Herbert, Mary Sidney / Garnier, RobertSidney Herbert, Mary · published 1595 · first performed or written 1590 (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T54 Antony and Cleopatra: love, death and mo · 461 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T54: antony, caesar, anthony, cleopatra, antonius, love, death, die, heart, breast.
And nothing rest, or respite brings, What help have we more easing? Hope which to us doth comfort give, And doth our fainting hearts revive, Hath not such force in anguish: For promising a vain relief She oft us fails in midst of grief, And helpless let's us languish. But Death who call on her at need Doth never with vain semblant feed, But when them sorrow paineth, So rids their souls of all distress Whose heavy weight did them oppress, That not one grief remaineth. Who fearless and with courage bold Can Acheron's black face behold, Which muddy water beareth: And crossing over in the way Is not amazed at Perruque grey Old rusty Charon weareth? Who void of dread can look upon The dreadful shades that Rome alone, On banks where sound no voices: Whom with her firebrands and her Snakes No whit afraid Allecto makes, Nor triple-barking noises: Who freely can himself dispose Of that last hour which all must close, And leave this life at pleasure: This noble freedom more esteems, And in his heart more precious deems, Then crown and kingly treasure, The waves which Boreas blasts turmoil And cause with foaming fury boil, Make not his heart to tremble: Nor brutish broil, when with strong head A rebel people madly led Against their Lords assemble: Nor fearful face of Tyrant wood, Who breaths but threats, & drinks but blood, No, nor the hand which thunder, The hand of Ioue which thunder bears, And ribs of rocks in sunder tears, Tears mountains sides in sunder: Nor bloody Mars's butchering bands, Whose lightnings desert lay the lands Whom dusty clouds do cover: From of whose armour sunbeams fly, And under them make quaking lie The plains whereon they hover: Nor yet the cruel murd'ring blade Warm in the moisty bowels made Of people pell-mell dying In some great City put to sack By savage Tyrant brought to wrack, At his cold mercy lying. How abject him, how base think I, Who wanting courage can not die When need him thereto calleth? From whom the dagger drawn to kill The cureless griefs that vex him still For fear and faintness falleth? O Antony with thy dear mate Both in misfortunes fortunate! Whose thoughts to death aspiring Shall you protect from victor's rage, Who on each side doth you encage, To triumph much desiring. That Caesar may you not offend Nought else but death can you defend, Which his weak force derideth. And all in this round earth contained, powerless on them whom once enchained Auernus prison hideth: Where great Psammetique's ghost doth rest, Not with infernal pain possessed, But in sweet fields detained: And old Amasis' soul likewise, And all our famous Ptolemy's That whilom on us reigned.
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)
And nothing rest, or respite brings, What help haue we more easing? Hope which to vs doth comfort giue, And doth our fainting harts reuiue, Hath not such force in anguish: For promising a vaine reliefe She oft vs failes in midst of griefe, And helples lets vs languish. But Death who call on her at neede Doth neuer with vaine semblant feed, But when them sorrow paineth, So riddes their soules of all distresse Whose heauie weight did them oppresse, That not one griefe remaineth. Who feareles and with courage bolde Can Acherons black face behold, Which muddie water beareth: And crossing ouer in the way Is not amaz'd at Perruque gray Olde rusty Charon weareth? Who voide of dread can looke vpon The dreadfull shades that Rome alone, On bankes where sound no voices: Whome with hir fire-brands and her Snakes No whit afraide Alecto makes, Nor triple-barking noises: Who freely can himselfe dispose Of that last hower which all must close, And leaue this life at pleasure: This noble freedome more esteemes, And in his heart more precious deemes, Then crowne and kinglie treasure, The waues which Boreas blasts turmoile And cause with foaming furie boile, Make not his heart to tremble: Nor brutish broile, when with strong head A rebell people madly ledde Against their Lords assemble: Nor fearefull face of Tirant wood, Who breaths but threats, & drinks but bloud, No, nor the hand which thunder, The hand of Ioue which thuder beares, And ribbs of rocks in sunder teares, Teares mountains sides in sunder: Nor bloudy Marses butchering bands, Whose lightnings desert laie the lands Whome dustie cloudes do couer: From of whose armour sun-beames flie, And vnder them make quaking lie The plaines wheron they houer: Nor yet the cruell murth'ing blade Warme in the moistie bowels made Of people pell mell dieng In some great Cittie put to sack By sauage Tirant brought to wrack, At his colde mercie lieng. How abiect him, how base thinke I, Who wanting courage can not dye When need him thereto calleth? From whome the dagger drawne to kill The cureles griefes that vexe him still For feare and faintnes falleth? O Antony with thy deare mate Both in misfortunes fortunate! Whose thoughts to death a spiring Shall you protect from victors rage, Who on each side doth you encage, To triumph much desiring. That Caesar may you not offend Nought else but death can you defend, Which his weake force derideth. And all in this round earth containd, Powr'les on them whome once enchaind Auernus prison hideth: Where great Psammetiques ghost doth rest, Not with infernall paine possest, But in sweete fields detained: And olde Amasis soule likewise, And all our famous Ptolomies That whilome on vs raigned.