Gascoigne, George / Kinwelmershe, Francis / Yelverton, ChristopherEuripides / Dolce, Lodovico · published 1575 · first performed or written 1566 (Annals) tragedy T50 Fleets, armies and generals: war by sea typicality 0.77 · 497 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T50: sea, honour, general, soldiers, men, ship, fight, soldier, king, vittori.
The Mariner amid the swelling seas Who seeth his bark with many a billow beaten, Now here, now there, as wind and waves best please, When thundering Ioue with tempest list to threaten, And dreads in deepest gulf for to be eaten, Yet learns a mean by mere necessity To save himself in such extremity: For when he seeth no man hath wit nor power To fly from fate when fortune list to lower, His only hope on mighty Ioue doth cast, Whereby he wins the wished heaven at last. How fond is that man in his fantasy, Who thinks that Ioue the maker of us all, And he that tempers all in heaven on high, The sun, the moan, the stars celestial, So that no leaf without his leave can fall, Hath not in him omnipotence also To guide and govern all things here below? O blinded eyes, O wretched mortal wights, O subject slaves to every ill that lights, To scape such woe, such pain, such shame and scorn, Happy were he that never had been borne. Well might duke Creon driven by destiny, (If true it be that old Tiresias saith) Redeem our city from this misery, By his consent unto Meneceus' death, Who of himself would feign have lost his breath: But every man is loath for to fulfil The heavenly hest that pleaseth not his william. That public weal must needs to ruin g● Where private profit is preferred so. Yet mighty God, thy only aid we crave, This town from siege, and us from sorrow save. O Sage and sober dames, O shamefast maids, O faithful servants of our aged Queen, Come lead her forth, sith unto her I bring Such secret news as are of great import. Come forth, O Queen, surcease thy woeful plaint, And to my words vouchsafe a willing ear. My servant dear, dost thou yet bring me news Of more mishap? ah weary wretch, alas, How doth Eteocles? whom heretofore In his increasing years, I wonted aye From dangerous hap with favour to defend, Doth he yet live? or hath untimely death In cruel fight herefte his flowering life? He lives (O Queen) hereof have ye no doubt, From such suspect myself will quit you soon. The venturous Greeks have haply ta'en the town? The Gods forbidden. Our soldiers then, perchance, Dispersed been and yelden to the sword. Not so, they were at first in danger sure, But in the end obtained victory. Alas, what then becomes of Polynices? O canst thou tell? is he dead or alive? You have (O Queen) yet both your sons alive O, how my heart is eased of his pain. Well, then proceed, and briefly let me hear, How ye repulsed your proud presuming foes, That thereby yet at lest I may assuage The swelling sorrows in my doleful breast, In that the town is hitherto preserved: And for the rest, I trust that might Ioue Will yield us aid.
Gascoigne, George / Kinwelmershe, Francis / Yelverton, ChristopherEuripides / Dolce, Lodovico
Publication year (edition)
1575
First performance / composition (Annals)
1566
First performance (BritDrama)
1566 [1566-1567]
Genre (British Drama)
tragedy
Play type
Translation;Nonprofessional;University/Inns of Court
Edition / TCP / DEEP
edition 107 · TCP A01514 · DEEP 5007.03
Edition role
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 1723–1787 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 28 of 68 in this edition
Length
497 words · 667 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T50 — Fleets, armies and generals: war by sea and landcross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.772 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
Other seeds
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T45 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
The Mariner amidde the ſwelling ſeas Who ſéeth his barke with many a billowe beaten, Now here, now there, as wind and waues beſt pleaſe, When thundring Ioue with tempeſt liſt to threaten, And dreades in depeſt gulfe for to be eaten, Yet learnes a meane by mere neceſſitie To ſaue himſelfe in ſuch extremitie: For when he ſéeth no man hath witte nor powre To flie from fate when fortune liſt to lowre, His only hope on mightie Ioue doth caſte, Whereby he winnes the wiſhed heauen at laſt. How fond is that man in his fantaſie, Who thinks that Ioue the maker of vs al, And he that tempers all in heauen on high, The ſunne, the mone, the ſtarres celeſtiall, So that no leafe without his leaue can fall, Hath not in him omnipotence alſo To guide and gouerne all things here below? O blinded eies, O wretched mortall wights, O ſubiect ſlaues to euery ill that lights, To ſcape ſuch woe, ſuch paine, ſuch ſhame and ſcorne, Happie were he that neuer had bin borne. Well might duke Creon driuen by deſtinie, (If true it be that olde Tyreſias ſaith) Redeme our citie from this miſerie, By his conſent vnto Meneceus death, Who of himſelfe wold faine haue loſt his breth: "But euery man is loth for to fulfill "The heauenly heſt that pleaſeth not his will. "That publique weale muſt néedes to ruine g "Where priuate profite is preferred ſo. Yet mightie God, thy only aide we craue, This towne from ſiege, and vs from ſorowe ſaue. O Sage and ſober dames, O ſhamefaſt maids, O faithful ſeruants of our aged Quéene, Come leade hir forth, fith vnto hir I bring Such ſecrete newes as are of great importe. Come forth, O Quéene, ſurceaſſe thy wofull plaint, And to my words vouchſafe a willing eare. My ſeruant deare, doeſt thou yet bring me newes Of more miſhappe? ah werie wretch, alas, How doth Eteocles? whom heretofore In his encreaſing yeares, I wonted ay From daungerous happe with fauoure to defend, Doth he yet liue? or hath vntimely death In cruell fight herefte his flowring life? He liues (O Quéene) hereof haue ye no doubt, From ſuch ſuſpecte my ſelfe will quit you ſoone. The vētrous Gréekes haue haply tane the towne? The Gods forbid. Our ſouldiers then, perchance, Diſperſed bene and yelden to the ſword. Not ſo, they were at firſt in daunger ſure, But in the end obteined victorie. Alas, what then becomes of Polynice? Oh canſt thou tell? is he dead or aliue? You haue (O Quéene) yet both your ſonnes aliue Oh, how my harte is eaſed of his paine. Well, then procéede, and briefly let me heare, How ye repulſt your proud preſuming foes, That thereby yet at leaſt I may aſſuage The ſwelling ſorrowes in my dolefull breſt, In that the towne is hitherto preſerude: And for the reſt, I truſt that might Ioue Will yeld vs ayde.