Alexander, William · published 1637 · first performed or written 1604 (Annals) tragedy T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.87 · 457 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.
Cursed eyes, what sudden change hath drowned your lights, And made your mirthful objects mournful now? Ye that were still enured to stately sights, Since seated under an imperial brow, Ah! clouded now with vapours drawn from cares, Are low thrown down amidst a hell of grief, And have no prospect, but my soul's despairs, Of all the furies which afflict me, chief. O dead Adrastus, I absolve thy Ghost, Whose hand (I see) some destiny did charm, Thou (hated by the heavens) wast to thy cost A casual actor, not intending harm; No doubt some angry God hath laid this snare, And whilst thy purpose was the Boar to kill, Did intercept thy shaft▪ amidst the Air, And threw it at my Son, against thy will, Ah! Son, must I be witness of thy death, Who view thee thus by violence to bleed, And yet want one on whom to pour my wrath, To take just vengeance. for so vile a deed? This wretch, whose guiltless mind hath cleared his hand, Lo▪ for his error grieved, unforced doth fall, And not as one who did in danger stand: For still he lived till I forgave him all. Thus have I but the heavens on whom I may Blast forth the tempest of a troubled mind; And in my soul's distress I grieve to say, That greater favour I deserved to find. WHy spend you (Sir) with sighs that Princely breath, Whence Sovereignty authority should take? O weak revenge for one when wronged by death, To yield him homage prostrated in black! That Tyrant pale (so hateful unto us) Whose fatal shaft so great a grief hath bred, Where he triumphs should you rear trophies thus, And wear his livery, as his captive led? No, though he might this outward bliss o'erthrow, And you (save you) of all things else might spoil, Yet whilst of one, who yields, no sign you show, You are victorious, and he gets the foil; Those floods of sorrow, which would drown your soul▪ In breasts more base might better be excused, Since wanting spirit their passions to control, As from their birth still to subjection used. But you, in whom high thoughts by nature grow, To this decay, how is your virtue come? I blush to see my Sovereign brought so low, And Majesty by misery o'ercome, Nor do I thus to make you stupid strive, As one unnatural, wanting sense to smart, No, none a Prince of kindness can deprive, The honoured badge of an Heroic heart. That power supreme, by which great States do stand, Affections order should, but not undo; And I could wish you might yourself command, Which though you may not well, yet seem to do▪
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 1578–1633 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 25 of 46 in this edition
Length
457 words · 599 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.873 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
Other seeds
seed 43: T10 · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Curs'd eyes, what ſuddaine change hath drown'd your lights, And made your mirthfull objects mournefull now? Ye that were ſtill inur'd to ſtately ſights, Since ſeated under an imperiall brow, Ah! clouded now with vapours drawn from cares, Are low throwne down amid'ſt a hell of griefe, And have no proſpect, but my ſoules deſpaires, Of all the furies which afflict me, chiefe. O dead Adraſtus, I abſolve thy Ghoſt, Whoſe hand (I ſee) ſome deſtiny did charme, Thou (hated by the heavens) waſt to thy coſt A caſuall actour, not intending harme; No doubt ſome angry God hath laid this ſnare, And whilſt thy purpoſe was the Boare to kill, Did intercept thy ſhaft▪ amidſt the Aire, And threw it at my Sonne, againſt thy will, Ah! Sonne, muſt I be witneſſe of thy death, Who view thee thus by violence to bleede, And yet want one on whom to poure my wrath, To take juſt vengeance. for ſo vile a deede? This wretch, whoſe guiltleſſe minde hath clear'd his hand, Loe▪ for his errour griev'd, unforc'd doth fall, And not as one who did in danger ſtand: For ſtill he liv'd till I forgave him all. Thus have I but the heavens on whom I may Blaſt forth the tempeſt of a troubled minde; And in my ſoules diſtreſſe I grieve to ſay, That greater favour I deſerv'd to finde. WHy ſpend you (Sir) with ſighes that Princely breath, Whence Soveraignty authority ſhould take? O weake revenge for one when wrong'd by death, To yeeld him homage proſtrated in blacke! That Tyrant pale (ſo hatefull unto us) Whoſe fatall ſhaft ſo great a griefe hath bred, Where he triumphs ſhould you reare trophees thus, And weare his livery, as his captive led? No, though he might this outward bliſſe o'rethrow, And you (ſave you) of all things elſe might ſpoile, Yet whilſt of one, who yeelds, no ſigne you ſhow, You are victorious, and he gets the foile; Thoſe floods of ſorrow, which would drown your ſoule▪ In breſts more baſe might better be excus'd, Since wanting ſprite their paſſions to controule, As from their birth ſtill to ſubjection us'd. But you, in whom high thoughts by nature grow, To this decay, how is your vertue come? I bluſh to ſee my Soveraigne brought ſo low, And Majeſtie by miſery o'recome, Nor doe I thus to make you ſtupid ſtrive, As one unnaturall, wanting ſenſe to ſmart, No, none a Prince of kindneſſe can deprive, The honour'd badge of an Heroicke heart. That pow'r ſupreme, by which great States doe ſtand, Affections order ſhould, but not undoe; And I could wiſh you might your ſelfe command, Which though you may not well, yet ſeeme to doe▪