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 · 512 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T34: thebes, antigone, polynices, creon, eteocles, war, theban, gods, dear, country.
Left thus in everlasting woe and grief: So am I sorry for Eteocles, Who though he were my cruel enemy, He was your son, and brother yet to me: But since these ghosts of curs must needs go down With staggering steps into the Stygian reign, I you beseech, mother and sister both, Of pity yet, that you will me procure A royal tomb within my native realm, And now shut up with those your tender hands, These griefful eyes of mine, whose dazzled sight Shadows of dreadful death be come to close, Now rest in peace, thus said, he yielded up His fainting ghost, that ready was to part. The mother thus beholding both her sons Ygone to death, and overcome with dole, Drew out the dagger of her Polynices, From brother's breast, and gored her mother's throat Falling between her sons, Then with her feebled arms, she doth enfold Their bodies both, as if for company Her uncontented corpse were yet content To pass with them in Charon's ferry boat. When cruel fate had thus with force bereft The woeful mother and her two dear sons, All suddenly alarm alarm they cry, And hot conflict began for to arise Between our army and our enemies: For either part would have the victory. A while they did with equal force maintain The bloody fight, at last the Greeks do fly, Of whom could hardly any one escape, For in such hugy heaps our men them slew, The ground was covered all with carcases: And of our soldiers, some 'gan spoil the dead, Some other were that parted out the prey, And some pursuing Antigone took up The Queen Jocasta and the brethren both, Whom in a chariot hither they will bring Ere long: and thus, although we gotten have The victory over our enemies, Yet have we lost much more than we have won. O hard mishap we do not only hear The weary news of their untimely death, But eke we must with wailing eyes behold Their bodies dead, for look where they be brought. MOst bitter plaint, O ladies, us behoves, behoveth eke not only bitter plaint, But that our hears dishevelled from our heads About our shoulders hang, and that our breasts With bouncing blows be all be battered, Our ghastly faces with our nails defaced: Behold, your Queen twixt both her sons lies slain, The Queen whom you did love and honour both, The Queen that did so tenderly bring up And nourish you, each one like to her own, Now hath she left you all (O cruel hap) With her too cruel death in dying dread, Pining with pensiveness without all help. O weary life, why bid'st thou in my breast, And I contented be that these mine eyes Should see her die that gave to me this life, And I not venge her death by loss of life? Who can me give a fountain made of moan, That I may weep as much as is my will, To souse this sorrow up in swelling tears?
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)
Left thus in euerlasting woe and grife: So am I sory for Eteocles, Who though he were my cruell enimy, He was your sonne, and brother yet to me: But since these ghosts of curs must needes go down With staggering steppes into the Stigian reigne, I you beseche, mother and sister bothe, Of pitie yet, that you will me procure A royall tombe within my natiue realme, And now shut vp with those your tender handes, These griefull eyes of mine, whose daseled ight Shadowes of dreadfull death b come to close, Now rest in pece, thus sayde, he yeelded vp His fainting ghost, that ready was to part. The mother thus beholding both hir sonnes Yone to death, and ouercome with dol, Drewe out the dagger of hir Polmces, From brothers brest, and gorde hir mothers throte Falling betwéene hir sonnes, Then with hir féebled armes, she doth enold Their bodies both, as if for company Hir vncontented corps were yet content To passe with them in Chaons ferrie boate. When cruell fate had ths with force berest The wofull mother and hir two deare sonnes, All sodenly allarme allarme they crye, And hote conflict began for to aryse Betwene our armie and our eemyes: For either part would haue the victorye. A while they did with equall force maintaine The bloudy fight, at last the Gréekes do flie, Of whom could hardly any one escape, For in such hugie heapes our men them slew, The ground was couerde all with carcases: And of our souldiers, some gan spoyle the dead, Some other were that parted out the pray, And some pursuing Antigone toke vp The Queene locasta and the brethren both, Whom in a chariot hither they will bring Ere long: and thus, although we gotten haue The victory ouer our enemies, Yet hue we lost much more than we haue wonne. O hard mishap we doe not onely heare The wearie newes of their vnimely death, But eke we must with wayling eyes beholde Their bodies deade, for loke where they be brought. MOst bitter plaint, O ladyes, vs behoues, Behoueth eke not onely bitter plainte, But that our heares dysheuylde from our heades About our shoulders hang, and that our brests With bouncing blowes be all be battered, Our gastly faces with our nayles defaced: Behold, your Queene twixt both hir sonnes lyes slayne, The Queene whom you di loue and honour both, The Queene that did so tendrly bring vp And nourishe you, eche one like to hir owne, Now hath she left you all (O cruell hap) With hir too cruell death in dying dreade, Pyning with pensienesse without all helpe. O weary life, why bydst thou in my breast, And I contented be that thse mine eyes Should sée hir dye that gaue to me this life, And I not venge hir death by losse of life? Who can me giue a fountaine made of mone, That I may weepe as muche as is my will, To sowsse this sorow vp in swelling teares?