Daniel, Samuel · published 1599 · first performed or written 1593 [revised 1607] (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 541 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
HOW deeply Arius am I bound to thee, That savedst from death this wretched life of mine: Obtaining Caesar's gentle grace for me, When I of all helps else despaired but thine? Although I see in such a woeful state, Life is not that which should be much desired: Sith all our glories come to end their date, Our Country's honour and our own expired. Now that the hand of wrath hath over-gone us, Living (as 'twere) in th'arms of our dead mother, With blood under our feet, ruin upon us, And in a Land most wretched of all other, When yet we reck on life our dearest good. And so we live, we care not how we live: So deep we feel impressed in our blood, That touch which Nature with our breath did give. And yet what blasts of words hath learning found, To blow against the fear of death and dying? What comforts unsicke eloquence can sound, And yet all fails us in the point of trying. For whilst we reason with the breath of safety, Without the compass of destruction living: What precepts show we then, what courage lofty In taxing others fears in counsel giving? When all this air of sweet-contrived words Proves but weak armour to defend the heart. For when this life, pale fear and terror boards, Where are our precepts then, where is our art? O who is he that from himself can turn, That bears about the body of a man? Who doth not toil and labour to adjourn The day of death, by any means he can? All this I speak to th' end myself t'excuse, For my base begging of a servile breath, Wherein I grant myself much to abuse, So shamefully to seek t'avoid my death. Philostratus, that self same care to live, Possesseth all alike, and grieve not then Nature doth us no more than others give: Though we speak more than men, we are but men. And yet (in truth) these miseries to see, Wherein we stand in most extreme distress: Might to ourselves sufficient motives be To loathe this life, and weigh our death the less: For never any age hath better taught, What feeble footing pride and greatness hath. How ' improvident prosperity is caught, And clean confounded in the day of wrath.' See how dismayed Confusion keeps those streets, That nought but mirth and music late resounded, How nothing with our eye but horror meres, Our state, our wealth, our pride and all confounded. Yet what weak sight did not discern from far This black-arisingtempest, all confounding? Who did not see we should be what we are, When pride and riot grew to such abounding. When dissolute impiety possessed Th'unrespective minds of prince, and people: When insolent Security found rest In wanton thoughts, with lust & ease made feeble. Then when unwary peace with fatfed pleasure, New-fresh invented riots still detected, Purchased with all the Ptolemy's rich treasure, Our laws, our gods, our mysteries neglected. Who saw not how this confluence of vice, This inundation of disorders, must At length of force pay back the bloody price Of sad destruction, (a reward for lust.) O thou and I have heard, and read, and known
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)
HOW deepely Arius am I bound to thee, That sau'dst from death this wretched life of mine: Obtaining Caesars gentle grace for mee, When I of all helps else dispaird but thine? Although I see in such a wofull state, Life is not that which should be much desir'd: Sith all our glories come to end their date, Our Countries honour and our own expir'd. Now that the hand of wrath hath ouer-gone vs, Liuing (as 'twere) in th'armes of our dead mother, With bloud vnder our feet, ruine vpon vs, And in a Land most wretched of all other, When yet we reck on life our deerest good. And so we liue, we care not how we liue: So deepe we feele impressed in our blood, That touch which Nature with our breath did giue. And yet what blasts of words hath learning found, To blow against the feare of death and dying? What comforts vnsicke eloquence can sound, And yet all failes vs in the point of trying. For whilst we reason with the breath of safety, Without the compasse of destruction liuing: What precepts shew we then, what courage lofty In taxing others feares in counsell giuing? When all this ayre of sweet-contriued words Proues but weake armour to defend the hart. For when this life, pale feare and terror boords, Where are our precepts then, where is our arte? O who is he that from himselfe can turne, That beares about the body of a man? Who doth not toile and labour to adiorne The day of death, by any meanes he can? All this I speake to th' end my selfe t'excuse, For my base begging of a seruile breath, Wherein I grant my selfe much to abuse, So shamefully to seek t'auoide my death. Philostratus, that selfe same care to liue, Possesseth all alike, and grieue not then Nature doth vs no more then others giue: Though we speak more then mē, we are but mē. And yet (in truth) these miseries to see, Wherein we stand in most extreame distresse: Might to our selues sufficient motiues be To loath this life, and weigh our death the lesse: For neuer any age hath better taught, What feeble footing pride and greatnesse hath. How' improuident prosperitie is caught, And cleane confounded in the day of wrath.' See how dismaid Confusion keepes those streetes, That nought but mirth and musique late resounded, How nothing with our eie but horror meeres, Our state, our wealth, our pride and all confounded. Yet what weake sight did not discerne from far This black-arisingtempest, all confounding? Who did not see we should be what we are, When pride and ryot grew to such abounding. VVhen dissolute impietie possest Th'vnrespectiue mindes of prince, and people: VVhen infolent Security found rest In wanton thoughts, with lust & ease made feeble. Then when vnwary peace with fat-fed pleasure, New-fresh inuented ryots still detected, Purchac'd with all the Ptolomies ritch treasure, Our lawes, our gods, our mysteries neglected. VVho saw not how this confluence of vice, This inundation of disorders, must At length of force pay backe the bloody price Of sad destruction, (a reward for lust.) O thou and I haue heard, and read, and knowne