Gascoigne, George / Kinwelmershe, Francis / Yelverton, ChristopherEuripides / Dolce, Lodovico · published 1575 · first performed or written 1566 (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T34 Thebes and royal catastrophe: siege, sla · 481 words · other edition — not in the analysis
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 feigning tunes commend my faultless ghost To highest heavens, while I despoil myself, That afterward (sith Ioue 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 a do, But drew his sword, and sheathed it in his breast. Not 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, Me thinks good reason would, that I henceforth Of Theban soil should bear the kingly sway: Yea sure, and so I will ere it belong, 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 fire, of whose accursed seed Two brethren sprang, whose raging hateful hearts, By force of boiling ire are bolne so sore As each do thirst to suck the other's blood: But why do I sustain the smart hereof? Why should my blood be spilled for other's guilt? O 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.
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 may dread 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 withſtand the heauenly powers? Well, it beſéemes not me, ne yet my yeares, In booteleſſe plaint to waſt my wailefull teares: Do thou recount to me his luckleſſe deathe, The order, forme, and manner of the ſame. Your ſonne (my Lorde) came to Eteocles, And tolde him this in preſence of the reſt: Renoumed 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 yéeld Vnto your grace, and vnto natiue land) Might well be déemde a moſt vngratefull ſonne Vnto this worthy towne, if I would ſhunne The ſharpeſt death to do my countrie good: In mourning wéede now let the veſtall Nimphes, With fainyng tunes commend my faultleſſe ghoſt To higheſt heauens, while I deſpoyle my ſelfe, That afterwarde (ſith Ioue 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 was content to die. This ſaide, alas, he made no more a doe, But drewe his ſword, and ſheathde it in his breſt. No more, I haue inough, returne ye nowe From whence ye came. Well, ſince the bloud of my beloued ſonne, Muſt ſerue to ſlake the wrath 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 ſhould beare the kingly ſwaye: Yea ſure, and ſo I will ere it belong, 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 fire, 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 be ſpilt for others gilte? Oh welcome were that meſſenger 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 funerals of my yong giltleſſe ſonne, The which perhaps may be accompanyed With th'obſequies of proude Eteocles.