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 · 517 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.
When as my mother saw her dear sons dead, As pensive pangs had priest her tender heart, With bloodless cheeks and ghastly looks she fell, Drawing the dagger from Eteocles side, She gored herself with wide recureless wound: And thus, without more words, gave up the ghost, Embracing both her sons with both her arms. In these affrights this frozen heart of mine, By fear of death maintains my dying life. This dreary day is cause of many evils, Poor Oedipus, unto thy progeny, The Gods yet grant it may become the cause Of better hap to this afflicted realm. GOod Ladies leave your bootless vain complaint, Leave to lament, cut off your woeful cries, High time it is as now for to provide The funerals for the renowned king: And thou Oedipus harken to my words, And know thus much, that for thy daughter's dower, Antigone with Haemon shall be wed. Thy son our king not long before his death Assigned hath the kingdom should descend To me, that am his mother's brother borne, And so the same might to my son succeed. Now I that am the lord and king of Thebes, Will not permit that thou abide therein: Ne marvel yet of this my heady will, Ne blame thou me, for why, the heavens above (Which only rule the rolling life of man,) Have so ordained, and that my words be true, Tiresias he that knoweth things to come, By trusty tokens hath foretold the town, That while thou didst within the walls remain, It should be plagned still with penury: Wherefore depart, and think not that I speak These woeful words for hate I bear to thee, But for the weal of this afflicted realm. O foul accursed fate, that hast me bred To bear the burden of the misery Of this cold death, which we account for life: Before my birth my father understood I should him slay, and scarcely was I borne, When he me made a prey for savage beasts. But what? I slew him yet, then caught the crown, And last of all defiled my mother's bed, By whom I have this wicked offspring got: And to this heinous crime and filthy fact The heavens have from high enforced me, Against whose doom no counsel can prevail. Thus hate I now my life, and last of all, Lo by the news of this so cruel death Of both my sons and dear beloved wife, Mine angry constellation me commands Withouten eyes to wander in mine age, When these my weary, weak, and crooked limb: Have greatest need to crave their quiet rest. O cruel Creon, wilt thou slay me so, For cruelly thou dost but murder me, Out of my kingdom now to chase me thus: Yet can I not with humble mind beseech Thy courtesy, ne fall before thy feet. Let fortune take from me these worldly gifts, She can not conquer this courageous heart, That never yet could well be overcome, To force me yield for fear to villainy: Do what thou canst I will be Oedipus.
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)
When as my mother ſawe hir deare ſonnes dead, As penſiue pangs had preſt hir tender heart, With bloudleſſe chéekes and gaſtly lookes ſhe fell, Drawing the dagger from Eteocles ſide, She gorde hirſelfe with wide recureleſſe wounde: And thus, without mo words, gaue vp the ghoſt, Embracing both hir ſonnes with both hir armes. In theſe affrightes this froſen heart of mine, By feare of death maynteines my dying life. This drearie day is cauſe of many euils, Poore Oedipus, vnto thy progenie, The Gods yet graunt it may become the cauſe Of better happe to this afflicted realme. GOod Ladies leaue your booteleſſe vayne complaynt, Leaue to lament, cut off your wofull cryes, High time it is as now for to prouide The funerals for the renowmed king: And thou Oedipus hearken to my wordes, And know thus muche, that for thy daughters dower, Antigone with Hemone ſhall be wedde. Thy ſonne our king not long before his death Aſſigned hath the kingdome ſhould deſcende To me, that am his mothers brother borne, And ſo the ſame might to my ſonne ſuccéede. Now I that am the lorde and king of Thebes, Will not permit that thou abide therein: Ne maruell yet of this my heady will, Ne blame thou me, for why, the heauens aboue (Which onely rule the rolling life of man,) Haue ſo ordeynde, and that my words be true, Tyreſias he that knoweth things to come, By truſtie tokens hath foretolde the towne, That while thou didſt within the walles remayne, It ſhould be plagned ſtill with penurie: Wherfore departe, and thinke not that I ſpeake Theſe wofull wordes for hate I beare to thée, But for the weale of this afflicted realme. O foule accurſed fate, that haſt me bredde To beare the burthen of the miſerie Of this colde death, which we accompt for life: Before my birth my father vnderſtoode I ſhould him ſlea, and ſcarcely was I borne, When he me made a pray for ſauage beaſtes. But what? I ſlew him yet, then caught the crowne, And laſt of all defilde my mothers bedde, By whom I haue this wicked ofſpring got: And to this heinous crime and filthy facte The heauens haue from highe enforced me, Agaynſt whoſe doome no counſell can preuayle. Thus hate I now my life, and laſt of all, Lo by the newes of this ſo cruell death Of bothe my ſonnes and deare beloued wife, Mine angrie conſtellation me commaundes Withouten eyes to wander in mine age, When theſe my wéery, weake, and crooked limme: Haue greateſt néede to craue their quiet reſt. O cruell Creon, wilt thou ſlea me ſo, For cruelly thou doſte but murther me, Out of my kingdome now to chaſe me thus: Yet can I not with humble minde beſéeche Thy curteſie, ne fall before thy féete. Let fortune take from me theſe worldly giftes, She can not conquere this courageous heart, That neuer yet could well be ouercome, To force me yéelde for feare to villanie: Do what thou canſt I will be Oedipus.