Alexander, William · published 1637 · first performed or written 1603 (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T38 Death, parting and grief at court · 475 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.
Great signs of grief I in thy face discern, And spare not to report this heavy cross To one (I fear) whom it doth most concern: Is't death, disgrace, destruction, treason, loss? Tell on the sum of horror at the first; With no ambiguous words my pain prolong; A wretch for comfort craves to know the worst, And I have learned to be unhappy long; What least I speak, and yet suspect too much, Art thou the Trumpet to proclaim my scorn Which must wound me? (but ah) no torment such As this to her who that disgrace hath borne. She was not wronged, as you have wrong conceived; The Gods from harm did study to preserve her; She from your foe such favour hath received, As from her Subjects who were bound to serve her; But what a volley doth my voice prepare Of woes to charge your cares? woes full of dread, Would God ere I my message can declare, That I may dye in saying she is dead. And was it not enough (poor wretch alas) That I beheld her dye, and would have died? But that I must (armed with sad tidings) pass To wound all them who hear what I have spied? See how he stands (moved with those words of mine,) As if by grief arrested unto death. Yet doth the Sun on my affliction shine, And clear the air though tainted by my breath? And can I live, and look them in the face, Who have my o'erthrow (shameful o'erthrow) seen? And how I vanquished, vanquished with disgrace, Did lose at once my Kingdom and my Queen? Heaven bruise me all to powder with thy thunder, That I no more may in the world remain The object of thy wrath, and fortunes wonder, Spoiled of all hope, yet kept for greater pain. Ah, art thou dead? and do I live behind thee? Thy faulty husband, thinkest thou so to fly? If it be thin, then know I where to find thee, This only grieves me that too late I die. O Alexander, what such heinous ill Have I done thee, that thou requit'st me thus? Whom of thy friends or kindred did I kill? This cruelty comes undeserved of us, Though justly thou intended had this war, Mars from his rage made women always free, This tyranny shall all thy Trophies mar, And still to thy reproach reported be. Thus of that Prince, you without cause esteem, I know her death him grievously displeased, A woodrous thing which few or none would deem, He wailed it long, and could not be appeased. Even as my Sovereign now, then did he smart, And when he came to calm your mother's grief, As acting not his own, but even your part, He seemed to need, and not to give relief.
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)
Great ſignes of griefe I in thy face diſcerne, And ſpare not to report this heavie croſſe To one (I feare) whom it doth moſt concerne: Is't death, diſgrace, deſtruction, treaſon, loſſe? Tell on the ſumme of horrour at the firſt; With no ambiguous words my paine prolong; "A wretch for comfort craves to know the worſt, And I have learn'd to be unhappy long; What leaſt I ſpeake, and yet ſuſpect too much, Art thou the Trumpet to proclaime my ſcorne Which muſt wound me? (but ah) no torment ſuch As this to her who that diſgrace hath borne. She was not wrong'd, as you have wrong conceiv'd; The Gods from harme did ſtudy to preſerve her; She from your foe ſuch favour hath receiv'd, As from her Subjects who were bound to ſerve her; But what a volly doth my voyce prepare Of woes to charge your cares? woes full of dread, Would God ere I my meſſage can declare, That I may dye in ſaying ſhe is dead. And was it not enough (poore wretch alas) That I beheld her dye, and would have dy'd? But that I muſt (arm'd with ſad tidings) paſſe To wound all them who heare what I have ſpy'd? See how he ſtands (mov'd with thoſe words of mine,) As if by griefe arreſted unto death. Yet doth the Sunne on my affliction ſhine, And cleare the ayre though tainted by my breath? And can I live, and looke them in the face, Who have my o'rethrow (ſhamefull o'rethrow) ſeene? And how I vanquiſh'd, vanquiſh'd with diſgrace, Did loſe at once my Kingdome and my Queene? Heaven bruiſe me all to powder with thy thunder, That I no more may in the world remaine The object of thy wrath, and fortunes wonder, Spoil'd of all hope, yet kept for greater paine. Ah, art thou dead? and doe I live behinde thee? Thy faulty husband, think'ſt thou ſo to flye? If it be thin, then know I where to finde thee, This onely grieves me that too late I dye. O Alexander, what ſuch hainous ill Have I done thee, that thou requit'ſt me thus? Whom of thy friends or kindred did I kill? This cruelty comes undeſerv'd of us, Though juſtly thou intended had this warre, Mars from his rage made women alwaies free, This tyranny ſhall all thy Trophees marre, And ſtill to thy reproch reported be. Thus of that Prince, you without cauſe eſteem, I know her death him grievouſly diſpleas'd, A woodrous thing which few or none would deeme, He wail'd it long, and could not be appeas'd. Even as my Soveraigne now, then did he ſmart, And when he came to calme your mothers griefe, As acting not his owne, but even your part, He ſeem'd to need, and not to give reliefe.