Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
I only have two sons, and th'one you see The sign of Nature's indignation bears, And from his birth day dumb is dead to me, Since he can power no pleasure in my ears. The other Atis all my life's delight, In whom the treasures of my soul are kept, I thought (vain be my thought) in the twilight I wot not whether yet I walked or slept. Whilst he was sporting void of worldly cares, Not in a list's belonging to his merits, A pointed tool of iron fell unawares, And pierced his temples, and expelled his spirits. Whilst the pale carcase seemed t'upbraid mine eyes, The horror of the sight my sense recalled, Which when I think of, yet my comfort dies, Such an exceeding fear my spirit apaid. This hath me moved, it touched my state so nearly, To match my son in marriage at this time With beauteous Caelia whom he loved most dear, That both might reap the pleasure of their prime. And if the heavens his o'erthrow have decreed By destiny that can not be revoked, So shall we have behind some of his seed, Ere in his blossom all our hopes be choked. Thus ere his soul lodge in the lightlesse shade, T'have of his race 'twill mitigate my mind, I can not hold him altogether dead, That leaves his Image in some one behind. And for the time we do all that seems best For to prevent those but surmised annoys, Yet for all this my mind hath never rest, Some secret terror still disturbs my joys. Ah Sir! if but th'imagined evil of this Hath plunged your soul in such a gulf of grief, Unhappy I who wail a thing that is, And have not means to hope for no relief. If all these dreadful fancies took effect (Which heavy chance th'almighty Ioue withhold) It could not be compared in no respect With those misfortunes that my state enfold. For when your son fell by another's hand, You should but wail his death, and not your crime, The heavens of me my brother's blood demand, His fate, my fault, mourn must I all my time. In what strange form could this disaster fall, That is th'occasion of so great distress, Tell on at length th'original of all, To hear of greater grief 'twill make mine less. I have concealed my sorrows still till now, As too offensive food for dainty ears, Yet since of such a subject you allow, I'll tell a tale that may move stones to tears. My Father of the Phrygian Princes come, Had in my growing age a tender care, That all my education might become One whom he might for mighty hopes prepare: As yet four lustres scarcely had begun For to discern my sex with downy cheeks, When I into that Labyrinth was run, Whence back in vain the straying entrer sheekes.
nodes 787–846 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 13 of 46 in this edition
Length
487 words · 624 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.750 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
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)
I only haue two ſonnes, and th'one you ſee The ſigne of Natures indignation beares, And from his birth day domme is dead to me, Since he can powre no pleaſure in my eares. The other Atis all my life's delight, In whom the treaſures of my ſoule are kept, I thought (vaine be my thought) in the twie-light I wot not whether yet I walkt or ſlept. Whilſt he was ſporting voyd of worldlie cares, Not in a liſts belonging to his merites, A pointed toole of iron fell vnawares, And pearc'd his temples, and expeld his ſpirites. Whilſt the pale carcaſe ſeem'd t'vpbraid mine eyes, The horrour of the ſight my ſenſe recald, Which when I thinke of, yet my comfort dyes, Such an exceeding feare my ſprit appald. This hath me mou'd, it touch'd my ſtate ſo neerelie, To match my ſonne in mariage at this time With beauteous Caelia whom he lou'd moſt deerelie, That both might reape the pleaſure of their prime. And if the heauens his o'rethrow haue decreed By deſtinie that can not be reuoked, So ſhall we haue behind ſome of his ſeed, Ere in his bloſſome all our hopes be choaked. Thus ere his ſoule lodge in the lightleſſe ſhade, T'haue of his race twill mitigate my mind, I can not hold him altogether dead, That leaues his Image in ſome one behind. And for the time we do all that ſeemes beſt For to preuent thoſe but ſurmiz'd annoyes, Yet for all this my mind hath neuer reſt, Some ſecret terror ſtill diſturbs my ioyes. Ah Sir! if but th'imagind euill of this Hath plung'd your ſoule in ſuch a gulfe of griefe, Vnhappie I who waile a thing that is, And haue not meanes to hope for no reliefe. If all theſe dreadfull fancies tooke effect (Which heauie chance th'almightie Ioue withhold) It could not be compar'd in no reſpect With thoſe misfortunes that my ſtate enfold. For when your ſonne fell by anothers hand, You ſhould but waile his death, and not your crime, The heauens of me my brothers blood demand, His fate, my fault, mourne muſt I all my time. In what ſtrange forme could this diſaſter fall, That is th'occaſion of ſo great diſtreſſe, Tell on at length th'originall of all, To heare of greater griefe t'will make mine leſſe. I haue conceald my ſorrowes ſtill till now, As too offenſiue foode for daintie eares, Yet ſince of ſuch a ſubiect you allow, Ile tell a tale that may moue ſtones to teares. My Father of the Phrigian Princes come, Had in my growing age a tender care, That all my education might become One whom he might for mightie hopes prepare: As yet foure luſters ſcarcely had begun For to diſcerne my ſex with downie cheekes, When I into that Labirinth was runne, Whence back in vaine the ſtraying entrer ſheekes.