Daniel, Samuel · published 1594 · first performed or written 1593 [revised 1607] (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 514 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
YET do I live, and yet doth breath possess This hateful prison of a loathsome soul: Can no calamity, nor no distress Break heart and all, and end a life so soul? Can Cleopatra live, and with these eyes Behold the dearest of her life bereft her? Ah, can she entertain the least surmise Of any hope, that hath but horror left her? Why should I linger longer griefs to try? These eyes that saw what honour earth could give me, Do now behold the worst of misery: The greatest wrack whereto Fortune could drive me He on whose shoulders all my rest relied, On whom the burden of my ambition lay: The Atlas and the Champion of my pride, That did the world of my whole fortune sway; Lies fallen, confounded, dead in shame and dolours, Following th'unlucky party of my love. Th' Ensign of mine eyes, th'unhappy colours, That him to mischief, me to ruin drove. And now the model made of misery, Scorn to the world, borne but for Fortune's foil, My lusts have framed a Tomb for me to lie, Even in the ashes of my country's spoil. Ah, who would think that I were she who late, Clad with the glory of the world's chief riches, Admired of all the earth, and wondered at, Glittering in pomp that heart and eye bewitches: Should thus distressed, cast down from of that height Levelled with low disgraced calamity, Under the weight of such affliction sigh, Reduced unto th'extremest misery. Am I the woman, whose inventive pride, (Adorned like Isis,) scorned mortality? IstI that left my sense so without guide, That flattery would not let him know 'twas I? Ah, now I see, they scarce tell truth, that praise us, Crowns are beguiled, prosperity betrays us. What is become of all that stately train, Those troops that won't attend prosperity? See what is left, what number doth remain, A tomb, two maids, and miserable I. And I t'adorn their triumphs, am reserved A captive kept to beautify their spoils: Whom Caesar labours, so to have preserved, And seeks to entertain my life with wiles. No Caesar no, it is not thou canst do it. Promise, flatter, threaten extremity, Employ thy wits, and all thy force unto it, I have both hands, and will, and I can die. Though thou of Country, kingdom, & my Crown, Though thou of all my glory dost bereave me, Though thou hast all my Egypt as thine own, Yet hast thou left me that which will deceive thee. That courage with my blood and birth innated, Admired of all the earth, as thou art now: Cannot by threats be vulgarly abated, To be thy slave, that ruled as good as thou. Consider Caesar that I am a Queen, And scorn the baseness of a servile thought: The world and thou, dost know what I have been, And never think I can be so low brought, The Rome should see my scepter-bearing hands, Behind me bound, and glory in my tears. That I should pass, whereas Octavia stands
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)
YET doe I liue, and yet doth breath possesse This hatefull prison of a loathsome soule: Can no calamitie, nor no distresse Breake hart and all, and end a life so soule? Can Cleopatra liue, and with these eyes Behold the deerest of her life bereft her? Ah, can shee entertaine the least surmise Of any hope, that hath but horror left her? Why should I linger longer griefes to try? These eyes that sawe what honor earth could giue mee, Doe now behold the worst of misery: The greatest wrack wherto Fortune could driue mee Hee on whose shoulders all my rest relyde, On whom the burthen of my ambition lay: The Atlas and the Champion of my pride, That did the world of my whole fortune sway; Lyes falne, confounded, dead in shame and dolors, Following th'vnlucky party of my loue. Th' Ensigne of mine eyes, th'vnhappy collours, That him to mischiefe, mee to ruine droue. And now the modell made of misery, Scorne to the world, borne but for Fortunes foile, My lufts haue fram'd a Tombe for mee to lie, Euen in the ashes of my Countries spoyle. Ah, who would think that I were shee who late, Clad with the glory of the worlds chiefe ritches, Admir'd of all the earth, and wondred at, Glittring in pompe that hart and eye bewitches: Should thus distress'd, cast down from of that heigth Leuell'd with low disgrac'd calamitie, Vnder the waight of such affliction sigh, Reduc'd vnto th'extreamest misery. Am I the woman, whose inuentiue pride, (A dorn'd like Isis,) scornd mortalitie? Ist I that left my sence so without guide, That flattery would not let him know twas I? Ah, now I see, they scarce tell truth, that praise vs, Crownes are beguild, prosperity betraies vs. VVhat is become of all that statelie traine, Those troopes that wont attend prosperitie? See what is left, what number doth remaine, A tombe, two maydes, and miserable I. And I t'adorne their tryumphes, am reseru'd A captiue kept to beautifie their spoyles: VVhom Caesar labours, so to haue preseru'd, And seekes to entertaine my life with wiles. No Caesar no, it is not thou canst doe it. Promise, flatter, threaten extreamitie, Imploy thy wits, and all thy force vnto it, I haue both hands, and will, and I can die. Though thou of Country, kingdom, & my Crowne, Though thou of all my glory dost bereaue me, Though thou hast all my Egipt as thine owne, Yet hast thou left me that which will deceiue thee. That courage with my blood and birth innated, Admir'd of all the earth, as thou art now: Cannot by threates be vulgarly abated, To be thy slaue, that rul'd as good as thou. Consider Caesar that I am a Queene, And scorne the basenes of a seruile thought: The world and thou, dost know what I haue beene, And neuer thinke I can be so low brought, The Rome should see my scepter-bearing hands, Behinde mee bounde, and glory in my teares. That I should passe, whereas Octauia stands