at return if here I find my foe, This hasty hand shall end our hot debate. Dear Citizens, and you eternal Gods, Bear witness with me here before the world, How this my fierce and cruel enemy, Whom causeless now my brother I do call, With threats of death my lingering steps doth drive Both from my right and from my country soil, Not as beseems the son of Oedipus, But as a slave, an abject, or a wretch: And since you be both pitiful and just, Vouchsafe O Gods, that as I part with grief, So may I yet return with joyful spoil Of this accursed tyrant, and he slain I may recover quietly mine own. O wretched wretch Iocasta, where is found The misery that may compare to thine? O would I had nor gazing eyes to see, Nor listening ears to hear that now I dread: But what remains, save only to entreat That cruel dole would yet so courteous be To reave the breath out of this woeful breast, Before I hearken to some woeful news. Rest you here dames, and pray unto the Gods For our redress, and I in that meanwhile Will shut myself from sight of loathsome light. O mighty God, the governor of Thebes, Pity with speed the pain Iocasta bides, And eke our needs, O mighty Bacchus help, Bend willing care unto our just complaint: Leave them not comfortless that trust in thee, We have nor gold nor silver thee to give, Ne sacrifice to those thine altars due, In steed whereof we consecrate our hearts To serve thy will, and hests for to obey. SInce I have rid mine enemy out of sight, The best shall be, for Creon now to send, My mother's brother, that with him I may Reason, consult, confer, and counsel both, What shall be best to use in our defence, Before we venture forth into the field. But of this travail, lo, he me acquits That comes in haste towards these royal towers.
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)
Howe can that be and thou my ioye in warre? Hence forth n'am I your ioy ne yet your sonne. Alas the Heauens me whelme with all mishap. Lo here the cause that stirreth me by wrong. Much more is that he profereth vnto me. Well, speake, darest thou come armed to the fielde? So dare I come, wherefore dost thou bemaunde? For néedes or thou must ende this life of minde Or quenche my thirst with pouring out thy bloud. Ah wretch, my thirstis all as drie as thine. Alas and welaway, what heare I sonnes? How can it be? deare children can it be That brethrens hearts suche rancour should enrage? And that right soone the proofe shall playnely shewe. Oh say not so, yet say not so deare sonnes. O royall race of Thebes now take thine ende. God shield. O slow & sluggish heart of mine, Why do I stay t' embrew these slouthfull hands? But for his greater griefe I will departe, And at returne if here I finde my foe, This hastie hande shall ende our hote debate. Deare Citizens, and you eternall Gods, Beare witnesse with me here before the worlde, How this my fierce and cruell enimie, Whom causelesse now my brother I do call, With threats of death my lingring steps doth driue Both from my right and from my countrey soyle, Not as beséemes the sonne of Oedipus, But as a slaue, an abiect, or a wretche: And since you be both pitifull and iuste, Uouchsafe O Gods, that as I parte with griefe, So may I yet returne with ioyfull spoyle Of this accursed tyraunt, and he slayne I may recouer quietly mine owne. O wretched wretche Iocasta, where is founde The miserie that may compare to thine? O would I had nor gasing eyes to sée, Nor listning eares to heare that now I dread: But what remaynes, saue onely to entreate That cruell dole would yet so curteous be To reaue the breath out of this wofull brest, Before I hearken to some wofull ewes. Rest you here dames, and pray vnto the Gods For our redresse, and I in that meane while Will shut my selfe from sight of lothsome light. O mightie God, the gouernour of Thebes, Pitie with speede the payne Iocasta bydes, And eke our néedes, O mightie Bacchus helpe, Bende willing care vnto our iust complaynt: Leaue them not comfortlesse that trust in thée, We haue nor golde nor siluer thée to giue, Ne sacrifice to those thine aulters due, In steede wherof we confecrate our hearts To serue thy will, and hestes for to obey. SInce I haue ridde mine enmie out of sight, The best shall be, for Creon now to sende, My mothers brother, that with him I may Reason, consulte, conferre, and counsell bothe, What shall be best to vse in our defence, Before we venter forth into the fielde. But of this trauayle, loe, he me acquites That comes in haste towards these royall towres.