Gascoigne, George / Kinwelmershe, Francis / Yelverton, ChristopherEuripides / Dolce, Lodovico · published 1573 · first performed or written 1566 (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T40 Sin, guilt and violent loss within famil · 480 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T40: brother, death, life, die, heaven, sin, live, father, blood, soul.
O sacred God, give ear unto thy thrall, That humbly here upon thy name doth call, O let not now, our faultless blood be spilled, For hot revenge of any other's gilt. ALas what shall I do? bemoan myself? Or rue the ruin of my Native land, About the which such clouds I see enclosed As darker cannot cover dreadful hell. With mine own eyes I saw my own dear son All gored with blood of his too bloody breast, Which he hath shed full like a friend, too dear To his country, and yet a cruel foe To me that was his friend and father both. Thus to himself he gained a famous name, And glory great, to me redoubted pain, Whose hapless death in my afflicted house, Hath put such plaint, as I ne can espy What comfort might acquit their distress. I hither come my sister for to seek, Iocasta, she that might in woeful wise Amid her high and overpining cares Prepare the baynes for his so wretched corpse, And eke for him that now is not in life, May pay the due that to the dead pertains, And for the honour he did well deserve, The give some gifts unto infernal Gods. My Lord, your sister is gone forth long since, Into the camp, and with her Antigone Her daughter dear. Into the camp? alas and what to do? She understood, that for this realm forthwith Her sons were 'greed in combat for to join. Alas, the funerals of my dear son Dismayed me so, that I ne did receive, Ne seek to know these new unwelcome news. But lo, behold a plain apparent sign Of further fears, the furious troubled looks Of him that cometh here so hastily. ALas, alas what shall I do? alas, What shrieking voice may serve my woeful words? O wretched I, ten thousand times a wretch, The messenger of dread and cruel death. Yet more mishap? and what unhappy news? My Lord, your nephews both have lost their lives. Out and alas, to me and to this town Thou dost account great ruin and decay: You royal family of Oedipus, And hear you this? your liege and sovereign Lords The brethren both are slain and done to death. O cruel news, most cruel that can come, O news that might these stony walls provoke For tender ruth to burst in bitter tears, And so they would, had they the sense of man. O worthy young Lords, that unworthy were Of such unworthy death, O me most wretch. More wretched shall ye deem yourself, my lord, When you shall hear of further misery. And can there be more misery than this? With her dear sons the queen herself is slain, Bewail ladies, alas good ladies wail This hard mischance, this cruel common evil, Ne henceforth hope for ever to rejoice.
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)
O sacred God, giue eare vnto thy thrall, That humbly here vpon thy name doth call, O let not now, our faultlesse bloud be spilt, For hote reuenge of any others gilt. ALas what shall I do? bemone my selfe? Or rue the ruine of my Natiue lande, About the which such cloudes I sée enclosde As darker cannot couer dreadfull hell. With mine own eyes I saw my own deare sonne All gorde with bloud of his too bloudy brest, Which he hath shed full like a friend, too deare To his countrey, and yet a cruell foe To me that was his friend and father both. Thus to him selfe he gaynde a famous name, And glory great, to me redoubted payne, Whose haplesse death in my afflicted house, Hath put suche playnt, as I ne can espie What comfort might acquiet their distrsse. I hither come my sister for to séeke, Iocasta, she that might in wofull wise Amid hir high and ouerpining cares Prepare the baynes for his so wretched corps, And eke for him that nowe is not in life, May pay the due that to the dead pertaynes, And for the honor he did well deserue, The giue some giftes vnto infernall Gods. My Lorde, your sister is gone forth long since, Into the campe, and with hir Antigone Hir daughter deare. Into the campe? alas and what to do? She vnderstoode, that for this realme foorthwith Hir sonnes were gréed in combate for to ioyne. Alas, the funerals of my deare sonne Dismayed me so, that I ne did receiue, Ne séeke to knowe these newe vnwelcome newes. But loe, beholde a playne apparant signe Of further feares, the furious troubled lookes Of him that commeth héere so hastilie. ALas, alas what shall I doe? alas, What shriching voyce may serue my wofull wordes? O wretched I, ten thousande times a wretche, The messanger of dread and cruell death. Yet more mishappe? and what vnhappie newes? My Lord, your nephues both haue lost their liues. Out and alas, to me and to this towne Thou doest accompt great ruine and decay: You royall familie of Oedipus, And heare you this? your liege and soueraigne Lordes The brethren bothe are slayne and done to death. O cruell newes, most cruell that can come, O newes that might these stony walles prouoke For tender ruthe to burst in bitter teares, And so they would, had they the sense of man. O worthy yong Lordes, that vnworthy were Of suche vnworthy death, O me moste wretche. More wretched shall ye déeme your selfe, my lord, When you shall heare of further miserie. And can there be more miserie than this? With hir deare sonnes the quéene hir self is slaine, Bewayle ladies, alas good ladies waile This harde mischaunce, this cruell common euill, Ne hencefoorth hope for euer to reioyce.