Gascoigne, George / Kinwelmershe, Francis / Yelverton, ChristopherEuripides / Dolce, Lodovico · published 1575 · first performed or written 1566 (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T57 Ships, merchants and pirates · 515 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T57: ship, sea, master, sail, home, money, pisaro, life, ships, till.
A Strange conceit, a vain of new delight, Twixt weal and woe, twixte joy and bitter grief, Hath pricked forth my hasty pen to writ This worthless verse in hazard of repréefe: And to mine (a) Alderlievest Lord I must indite A woeful case, a chip of sorry chance, A type of heaven, a lively hue of hell, A fear to fall, a hope of high advance, A life, a death, a dreary tale to tell. But since I know the pith of my pastance Shall most consist in telling of a truth, Vouchsafe my Lord (b) (en bon gré) for to take This trusty tale the story of my youth, This Chronicle which of myself I make, To show my Lord what healplesse hap ensueth, When heady youth will gad without a guide, And range untied in leas of liberty, Or when bore need a starting hole hath spied To peep abroad from mother Misery, And buildeth Castles in the Welkin wide, In hope thereby to devil with wealth and ease. But he the Lord (whom my good Lord doth know) Can bind or loose, as best to him shall please, Can save or spill, raise up or overthrow, Can galled with grief, and yet the pain appease. Which thing to prove if so my L. take time, (When greater cares his head shall not possess) To sit and read this ranging ragged rhyme, I doubt not then but that he will confess, What falls I found when last I leapt to climb. In March it was, that cannot I forget, In this last March upon the nintenth day, When from Gravesend in boat I 'gan to jest To board our ship in Quinborough that lay, From whence the very twentieth day we set Our sails abroad to slice the Salt sea foam, And anchors weighed 'gan trust the trustless flood: That day and night amid the waves we roam To seek the coast of Holland where it stood. And on the next when we were far from home, And near the haven whereto we sought to sail, A fearly chance: (whereon alone to think) My hand now quakes, and all my senses fail) 'Gan us befall: the Pilot 'gan to shrink, And all aghast his courage seemed to quail. Whereat amazed, the Master and his mate 'Gan ask the cause of his so sudden change. And from aloft the Steward of our state, (The sounding plumb) in haste post haste must range, To try the depth and goodness of our gate. Me thinks (even yet) I hear his heavy voice, Fathom three, four, foot more, foot less, that cried: Me thinks I hear the fearful whispering noise, Of such as said full softly (me beside) God grant this journey 'cause us to rejoice. When I poor soul, which close in cabin lay, And there had reached till gaule was well-near burst, With giddy head, my stumbling steps must stay To look abroad as boldly as I durst. And whiles I hearken what the Sailors say, The sownder sings, fadame two full no more.
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)
A Straunge conceyte, a vayne of newe delight, Twixt weale and woe, twixte ioy and bitter griefe, Hath pricked foorth my haſtie penne to write This woorthleſſe verſe in hazarde of repréefe: And to mine Alderlieuest Lorde I muſt endite A wofull caſe, a chippe of ſorie chaunce, A tipe of heauen, a liuely hew of hell, A feare to fall, a hope of high aduance, A life, a death, a drearie tale to tell. But ſince I know the pith of my paſtaunce Shall moſt conſiſt in telling of a truth, Vouchſafe my Lord (en bon gré) for to take This truſtie tale the ſtorie of my youth, This Chronicle which of my ſelfe I make, To ſhew my Lord what healpleſſe happe enſewth, When heddy youth will gad without a guide, And raunge vntide in leas of libertie, Or when bare néede a ſtarting hole hath ſpide To péepe abroade from mother Miſerie, And buildeth Caſtels in the Welkin wide, In hope thereby to dwell with wealth and eaſe. But he the Lord (whome my good Lord doth know) Can bind or loſe, as beſt to him ſhall pleaſe, Can ſaue or ſpill, rayſe vp or ouerthrowe, Can gauld with griefe, and yet the payne appeaſe. Which thing to proue if ſo my L. take time, (When greater cares his head ſhall not poſſeſſe) To ſitte and reade this raunging ragged rime, I doubt not then but that he will confeſſe, What falles I found when laſt I leapt to clime. In March it was, that cannot I forget, In this laſt March vpon the nintenth day, When from Graueſend in boate I gan to iette To boorde our ſhippe in Quinborough that lay, From whence the very twentith day we ſet Our ſayles abrode to ſlice the Salt ſea fome, And ancors weyde gan truſt the truſtleſſe floud: That day and night amid the waues we rome To ſeeke the coaſt of Holland where it ſtoode. And on the next when we were farre from home, And neare the hauen whereto we ſought to ſayle, A fearly chaunce: (whereon alone to thinke) My hande now quakes, and all my ſenſes fayle) Gan vs befall: the Pylot gan to ſhrinke, And all agaſte his courage ſéemde to quayle. Whereat amazed, the Maiſter and his mate Gan aſke the cauſe of his ſo ſodeyne chaunge. And from alofte the Stewarde of our ſtate, (The ſounding plumbe) in haſte poſte haſt muſt raunge, To trye the depth and goodneſſe of our gate. Mée thinkes (euen yet) I heare his heauie voyce, Fadome thrée, foure, foote more, foote leſſe, that cride: Mée thinkes I heare the fearefull whiſpring noyſe, Of ſuch as ſayde full ſoftely (me beſide) God graunte this iourney cauſe vs to reioyce. When I poore ſoule, which cloſe in caban laye, And there had reacht till gaule was welneare burſt, With giddie head, my ſtumbling ſteppes muſt ſtay To looke abroade as boldly as I durſt. And whyles I hearken what the Saylers ſaye, The ſownder ſings, fadame two full no more.