Alexander, William · published 1637 · first performed or written 1604 (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 522 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
He would say the reward. I grant what you allege and more is true; I have unto the height of hatred run: A bloodstained wretch, who merit not to view The rolling Circles, nor the Rayie Sun; No kind of art I purpose now to use, To colour this my crime, which might seem less, Whilst painted with a pitiful excuse: No, it is worse than words can well express; Nor go I thus to aggravate my crime, And damn myself to be absolved by others, No, no, such Rhetoric comes out of time. I'll not survive his death, as erst my brothers. O! had that high disaster killed me strait, (As then indeed I died from all delight) I had not groaned, charged with this inward weight, But slept with shadows in eternal night: Yet must I die, at last (though late) grown wise▪ This in my mind most discontentment breeds, A thousand torturing deaths cannot suffice, To plague condignly for so hay nous deeds. If that revenge th'Elysian Guests delights, The tomb of Atis shall exhaust my blood: No fit offering for infernal spirits, Then one in whom they reigned, while as he stood: The furies oft in me infused their Rage, And in my bosom did their Serpent's place, Whose indignation labouring to assuage, Huge hellish horrors spoiled my thoughts of peace. I find (poor wretch!) when I have searched, and seen The fatal means which did inflict this wound, That not thy malice, but my fault hath been, Of that which grieves us both the real ground. Whilst barely with a superficial wit, We weigh the outside of such strange events, If but the mediate means our judgements hit, We seek not the first cause, that much contents: But when prodigious accidents fall out, Though they amaze our minds, and so they must, The cause of all comes from ourself no doubt: Ah! man hath erred; the Heavens are always Just: In judgement now whilst entering with my soul, (Those partial thoughts which flattered me declined) Lo, marking of past wrongs the burdenous scroll, Free from false colours, which did mock my mind: O! than I see how heaven in plagues exceeds, Whilst vengeance due save ruin nought can end; Thus once the Gods must balance worldlings deeds, Both what we did, and what we did intent: Son, Son, my faults procured have thy fall, For, guilty of thy blood, I gave the wound Which gave thee death, and whose remembrance shall My life each day with many deaths confound. Of Iove injust the Statutes I contemn, And if I were confronted with the Gods, Their providence (as partial) would condemn, Who in such sort do exercise their rods. He thus now killed, with life to let me go, May breed reproach to all the powers divine: But ah! they knew no death could grieve me so, As that, which through his heart was aimed at mine; Now all the world those deities may despise, Which strike the guiltless, and the guilty spare; Cease hapless man to plague thyself thus wise, I pardon thee, and pity thy despair.
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)
He would ſay the reward. I grant what you alledge and more is true; I have unto the height of hatred runne: A blood-ſtain'd wretch, who merit not to view The rolling Circles, nor the Rayie Sunne; No kind of art I purpoſe now to uſe, To colour this my crime, which might ſeeme leſſe, Whilſt painted with a pitifull excuſe: No, it is worſe then words can well expreſſe; Nor goe I thus to aggravate my crime, And damne my ſelfe to be abſolv'd by others, No, no, ſuch Rhetoricke comes out of time. I'le not ſurvive his death, as earſt my brothers. O! had that high diſaſter kill'd me ſtraight, (As then indeed I di'd from all delight) I had not groan'd, charg'd with this inward weight, But ſlept with ſhadowes in eternall night: Yet muſt I die, at laſt (though late) growne wiſe▪ This in my mind moſt diſcontentment breedes, A thouſand torturing deaths cannot ſuffice, To plague condignely for ſo hay nous deeds. If that revenge th'Elyſian Gueſts delights, The tombe of Atis ſhall exhauſt my blood: No fitter offering for infernall ſprites, Then one in whom they raign'd, while as he ſtood: The furies oft in me infus'd their Rage, And in my boſome did their Serpents place, Whoſe indignation laboring to aſſwage, Huge helliſh horrours ſpoil'd my thoughts of peace. I find (poore wretch!) when I have ſearch'd, and ſeene The fatall meanes which did inflict this wound, That not thy malice, but my fault hath beene, Of that which grieves us both the reall ground. "Whilſt barely with a ſuperficiall wit, "Wee weigh the out-ſide of ſuch ſtrange events, "If but the mediate meanes our judgements hit, "We ſeeke not the firſt cauſe, that much contents: "But when prodigious accidents fall out, "Though they amaze our mindes, and ſo they muſt, "The cauſe of all comes from our ſelfe no doubt: "Ah! man hath err'd; the Heavens are always Iuſt: In judgement now whilſt entring with my ſoule, (Thoſe partiall thoughts which flatterd me declin'd) Loe, marking of paſt wrongs the burd'nous ſcroule, Free from falſe colours, which did mocke my minde: O! then I ſee how heaven in plagues exceedes, Whilſt vengeance due ſave ruine nought can end; Thus once the Gods muſt ballance worldlings deedes, Both what we did, and what we did intend: Sonne, Sonne, my faults procured have thy fall, For, guilty of thy blood, I gave the wound Which gave thee death, and whoſe remembrance ſhall My life each day with many deaths confound. Of Iove injuſt the Statutes I contemne, And if I were confronted with the Gods, Their providence (as partiall) would condemne, Who in ſuch ſorte doe exerciſe their rods. He thus now kill'd, with life to let me goe, May breed reproch to all the pow'rs divine: But ah! they knew no death could grieve me ſoe, As that, which through his heart was aim'd at mine; Now all the world thoſe deities may deſpiſe, Which ſtrike the guiltleſſe, and the guilty ſpare; Ceaſe hapleſſe man to plague thy ſelfe thus wiſe, I pardon thee, and pittie thy deſpaire.