Alexander, William · published 1637 · first performed or written 1603 (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T38 Death, parting and grief at court · 516 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T38: queen, king, death, dead, heart, life, die, lord, royal, news.
And of my loyal thoughts the secrets see, Whose great affection cannot be confined. This prisons worst hath bounded but mine eyes, And banished them the object of their joy, My fiery heart well winged with fancies flies, And where thou go'st dost still thy steps convoy; Dear, whilst thou dost enjoy this common air, Those who me captive think, do grossly err: For whilst thou liv'st, how can thy Queen despair, Whom thou to soul, and Sceptre, dost prefer; Yet flatter I myself who am accursed? Of those mishaps which make my thoughts to stray, The memory may serve to make me burst, Ah, ah, I faint, I feel my spirits decay. Help, help, alas, alas the Empress falls. O day of darkness! what a world of woes? This heavy sight my panting heart appalls: Heaven, earth, and all, are now become our foes. No creature hath more cause to moon than I, Whose Fathers Fortune oft afflicts mine ears, Whilst I my mother's misery must spy, So that of both my breast the burden bears. What inhuman humanity is this, With such a cruel pity to oppress, To bring pale ghosts back from the fields of bliss, Yet to be plunged in th'ocean of distress? O unkind kindness that by saving slays, And would with lovelesse love, my love control: Ah! of this braving Sun the loathsome rays Do clear mine eyes, but to confound my soul. Dear daughter, strive your passions to restrain, Lest that the torrent of your grief grow such, That both it carry you where horiours reign; And him o'erwhelm for whom you mourn so much; No doubt but he, if we rest captives thus Disdaining those indignities of ours, To venge himself in reobtaining us, Will hazard all his oriental powers; But ah, what comfort can a wretch afford, Whose care-worn breast the worst of woe contains: Yet though my heart would fain impugn my word, I hopeless speak of hope, to ease her pains. Plagued with what is, what may be never pause, Since we must hold our grief our greatest good, And do not feed false hopes, for we have cause Even to sigh out our souls, and weep our blood. I wail my Son. And I my husband's fall. I wail my Father, and in him us all. No woe like mine, mine cannot be relieved, I wail his woe who should my woe assuage, Who lives by me, by whom I should have lived, Sport of my youth, and pillar of mine age. No woe like mine, who for my Mate mourn here, For love ot whom, I had all others left; But what a Mate? myself, or one more dear, Yet from myself, myself by force am reft. So woe like mine, who born a Monarch's child, Hoped by my birth of Fortune's best to boast, Yet are my hopes even at the height beguiled, And what I hoped in most, hath harmed me most. I mourn for him who in my womb was formed. I mourn for him in whom love me transformed.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
And of my loyall thoughts the ſecrets ſee, Whoſe great affection cannot be confin'd. This priſons worſt hath bounded but mine eyes, And baniſh'd them the object of their joy, My fiery heart well wing'd with fancies flyes, And where thou go'ſt doſt ſtill thy ſteps convoy; Deare, whil'ſt thou doſt enjoy this common ayre, Thoſe who me captive thinke, do groſly erre: For whil'ſt thou liv'ſt, how can thy Queene deſpaire, Whom thou to ſoule, and Scepter, doſt preferre; Yet flatter I my ſelfe who am accurſt? Of thoſe miſhaps which make my thoughts to ſtray, The memory may ſerve to make me burſt, Ah, ah, I faint, I feele my ſprits decay. Help, help, alas, alas the Empreſſe falls. O day of darkneſſe! what a world of woes? This heavy ſight my panting heart appals: Heaven, earth, and all, are now become our foes. No creature hath more cauſe to mone then I, Whoſe Fathers Fortune oft afflicts mine eares, Whil'ſt I my mothers miſery muſt ſpie, So that of both my breaſt the burden beares. What inhumane humanity is this, With ſuch a cruell pitie to oppreſſe, To bring pale ghoſts back from the fields of bliſſe, Yet to be plung'd in th'ocean of diſtreſſe? O unkinde kindneſſe that by ſaving ſlayes, And would with loveleſſe love, my love controull: Ah! of this braving Sunne the loathſome rayes Do cleare mine eyes, but to confound my ſoule. Deare daughter, ſtrive your paſſions to reſtraine, Leſt that the torrent of your griefe grow ſuch, That both it carry you where horiours raigne; And him o're-whelme for whom you mourn ſo much; No doubt but he, if we reſt captives thus Diſdaining thoſe indignities of ours, To venge himſelfe in reobtaining us, Will hazard all his orientall pow'rs; But ah, what comfort can a wretch afford, Whoſe care-worne breaſt the worſt of woe containes: Yet though my heart would faine impugne my word, I hopeleſſe ſpeake of hope, to eaſe her paines. Plagu'd with what is, what may be never pauſe, Since we muſt hold our griefe our greateſt good, And do not feed falſe hopes, for we have cauſe Even to ſigh out our ſouls, and weep our bloud. I waile my Sonne. And I my husbands fall. I waile my Father, and in him us all. No woe like mine, mine cannot be releev'd, I waile his woe who ſhould my woe aſſwage, Who lives by me, by whom I ſhould have liv'd, Sport of my youth, and pillar of mine age. No woe like mine, who for my Mate mourne here, For love ot whom, I had all others left; But what a Mate? my ſelfe, or one more deare, Yet from my ſelfe, my ſelfe by force am reft. So woe like mine, who born a Monarchs childe, Hop'd by my birth of Fortunes beſt to boaſt, Yet are my hopes even at the height beguil'd, And what I hop'd in moſt, hath harm'd me moſt. I mourne for him who in my wombe was form'd. I mourn for him in whom love me transform'd.