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 · 483 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T34: thebes, antigone, polynices, creon, eteocles, war, theban, gods, dear, country.
If so the mind may dread his own mishap, Then dread I much, this man that seeks me thus, Hath brought the death of my beloved son. My Lord, the thing you fear is very true, Your son Meneceus no longer lives. Alas who can withstand the heavenly powers? Well, it beseems not me, ne yet my years, In bootless plaint to waste my wailful tears: Do thou recount to me his luckless death, The order, form, and manner of the same. Your son (my Lord) came to Eteocles, And told him this in presence of the rest, renowned King, neither your victory, Ne yet the safety of this princely Realm In armour doth consist, but in the death Of me, of me, (O most victorious King) So heavenly doom of mighty Ioue commands, I (knowing what avail my death should yield Unto your grace, and unto native land) Might well be deemed a most ungrateful son Unto this worthy town, if I would shun The sharpest death to do my country good, In mourning weed now let the vestal nymphs, With fawning tunes commend my faultless ghost To highest heavens, while I despoil myself, That afterward (sith Jove will have it so) To save your lives, I may receive my death. Of you I crave, O courteous Citizens, To shrine my corpse in tomb of marble stone, Whereon grave this: Meneceus here doth lie, For country's cause that was content to die. This said, alas, he made no more ado, But drew his sword and sheathed it in his breast. No more, I have enough, return ye now From whence ye came. Well, since the blood of my beloved son, Must serve to slake the wrath of angry Ioue, And since his only death must bring to Thebes A quiet end of her unquiet state, methinks good reason would, that I henceforth, Of Theban soil should bear the kingly sway, Yea sure, and so I will ere it be long, Either by right, or else by force of arms. Of all mishap lo here the wicked brood, My sister first espoused hath her son That slew his sire, of whose accursed seed Two brethren sprang, whose raging hateful hearts, By force of boiling ire are bollen so sore As each do thirst to suck the other's blood: But why do I sustain the smart hereof? Why should my blood he spilled for others guilt? Oh welcome were that messenger to me That brought me word of both my nephews deaths, Then should it soon be seen in every eye, Twixt prince and prince what difference would appear, Then should experience show what grief it is To serve the humours of unbridled youth. Now will I go for to prepare with speed The funerals of my young guiltless son, The which perhaps may be accompanied With th'obsequies of proud Eteocles. Finis Actus. 4.
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)
If so the minde maye dreade his owne mishap, Then dread I much, this man that séekes me thus, Hath brought the death of my beloued sonne. My Lorde, the thing you feare is very true, Your sonne Meneceus no longer liues. Alas who can withstande the heauenly powers? Well, it beséems not me, ne yet my yeares, In bootelesse plaint to wast my wailefull tears: Do thou recount to me his lucklesse deathe, The order, fourme, and manner of the same. Your sonne (my Lorde) came to Eteocles, And tolde him this in presence of the rest, Renoued King, neither your victorie, Ne yet the safetie of this princely Realme In armour doth consist, but in the death Of me, of me, (O most victorious King) So heauenly dome of mightie Ioue commaunds, I (knowing what auayle my death should yeeld Unto your grace, and vnto natiue land) Might well be inde a most vngratefull sonne Unto this worthy towne, if I would shunne The sharpest death to do my countrie good, In mourning weede nowe let the vestall Nimphes, With fauning tunes commende my faultlsse ghost To highest heauens, while I despoyle my selfe, That afterwarde (sith oue will haue it so) To saue your liues, I may receyue my death. Of you I craue, O curteous Citizens, To shrine my corps in tombe of marble stone, Whereon graue this: Meneceus here doth lie, For countries cause that vvas content to die. This saide, alas, he made no more a doe, But drewe his sworde and sheathde it in his brest. No more, I haue inough, returne ye nowe From whence ye came. Well, since the bloude of my beloued sonne, Must serue to sake the wrathe of angrie Ioue, And since his onely death must bring to Thebes A quiet ende of hir vnquiet state, Me thinkes good reason would, that I henceforth, Of Thebane soyle shoulde beare the kingly swaye, Yea sure, and so I will ere it be long, Either by right, or else by force of armes. Of al mishap loe here the wicked broode, My sister first espoused hath hir sonne That slewe his sire, of whose accursed séede Two brethren sprang, whose raging hatefull hearts, By force of boyling yre are bolne so sore As each do thyrst to sucke the others bloude: But why do I sustaine the smart hereof? Why should my bloud he spilte for others gilte? Oh welcome were that messanger to me That brought me word of both my nephewes deathes, Then should it soone be sene in euery eye, Twixt prince and prince what difference would appeare▪ Then should experience shewe what griefe it is To serue the humours of vnbridled youth. Now will I goe for to prepare with spéede The funeralls of my yong giltlesse sonne, The which perhaps may be accompanyed With thobsequies of proude Eteocles. Finis Actus. 4.