Locrine, the Eldest Son of King Brutus · chunk 20 of 31
S., W. · published 1595 · first performed or written c.1594 (Annals) tragedy · Unknown unassigned nearest T38 Death, parting and grief at court · 491 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T38: queen, king, death, dead, heart, life, die, lord, royal, news.
What prince soe'er adorned with golden Doth sway the regal sceptre in his hand: And thinks no chance can ever throw him down, Or that his state shall everlasting stand, Let him behold poor Estrild in this plight, The perfect platform of a troubled wight. Once was I guarded with manortial bands, Compassed with princes of the noble blood, Now am I fallen into my foemen's hands, And with my death must pacify their mood. O life the harbour of calamities, O death the haven of all miseries, I could compare my sorrows to thy woe, Thou wretched queen of wretched Pergamus, But that thou viewedst thy enemies overthrow. Nigh to the rock of high Caphareus, Thou sawst their death, and then departedst thence, I must abide the victor's insolence. The gods that pitied thy continual grief, Transformed thy corpse, and with thy corpse thy care, Poor Estrild lives despairing of relief, For friends in trouble are but few and rare. What said I few? I few or none at all, For cruel death made havoc of them all. Thrice happy they whose fortune was so good, To end their lives, and with their lives their woes, Thrice hapless I, whom fortune so withstood, That cruelly she gave me to my foes. Oh soldiers is there any misery, To be compared to fortune's treachery. Camber, this same should be the Scythian queen. So may we judge by her lamenting words. So fair a dame mine eyes did never see, With floods of woes she seems o'erwhelmed to be O Locrine hath she not a cause for to be sad? If she have cause to weep for Humbers death, And shed salt tears for her overthrow, Locrine may well bewail his proper grief, Locrine may move his own peculiar woe, He being conquered died a speedy death, And felt not long his lamentable smart, I being conqueror, live a lingering life, And feel the force of Cupid's sudden stroke. I gave him cause to die a speedy death, He left me cause to wish a speedy death. Oh that sweet face painted with natures die, Those roseal checks mixed with a snowy white, That decent neck surpassing ivory, Those comely breasts which Venus well might spite, Are like to snares which wily fowlers wrought, Wherein my yielding heart is prisoner caught. The golden tresses of her dainty hair Which shine like rubies glittering with the sun, Have so entrapped poor Locrine's lovesick heart, That from the same no way it can be won. How true is that which oft I heard declared, One dram of joy, must have a pound of care. Hard is their fall who from a golden crown Are cast into a sea of wretchedness. Hard is their thrall who by Cupid's frown Are wrapped in waves of endless carefulness. Oh kingdom object to all miseries. Oh love, the extrem'st of all extremities. Let him go into his chair.
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)
What prince so ere adornd with golden Doth sway the regall sceptler in his hand: And thinks no chance can euer throw him downe, Or that his state shall euerlasting stand, Let him behold poore Estrild in this plight, The perfect platforme of a troubled wight. Once was I guarded with manortiall bands, Compast with princes of the noble blood, Now am I fallen into my foemens hands, And with my death must pacifie their mood. O life the harbour of calamities, O death the hauen of all miseries, I could compare my sorrowes to thy woe, Thou wretched queen of wretched Pergamus, But that thou viewdst thy enemies ouerthrow. Nigh to the rocke of high Caphareus, Thou sawst their death, and then departedst thence, I must abide the victors insolence. The gods that pittied thy continuall griefe, Transformd thy corps, and with thy corps thy care, Poore Estrild liues dispairing of reliefe, For friends in trouble are but fewe and rare. What said I fewe? I fewe or none at all, For cruell death made hauock of them all. Thrice happie they whose fortune was so good, To end their liues, and with their liues their woes, Thrice haplesse I, whome fortune so withstood, That cruelly she gaue me to my foes. Oh souldiers is there any miserie, To be comparde to fortunes trecherie. Camer, this ame shuld be the Scithiā queen. So may we iudge by her lamenting words. So faire a dame mine eies did neuer see, With floods of woes she seems orewhelmed to bee O Locrine hath she not a cause for to be sad? If she haue cause to weepe for Humbers death, And shead sault teares for her ouerthrow, Locrine may well bewaile his proper griefe, Locrine may moue his owne peculiar woe, He being conquerd died a speedie death, And felt not long his lamentable smart, I being conqueror, liue a lingring life, And feele the force of Cupids suddaine stroke. I gaue him cause to die a speedie death, He left me cause to wish a speedie death. Oh that sweete face painted with natures dye, Those rosall checks mizt with a snowy white, That decent necke surpassing yuorie, Those comely brests which Venus well might spite, Are like to snares which wylie fowlers wrought Wherein my yeelding heart is prisoner cought. The golden tresses of her daintie haire Which shine like rubies glittering with the sunne, Haue so entrapt poore Locrines louesick heart, That from the same no way it can be wonne. How true is that which oft I heard declard, One dramme of ioy, must haue a pound of care. Hard is their fall who from a golden crown Are cast into a sea of wretchednesse. Hard is their thrall who by Cupids frowne Are wrapt in waues of endlesse carefulnesse. Oh kingdome obiect to all miseries. Oh loue, the extreemst of all extremities. Let him go into his chaire.