Alexander, William · published 1637 · first performed or written 1604 (Annals) tragedy T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.73 · 539 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
No doubt, it must disburden much the mind, A Secretary in distress to have; Who by his own, another's grief can find, Where glad minds scorn what they cannot conceive: And I (Adrastus) would the cause declare, With which I so torment my soul in vain, But yet I blush to tell my foolish care: The fond illusion of a drowsy brain. As bodies tempered are, or souls inclined, All dreams by ●ight th'imagination makes, Or else th'impression thought work in the mind, By which (when wakening) one most travel takes. By sleep arrested as overcome by death, In Nature's bosom I embraced true rest, And in that Mass where nothing moved but breath, Life's faculties sleep for a time suppressed; Then whilst the spirit most powerful did remain, Since least distressed by this terrestrial part. Souls at such times their strength so strongly strain, That oft their burdens as astonished start. To rarefy the air from vapours powers, When first Aurora rose from Tithonus' bed, Ere Phoebus blushing stole from Thetis bowers, This apprehension in my brain was bred: I only have two sons, and th'one (you see) The sign of Nature's indignation bears, And from his birthday dumb is dead to me, Since he can give no comfort to mine 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 know not whether yet I waked or slept) Whilst he was sporting, void of worldly cares, And not in danger, which could threaten death, A pointed tool of iron fell unawares, And from his body banish did his breath; Whilst the pale carcase did upbraid mine eyes, The horror of the sight my sense recalled, Which when I think of, yet my courage dies, Such an exceeding fear my spirit appalled; This touched my state so much, it hath me moved To match my Son in marriage at this time With virtuous Celia, whom he dearly loved, That both might reap the pleasure of their prime; And if the heavens his o'er- throw have decreed By destiny which cannot be revoked, So may 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, Some of his offspring may content my mind, I cannot hold him altogether dead, Who leaves his Image in some one behind; And though we do what ever seems the best To disappoint those but surmised annoys, Yet for all this my mind hath never rest, Some secret terror doth disturb my joys. Ah (Sir) if such a dreamt ill as this, Hath plunged your soul even in the depths of grief, Unhappy I, who wail a thing that is, Whilst hope (though racked) dare promise no relief; Though all those dreadful fancies took effect, (Which heavy chance th'almighty Iove withhold) None can compare them, no, in no respect With those misfortunes which my state enfold: For though your Son dye by another's hand, You shall 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.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 782–849 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 13 of 46 in this edition
Length
539 words · 704 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.735 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
Other seeds
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)
No doubt, it muſt disburden much the minde, "A Secretary in diſtreſſe to have; "Who by his owne, anothers griefe can finde, " Where glad mindes ſcorne what they cannot conceive: And I (Adraſtus) would the cauſe declare, With which I ſo torment my ſoule in vaine, But yet I bluſh to tell my fooliſh care: The fond illuſion of a drowſie braine. As bodies temper'd are, or ſouls inclin'd, All dreames by ight th'imagination makes, Or elſe th'impreſſion thoughts worke in the minde, By which (when wakening) one moſt travell takes. By ſleepe arreſted as o're-come by death, In Natures boſome I imbrac'd true reſt, And in that Maſſe where nothing mov'd but breath, Lifes faculies ſleep for a time ſuppreſt; Then whil'ſt the ſprite moſt pow'rull did remaine, Since leaſt diſtreſſ'd by this terreſtriall part. Souls at ſuch times their ſtrength ſo ſtrongly ſtraine, That oft their burdens as aſtoniſh'd ſtart. To rarifie the aire from vapours pow'rs, When firſt Aurora roſe from Tithons bed, Ere Phoebus bluſhing ſtole from Thetis bowres, This apprehenſion in my braine was bred: I onely have two ſonnes, and th'one (you ſee) The ſigne of Natures indignation beares, And from his birth-day dumbe is dead to me, Since he can give no comfort to mine eares; The other Atis (all my lifes delight) In whom the treaſures of my ſoule are kept, I thought (vaine be my thought) in the twi-light, (I know not whether yet I wak't or ſlep't) Whil'ſt he was ſporting, void of worldly cares, And not in danger, which could threaten death, A pointed toole of iron fell unawares, And from his body baniſh did his breath; Whil'ſt the pale carkaſe did upbraid mine eyes, The horrour of the ſight my ſenſe re-call'd, Which when I thinke of, yet my courage dyes, Such an exceeding feare my ſprite appall'd; This touch'd my ſtate ſo much, it hath me mov'd To match my Sonne in marriage at this time With vertuous Coelia, whom he dearely lov'd, That both might reape the pleaſure of their prime; And if the heavens his o're- throw have decreed By deſtiny which cannot be revok'd, So may we have behinde ſome of his ſeed, Ere in his bloſſome all our hopes be choak'd; Thus, ere his ſoule lodge in the lightleſſe ſhade, Some of his off-ſpring may content my minde, "I cannot hold him altogether dead, "Who leaves his Image in ſome one behinde; And though we do what ever ſeemes the beſt To diſappoint thoſe but ſurmiz'd annoyes, Yet for all this my minde hath never reſt, Some ſecret terrour doth diſturbe my joyes. Ah (Sir) if ſuch a dreamed ill as this, Hath plung'd your ſoule even in the depths of griefe, Unhappie I, who waile a thing that is, Whil'ſt hope (though rack'd) dare promiſe no reliefe; Though all thoſe dreadfull fancies took effect, (Which heavy chance th'almighty Iove with-hold) None can compare them, no, in no reſpect With thoſe miſ-fortunes which my ſtate enfold: For though your Sonne dye by anothers hand, You ſhall but waile his death, and not your crime; The heavens of me my brothers bloud demand, His fate, my fault, mourne muſt I all my time.