Gascoigne, George / Kinwelmershe, Francis / Yelverton, ChristopherEuripides / Dolce, Lodovico · published 1575 · first performed or written 1566 (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T40 Sin, guilt and violent loss within famil · 481 words · other edition — not in the analysis
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 others 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 redoubled 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 over pining 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, To 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. Moore 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 redoubled payne: Whoſe hapleſſe death in my afflicted houſe, Hath put ſuche playnt, as I ne can eſpie What comfort might acquiet their diſtreſſe. I hither come my ſiſter for to ſéeke, Iocaſta, ſhe that might in wofull wiſe Amid hir high and ouer pining 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, To 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 heere ſo haſtilye. ALas, alas, what ſhall I doe? alas, What ſhriching voyce may ſerue my wofull wordes? O wretched I, ten thouſande times a wretch, The meſſanger of dread and cruell death Yet more miſhap? 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 both 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 bruſt in bitter teares, And ſo they would, had they the ſenſe of man. O worthy yong Lordes, that vnworthy were Of ſuch vnworthy death, O me moſte wretch. 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.