Alexander, William · published 1637 · first performed or written 1603 (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T53 The crown: kingship claimed, resigned an · 505 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T53: crown, king, state, life, lord, lords, live, queen, tullia, prince.
Doth not oppose that which pursues my state, But by fall gives feathers unto fame; My best was but a momentary bliss, Which leaves behind this everlasting sting, That of all woes no woe is like to this, To think I was, and am not now a king. No man with me in all th'accomplished joys That satisfy the soul, could once compare; No man may match me now in sad annoys, Or any cross which can provoke despair. Thrice fortune did my gallant troops entrap, And I to fall did desperately stand, Yet could not be so happy in mishap, As to have died by some renowned hand; But for my greater grief, disgrace, and scorn (The minds of men so apt are to deceive) They whom aloft my favours wings had borne, Ev●● they have made their Master thus a slave. Ah! did nor death in prison from me reave, The ●●●●red Sovereign of my soul's desires? And I (wretched I) not present to receive, The 〈◊〉 ●ol● kiss that should have quenched my fires? Yet, o thrice happy thou, who hast not lived To bear a burden of this great disgrace! More than a thousand deaths this had thee grieved, To know I died, and died in such a case. Ah! do the pledges of our mutual love, (The only comfort that the fates have left) Rest prisoned yet? and may I not remove M● mother thence, as of all power quite reft? My pains are more than with my pleasures even, Since first my head was burdened with a Crown; Was I exalted once up to the Heaven, That to the Centre Iove might throw me down? My ample Empire, and my Princely birth, My great magnificence, and vain excess, All cannot yield my mind one minutes mirth, To ease me now in this my great distress. Lo here reduced unto the worst of ills, Past help, past hope, and only great in grief, Two abject vassals make me wait their wills, Not looking, no, nor wishing for relief. If that my honour had been first repaired, Then what though death had this fraild fortress won? I wail my life (since for disgrace prepared) Not that it ends, but that it was begun: What fatal conflict can my countenance mar, Though me to brag, death all his horrors bring? I never shall wrong Majesty so far, As aught to do that not becomes a king. SOme new disaster daily doth fore-show Our coming ruin: we have seen our best: For, fortune bend as wholly to o'erthrow, Throws down our king from her wheel's height so low, That by no means his state can be redressed: For, since by arms his power hath been repressed, Both friends and servants leave him all alone; Few have compassion of his state distressed, To him themselves a number false doth show; So foes and faithless friends conspired in one, Frail fortune and the fates with them agree: All run with Hatchets on a falling tree:
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)
Doth not oppoſe that which purſues my ſtate, But by fall gives feathers unto fame; My beſt was but a momentary bliſſe, Which leaves behind this ever-laſting ſting, That of all woes no woe is like to this, To thinke I was, and am not now a king. No man with me in all th'accompliſh'd joyes That ſatisfie the ſoule, could once compare; No man may match me now in ſad annoyes, Or any croſſe which can provoke deſpaire. Thrice fortune did my gallant troups entrap, And I to fall did deſperately ſtand, Yet could not be ſo happy in miſhap, As to have di'd by ſome renowned hand; But for my greater griefe, diſgrace, and ſcorne (The mindes of men ſo apt are to deceave) They whom aloft my favours wings had borne, Ev they have made their Maſter thus a ſlave. Ah! did nor death in priſon from me reave, The red Soveraigne of my ſoules deſires? And I (wretch'd I) not preſent to receave, The ol kiſſe that ſhould have quench'd my fires? Yet, o thrice happie thou, who haſt not liv'd To beare a burden of this great diſgrace! More then a thouſand deaths this had thee grievd, To know I di'd, and di'd in ſuch a caſe. Ah! doe the pledges of our mutuall love, (The onely comfort that the fates have left) Reſt priſon'd yet? and may I not remove M mother thence, as of all power quite reft? My paines are more then with my pleaſures even, Since firſt my head was burden'd with a Crowne; Was I exalted once up to the Heaven, That to the Center Iove might throw me downe? My ample Empire, and my Princely birth, My great magnificence, and vaine exceſſe, All cannot yeeld my minde one minutes mirth, To eaſe me now in this my great diſtreſſe. Loe here reduc'd vnto the worſt of ills, Paſt helpe, paſt hope, and onely great in griefe, Two abject vaſſals make me waite their willes, Not looking, no, nor wiſhing for reliefe. If that my honour had beene firſt repair'd, Then what though death had this fraild fortreſſe wonne? I waile my life (ſince for diſgrace prepar'd) Not that it ends, but that it was begunne: What fatall conflict can my count'nance marre, Though me to bragge, death all his horrours bring? I never ſhall wrong Majeſtie ſo farre, As ought to doe that not becomes a king. SOme new diſaſter daylie doth fore-ſhow Our comming ruine: wee have ſeene our beſt: For, fortune bent as wholy to o'rethrow, Throwes downe our king from her wheeles height ſo low, That by no meanes his ſtate can be redreſt: For, ſince by armes his pow'r hath been repreſt, Both friends and ſervants leave him all alone; Few have compaſsion of his ſtate diſtreſt, To him themſelves a number falſe doth ſhow; So foes and faithleſſe friends conſpir'd in one, Fraile fortune and the fates with them agree: "All runne with Hatchets on a falling tree: