Alexander, William · published 1637 · first performed or written 1603 (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 516 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.
A mighty fury hath inflamed my breast, And I will rage's, till by revenge appeased. Did I that strong Cadusian first affront, Who durst advance himself to brave our bands, Then turned applauded, and in high account, Charged with his spoils, the honour of my hands? What, could I then (all kind of doubt removed) Alone adventure to an Army's shame? And should I now (that ancient praise disproved) With squadrons compassed, lose that glorious name? Blind fortune, O! thy stratagems are strange! Which spoil my power, and stain my honour too, And (having made my state the stage of change) Hast acted all was in thy power to do; Lo, I, who late of swarming troops did boast, near left alone, have fortunes fraud disclosed; And those made captives whom I fancy most, To vaunting Victors are by fates exposed: O torment but to think, death to believe, That any may my dearest part annoy, And I, wretched I, not able to relieve Mine eyes chief jewel, and my hearts chief joy, Dear object of my thoughts, my life, my love, Sweet Spring of my delights, my one, my all, Bright image of th'excellencies above, What? dost thou breath, and comest not when I call? And can I be, and not be where thou art? Hath heaven the force me from thy face to bar? Or are my hands grown traitors to my heart? That they should shrink from doing what it dare: O! could my mind but distribute a space Those emulating thoughts which toss my breast, To pointless cyphers, who but spend a place, Then I alone might animate the rest; Since in this great disgrace, I chanced to fall, Now nothing rests to raise my fame forlorn, But by some desperate course to hazard all; I'll live with praise, or by my death fly scorn; Some prosperous issue afterward may purge This crime which fortune hath imposed on me, This crime that carries with itself a scourge: No greater torment than the want of thee; But fortune's course, what mortal can restrain, Who Diadems through dust for sport doth roll? A stranger now o'er my delights doth reign, And may extort the treasures of my soul; Now, not till now, I apprehend my harms, When I imagine how my best beloved Must entertain mine enemy in her arms, And I so far from offering ay de removed; A host of furies in my breast I find, Which do my soul with dreadful horrors fill, Whilst Melancholy musters in my mind Strange apprehensions that affright me still; And this surmised disgrace, grown throughly strong, Reads hourly in mine ears a hateful scroll Of an imagined, yet a helpless wrong, Such poisoned thoughts like Serpents sting my soul; Blind love beguiles me not, sharp sighted fears With reason fed, do make suspicion live: Would God that I had neither eyes nor ears, Which to the heart intelligence might give; This aggravates the weight of my despair, When doubt objects to break loves last defence, How he is young and fierce, she young and fair,
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 mighty fury hath enflam'd my breſt, And I will rage, till by revenge appeas'd. Did I that ſtrong Caduſian firſt afront, Who durſt advance himſelfe to brave our bands, Then turn'd applauded, and in high account, Charg'd with his ſpoiles, the honour of my hands? What, could I then (all kinde of doubt remov'd) Alone adventure to an Armies ſhame? And ſhould I now (that ancient praiſe diſprov'd) With ſquadrons compaſs'd, loſe that glorious name? Blinde fortune, O! thy ſtratagems are ſtrange! Which ſpoile my pow'r, and ſtaine my honour too, And (having made my ſtate the ſtage of change) Haſt acted all was in thy power to doe; Loe, I, who late of ſwarming troups did boaſt, Neere left alone, have fortunes fraud diſclos'd; And thoſe made captives whom I fancy moſt, To vaunting Victors are by fates expos'd: O torment but to thinke, death to beleeve, That any may my deareſt part annoy, And I, wretch'd I, not able to releeve Mine eyes chiefe jewell, and my hearts chiefe joy, Deare object of my thoughts, my life, my love, Sweet Spring of my delights, my one, my all, Bright image of th'excellencies above, What? do'ſt thou breath, and com'ſt not when I call? And can I be, and not be where thou art? Hath heaven the force me from thy face to barre? Or are my hands growne traitours to my heart? That they ſhould ſhrinke from doing what it dare: O! could my minde but diſtribute a ſpace Thoſe emulating thoughts which toſſe my breſt, To pointleſſe ciphers, who but ſpend a place, Then I alone might animate the reſt; Since in this great diſgrace, I chanc'd to fall, Now nothing reſts to raiſe my fame forlorne, But by ſome deſperate courſe to hazard all; I'le live with praiſe, or by my death flye ſcorne; Some proſp'rous iſſue afterward may purge This crime which fortune hath impos'd on me, This crime that carryes with it ſelfe a ſcourge: No greater torment then the want of thee; "But fortunes courſe, what mortall can reſtraine, "Who Diadems through duſt for ſport doth roule? A ſtranger now o're my delights doth raigne, And may extort the treaſures of my ſoule; Now, not till now, I apprehend my harmes, When I imagine how my beſt belov'd Muſt entertaine mine enemy in her armes, And I ſo farre from offering ay de remov'd; A hoſt of furies in my breſt I finde, Which doe my ſoule with dreadfull horrours fill, Whilſt Melancholy muſters in my minde Strange apprehenſions that affright me ſtill; And this ſurmiz'd diſgrace, grown throughly ſtrong, Reades hourely in mine eares a hatefull ſcroule Of an imagin'd, yet a helpeleſſe wrong, Such poiſon'd thoughts like Serpents ſting my ſoule; Blinde love beguiles me not, ſharpe ſighted feares With reaſon fed, doe make ſuſpition live: Would God that I had neither eyes nor eares, Which to the heart intelligence might give; This aggravates the weight of my deſpaire, When doubt objects to breake loves laſt defence, How he is yong and fierce, ſhe yong and faire,