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 · 512 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.
But straight again they held their peace, for why? Eteocles 'gan thrust his wicked sword In the left arm of unarmed Polynices, And let the blood from bore unfenced flesh. With falling drops distill upon the ground, Ne long he stays, but with an other 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 brother's 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 blood fast bubbling, gave A sorry show to Greekes and Thebans both. O wretched end of our unhappy Lords. O Oedipus, I must bewail 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 piecced hearts, by their own hands The brothers fell and wallowed in their blood, (That one still tumbling on the other's gore) Came their afflicted mother, then to late, And eke with her, chaste child Antigone, Who saw no sooner how their fates had fallen, But with the doubled echo of alas, She dimmed the air with loud complaints and cries: O 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 thief 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 stead of sweet contenting words, The trickling tears reigned down his paled cheeks: Then clasped his hands, and shut his dying eyes. But Polynices, 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 heaven 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 why? Eteocles gan thruſt his wicked ſworde In the lefte arme of vnarmed Pollinice, And let the bloud from bare vnfenced 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 with 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, Vnder his ſide he reckleſſe doth receiue, That made the way to his wyde open hart. Thus falles Eteocles his brother by, From both whoſe breaſts the bloud faſt bubling, gaue A ſory ſhewe to Greekes and Thebanes both. Oh wretched ende of our vnhappie Lordes. Oh Oedipus, I muſt bewaile the death Of thy deare ſonnes, that were my nephewes both, But of theſe blowes thou oughteſt féele 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 piecced harts, by their owne hands The brothers fell and wallowed in their bloud, (That one ſtill tumbling on the others gore) Came their afflicted mother, then to late, And eke with hir, chaſt childe Antygone, Who ſaw no ſooner how their fates had falne, But with the doubled echo of alas, She dymmde the ayre with loude complaints and cryes: Oh ſonnes (quod ſhe) too late 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 tormented breſt, With ſcalding ſighes gan draw thefe 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 neede 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 feeble will To recomfort his mother and ſiſter both: And in ſteade of ſwéete contenting words, The trickling teares raynde downe his paled chekes: Then claſpt his hands, and ſhut his dying eyes. But Polynice, that turned his rolling eyen Vnto his mother and his ſiſter deare, With hollow voyce and fumbling toung, thus ſpake: Mother, you ſee how I am now arryued Vnto the heauen of mine vnhappie ende: Now nothing doth remaine to me, but this, That I lament my ſiſters life and yours,