Alexander, William · published 1637 · first performed or written 1603 (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T25 Kings, power and law: political sententi · 513 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T25: feare, kings, power, princes, lawes, loue, state, downe, honor, men.
O Stormy state of Kings, vain Mortals choice, The glorious height whence greatness groans to fall! Ah! we (who courting fame, do hunt each voice) To seem but Sovereign must be slaves to all: Yet blown like bladders, with Ambition's wind, On envied Sceptres weakly we rely; And (whilst swollen fancies do betray the mind) Not only th'earth, but heavens themselves defy. Whilst lofty thoughts tumultuous minds do toss, Which are passed up with popular applause, A state extended by our Neighbour's loss, For further trouble but procures a cause; If Fortunes dark eclipse cloud glories light, Than what avails that pomp which pride doth claim? A mere illusion made to mock the sight, Whose best was but the shadow of a dream; Of glassy Sceptres, let frail greatness vaunt, Not Sceptres, no, but reeds, which (raised up) break, And let eye-flatt'ring shows our wits enchant, All perished are, ere of their pomp men speak, Those golden palaces, those gorgeous Halls, With furniture superfluously fair, Those stately Courts, those skie-encountring walls Do vanish all like vapours in the air. O! what affliction jealous greatness bears, Which still must travel to hold others down, Whilst all our guards not guard us from our fears, Such toil attends the glory of a Crown? Where are they all who at my feet did bow, Whilst I was made the Idol of so many? What joy had I not then? what have I now? Of all once honoured, and now scarce of any. Our painted pleasures but apparel pain: We spend our nights in fear, our days in dangers, Balls tossed by Stars, thralls bound to Fortune's reign, Though known to all, yet to ourselves but stranges. A golden Crown doth cover leaden cares; The Sceptre cannot lull their thoughts asleep, Whose souls are drowned with floods of cold despairs, Of which base vulgars' cannot sound the deep. The Bramble grows, although it be obscure, Whilst lofty Cedars feel the blust'ring winds, And mild Plebeian souls may live secure, While mighty tempests toss Imperial minds; What are our days but dreams, our reign a glance, Whilst Fortunes fever makes us rage and rave, Which with strange fits doth to a height advance, Till, ere pain us, we first our life must leave? For glistering greatness by Ambition loved, I was the wonder of all gazing eyes, But free from shadows (real essence proved) State's just proportion ruin only tries. Lo, charged with chains which (though they be of gold) My state's distress diminish not the more, When this preposterous honour I behold, It but upbraids me what I was before, And what was I before (as now I see) (Though what afflicted was not clearly known) But still in fetters, whilst appearing free, And in a labyrinth of labours thrown. Was I not forced to serve a thousand humours, To scape the censure of a Critic story, Still clogged with cares, enraged with many rumours; O glorious bondage, and o burdenous glory! That dignity which deified me late, And made the world do homage to my name,
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T6 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
O Stormy ſtate of Kings, vaine Mortalls choice, The glorious height whence greatneſſe grones to fall! Ah! we (who courting fame, do hunt each voyce) To ſeeme but Soveraigne muſt be ſlaves to all: "Yet blowne like bladders, with Ambitions winde, "On envy'd Scepters weakly we relye; "And (whil'ſt ſwoln fancies do betray the minde) "Not onely th'earth, but heavens themſelves defie. "Whil'ſt loſtie thoughts tumultuous mindes do toſſe, "Which are paſt up with popular applauſe, "A ſtate extended by our Neighbours loſſe, "For further trouble but procures a cauſe; "If Fortunes dark ecclipſe cloud glories light, "Then what avails that pomp which pride doth claim? "A meere illuſion made to mock the ſight, "Whoſe beſt was but the ſhadow of a dreame; "Of glaſſie Scepters, let fraile greatneſſe vaunt, "Not Scepters, no, but reeds, which (rais'd up) break, "And let eye-flatt'ring ſhows our wits enchaunt, "All periſh'd are, ere of their pomp men ſpeak, "Thoſe golden palaces, thoſe gorgeous Halls, "With furniture ſuperfluouſly faire, "Thoſe ſtately Courts, thoſe skie-encountring walls "Do vaniſh all like vapours in the ayre. "O! what affliction jealous greatneſſe beares, "Which ſtill muſt travell to hold others downe, "Whil'ſt all our guards not guard us from our fears, "Such toile attends the glory of a Crowne? Where are they all who at my feet did bow, Whil'ſt I was made the Idoll of ſo many? What joy had I not then? what have I now? Of all once honour'd, and now ſcarce of any. "Our painted pleaſures but apparrell paine: "We ſpend our nights in feare, our dayes in dangers, "Balls toſſ'd by Starres, thrals bound to Fortunes raigne, "Though known to all, yet to our ſelves but ſtranges. "A golden Crowne doth cover leaden cares; "The Scepter cannot lull their thoughts aſleep, "Whoſe ſouls are drown'd with flouds of cold deſpaires, "Of which baſe vulgars cannot ſound the deep. "The Bramble grows, although it be obſcure, Whil'ſt loftie Cedars feele the bluſt'ring windes, "And milde Plebeian ſouls may live ſecure, "While mighty tempeſts toſſe Imperiall mindes; "What are our dayes but dreames, our raigne a glance, "Whil'ſt Fortunes feaver makes us rage and rave, "VVhich with ſtrange fits doth to a height advance, "Till, ere paine us, we firſt our life muſt leave? For gliſt'ring greatneſſe by Ambition lov'd, "I was the wonder of all gazing eyes, "But free from ſhadows (reall eſſence prov'd) "States juſt proportion ruine onely tryes. Loe, charg'd with chains which (though they be of gold) My ſtates diſtreſſe diminiſh not the more, When this prepoſt'rous honour I behold, It but upbraids me what I was before, And what was I before (as now I ſee) (Though what afflicted was not clearly knowne) But ſtill in fetters, whilſt appearing free, And in a labyrinth of labours throwne. Was I not forc'd to ſerve a thouſand humours, To ſcape the cenſure of a Criticke ſtorie, Still clog'd with cares, enrag'd with many rumours; O glorious bondage, and ô burd'nous glory! That dignity which deifi'd me late, And made the world doe homage to my name,