Renaissance Drama — Topics · seed 42

Darius · chunk 13 of 35

Alexander, William · published 1637 · first performed or written 1603 (Annals)
tragedy
unassigned nearest T14 Royal love, favour and dynastic relation · 515 words · other edition — not in the analysis

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Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T14: prince, princess, love, king, lord, queen, madam, grace, lady, life.

Spare, spare such speeches now, lest all go wrong, We are environed with outrageous hosts; Those who are weak must yield unto the strong: For, Victor's rage when as the vanquished boasts; I will entreat him too, not for myself (Age bows my body to embrace pale death) But that you yet may shun this wrackful shelf, Whose youth and beauty worthy are of breath. RIse Mother, rise, and calm those needless cares, I come to cure, not to procure your woe; The duty which I own those silver hairs, Doth grieve my mind to see you humbled so. Most gracious Prince, forgive me if I erred In taking him for you, who stands you by. I find no fault to see my friend preferred, Even to myself; this is another I. My sorrows so confounded have my mind That scarce I know myself, another less; My soul in such an agony I find, As words, nor tears, nor groans cannot express. I pray you mother set those plaints apart, They vex me more than stern Bellona's broils. This tender name of Mother wounds my heart, Whilst named by him, who of that name me spoils: I was (woe that I was) a Mother late Of two fair Sons (fair Suns) lights of my life, But one is dead, and in a worse estate, The other lives, involved in woe, and strife; Like to the trunk of some disbranched tree Which Aeolus hath to confusion brought, Since spoiled of those brave Imps which sprung from me Unprofitable stock, I serve for nought. I serve for nought, since serving him no more, Who only may my blasted hopes revive, Lo (quite confounded) far from what before, Who him of me, me of myself deprive. I live without my half, without my whole, Prodigious Monster, whom the world admires, I want the point, the pilot, and the pole Which drew, addressed, and bounded my desires: Tossed by sad sighs in floods of bitter tears, I (save from ruin) look for no relief, By what I feel still plagued, but worse with fears, All comfort loathed, my glory is my grief: My soul feemes to presage disastrous chances, And warring with itself hath never peace, My heart surcharged doth faint in deadly trances, My eyes must grace the ground of my disgrace. Hell hath assembled all her horrors here; Ah! in the dungeons of this desp'rate breast, As in the dark Tartarian groves, appear A thousand shadows to bereave my rest. Fair Princess, spare those passionate complaints, Which may augment, but not amend your harms; This voice which with your woe the world acquaints, Doth move me more than all the Persians Arms. Take courage (Madam) be afraid of none: That you may hope what help I can afford, I swear by Jove's inviolable Throne, And do protest by my Imperial word; Though for a while barred from your royal seat, You compassed here with troops of strangers stand, Yet shall you still be used as fits your state, And may (as erst in your own Court) command,
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Details

Metadata, position in the edition, topic in the other seeds
PlayDarius
AuthorAlexander, William
Publication year (edition)1637
First performance / composition (Annals)1603
First performance (BritDrama)1603 [1602-1603]
Genre (British Drama)tragedy
Play typeCloset/Unacted;Nonprofessional
Edition / TCP / DEEPedition 448 · TCP A16564 · DEEP 5106.02
Edition roleOther edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Positionnodes 775–838 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 13 of 35 in this edition
Length515 words · 681 tokens
Topic (seed 42)unassigned by HDBSCAN · nearest topic T14 — Royal love, favour and dynastic relationships at 0.725
Other seedsseed 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)
Spare, ſpare ſuch ſpeeches now, leſt all go wrong, We are environ'd with outragious hoſts; Thoſe who are weake muſt yeeld unto the ſtrong: For, Victors rage when as the vanquiſh'd boſts; I will entreat him too, not for my ſelfe (Age bows my body to embrace pale death) But that you yet may ſhunne this wrackfull ſhelfe, Whoſe youth and beauty worthy are of breath. RIſe Mother, riſe, and calme thoſe needleſſe cares, I come to cure, not to procure your woe; The duty which I owe thoſe ſilver haires, Doth grieve my minde to ſee you humbled ſo. Moſt gracious Prince, forgive me if I err'd In taking him for you, who ſtands you by. I finde no fault to ſee my friend preferr'd, Even to my ſelfe; this is another I. My ſorrows ſo confounded have my minde That ſcarce I know my ſelfe, another leſſe; My ſoule in ſuch an agony I finde, As words, nor teares, nor grones cannot expreſſe. I pray you mother ſet thoſe plaints apart, They vex me more then ſterne Bellona's broils. This tender name of Mother wounds my heart, Whil'ſt nam'd by him, who of that name me ſpoils: I was (woe that I was) a Mother late Of two faire Sonnes (faire Sunnes) lights of my life, But one is dead, and in a worſe eſtate, The other lives, involv'd in woe, and ſtrife; Like to the trunke of ſome disbranched tree Which Aeolus hath to confuſion brought, Since ſpoil'd of thoſe brave Impes which ſprung from me Unprofitable ſtock, I ſerve for nought. I ſerve for nought, ſince ſerving him no more, Who onely may my blaſted hopes revive, Loe (quite confounded) farre from what before, Who him of me, me of my ſelfe deprive. I live without my halfe, without my whole, Prodigious Monſter, whom the world admires, I want the point, the pilot, and the pole Which drew, addreſt, and bounded my deſires: Toſſ'd by ſad ſighs in flouds of bitter teares, I (ſave from ruine) look for no reliefe, By what I feele ſtill plagu'd, but worſe with feares, All comfort loath'd, my glory is my griefe: My ſoule feemes to preſage diſaſtrous chances, And warring with it ſelfe hath never peace, My heart ſurcharg'd doth faint in deadly trances, My eyes muſt grace the ground of my diſgrace. Hell hath aſſembled all her horrours here; Ah! in the dungeons of this deſp'rate breſt, As in the dark Tartarian groves, appeare A thouſand ſhadows to bereave my reſt. Faire Princeſſe, ſpare thoſe paſſionate complaints, Which may augment, but not amend your harmes; This voice which with your woe the world acquaints, Doth move me more then all the Perſians Armes. Take courage (Madam) be afraid of none: That you may hope what help I can afford, I ſweare by Ioves inviolable Throne, And do proteſt by my Imperiall word; Though for a while barr'd from your royall ſeat, You compaſſ'd here with troups of ſtrangers ſtand, Yet ſhall you ſtill be uſ'd as fits your ſtate, And may (as earſt in your owne Court) command,