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 · 511 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T34: thebes, antigone, polynices, creon, eteocles, war, theban, gods, dear, country.
But straight again they held their peace, for he Eteocles 'gan thrust his wicked sword In the left arm of unarmed Pollinice, And let the blood from thin unfenced flesh With falling drops distill upon the ground, Ne long he stays, but with another thrust His brother's belly bowelled with his blade, Then wretched he, with bridle left at large, From of his horse fell pale upon the ground, Ne long it was, but down our duke dismounts From of his startling steed, and runs in haste, His brothers hapless helm for to unlace, And with such hungry mind desired spoil, As one that thought the field already won: That at unwares, his brother's dagger drawn, And gripped fast within the dying hand, Under his side he reckless doth receive, That made the way to his wide open heart: Thus falls Eteocles his brother by, From both whose breasts the bloodfast bubbling, gave A sorry show to Greeks and Thebans both. Oh wretched end of our unhappy Lords. Oh Oedipus, I must be the death Of thy dear sons, that were my nephews both, But of these blows thou oughtest feel the smart, That with thy wonted prayers, thus hast brought Such noble bloods to this unnoble end. But now tell on, what followed of the Queen? When thus with pierced hearts, by there own hands The brother's fell had wallowed in their blood, Th' one tumbling on the other's gore, Came their afflicted mother, then to late, And eke with her, her chaste child Antigone, Who saw no sooner how their fates had fallen, But with the doubled echo of alas, Sore dimmed the air with loud complaints and cries: Oh sons (quoth she) too late came all my help, And all to late have I my succour sent: And with these words, upon their carcase cold. She shrieked so, as might have stayed the Sun To mourn with her, the woeful sister eke, That both her cheeks did bathe in flowing tears, Out from the depth of her tormented breast, With scalding sighs 'gan draw these weary words: O my dear brethren, why abandon ye Our mother dear, when these her aged years, That of themselves are weak and grown with grief, Stood most in need of your sustaining help? Why do you leave her thus disconsolate? At sound of such her weeping long lament, Eteocles our king held up his hand, And sent from bottom of his woeful breast. A doubled sigh, divided with his grief, In faithful token of his feeble will To recomfort his mother and sister both: And in the stead of sweet contenting words, The trickling tears reigned down his paled cheeks: Then clasped his hands, and shut his dying eyes. But Pollinice that turned his rolling eyen Unto his mother and his sister dear, With hollow voice and fumbling tongue, thus spoke: Mother, you see how I am now arrived Unto the haven of mine unhappy end, Now nothing doth remain to me, but this, That I lament my sister's life and yours
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)
But streight agayne they helde their peace, for he Eteocles gan thrust his wicked sworde In the lefte arme of vnarmed Pollinice, And let the bloud from thinne vnfence fleshe With falling drops distill vpon the ground, Ne long he stayes, but with an other thrust His brothers belly boweld with his blade, Then wretched he, with bridle left at large, From of his horsse fell pale vpon the ground, Ne long it was, but downe our duke dismountes From of his startling steede, and runnes in hast, His brothers haplesse helme for to vnlace, And wth such hungry minde desired spoyle, As one that thought the fielde already woonne: That at vnwares, his brothers dagger drawne, And griped fast within the dying hand, Under his side he recklesse doth receiue, That made the way to his wyde open hart: Thus falles Eeocles his brother by, From both whose breasts the bloudfast bubling, gaue A sory shewe to Greekes and both. Oh wretched ende of our vnhappie Lordes. Oh Oedipus, I must be waile the death Of thy deare sonnes, that were my nephewes both, But of these blowes thou oughtest feele the smarte, That with thy wonted prayers, thus hast brought Such noble blouds to this vnnoble end. But now tell on, what followed of the Quéene? Whē thus with pierced harts, by there owne hands The brothers fell had wallowed in their bloud, Th one tumbling on the others gore, Came their afflicted mother, then to late, And eke with hir, hir chast childe Antygone, Who saw no sooner how their fates had fane, But with the doubed echo of alas, Sore dymde the ayre with loude complaints and cryes: Oh sonnes (quod she) too came all my helpe, And all to late haue I my succour sent: And with these wordes, vpon their carcas colde. She shriched so, as might haue stayed the Sunne To mourne with hir, the wofull sister eke, That both hir chekes did bathe in flowing teares, Out from the depth of hir tormente brest, With scalding sighes gan draw these weary words: O my deare brethren, why abandon ye Our mother deare, when these hir aged yeares, That of themselues are weake and growne with griefe, Stoode most in néede of your sustaining helpe? Why doe you leaue hir thus disconsolate? At sounde of such hir wéeping long lament, Eteocles our king helde vp his hand, And sent from bottome of his wofull brest. A doubled sighe, deuided with his griefe, In faithfull token of his féeble will To recomfort his mother and sister both: And in the steade of swéete contenting words, The trickling teares raynde downe his paled chekes: Then claspt his handes, and shut his dying eyes. But Pollinice that turned his rolling eyen Unto his mother and his sister deare, With hollow voyce and fumbling toung, thus spake: Mother, yu see how I am now arryued Unto the hauen of myne vnhappie ende, Now nothing doth remaine to me, but this, That I lament my sisters life and yours