Alexander, William · published 1607 · first performed or written 1607 [1605-1607] (Annals) tragedy T37 Riches, poverty and covetousness typicality 0.86 · 489 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T37: wealth, riches, money, god, rich, poverty, men, learning, poor, ic.
Then once to me a mass of gold he sent, And offered too a stately Asian town Which I refused, pleased more with my poor rent, Than he with all the treasures of a crown. I told, that such a sum but served, to make Him a corrupter, me corrupted thought: And foul for him to give, for me to take, If used, shamed both, unused, did serve for nought. But all those baits I never deigned to touch, Lest I that all my life had lived so free Might be possessed too much; possessing much, If taking riches, it had taken me. No, I would rather learn to live on less, Than for superfluous furniture to strive: Who seeks out substance t'entertain excess, Doth live t'use it, not it that he may live. My fortune doth afford sufficient means, That may preserve all Nature's powers in force: And he that on a golden sceptre leans, Can not have more, but may well use it worse. Ah, since abundance but abuses brings, Why seek men more than serves t'have Nature eased? And why should men toil for so many things, Since Nature with a little can be pleased? Lo how the heavens, whose love towards man exceeds, Have made his body strong, his mind divine: And have made th'earth to furnish all his needs, Lest down-weighed cares might make his thoughts decline. So that he hath a means to raise his flight, If winged with Virtue, and may mounting high, Aspire t'approach to the celestial light, And deify himself before he die. Yet doth he straight forego that glorious way, To toil for things that th'earth unforced affords: The which his wants first framed were to defray, But by himself are of his life made Lords. O how unworthy of the worth of man, Are many labours that delight him most, Since that corruption boldly first began, To make men nourish vice at virtues cost. And now what hath great Alexander gained By endless labours, and excessive cares? Of whom lo now it's only said he reigned, But death unto himself, worse to his heirs. Lo, for the guiltless blood that he hath spilled; The partners of his conquests do begin To die by the same swords by which they killed, And all his offspring expiates his sin. Such is the revolution of all things, The wheel of Fortune still must slippery prove, And chiefly when it burdened is with kings, Whose states as weightiest most must make it move. Yet Alexander I must say was blessed, That over the world a victor always ranged: And having ended all his wars, in rest, Did die in time before his fortune changed. And for his favour which I oft did try, Whilst earnestly he laboured me t'advance: Whilst earnestly he laboured me t'advance: I'm sorry that himself so soon did die, And that his offspring hath so hard a chance.
seed 43: T35 · seed 44: T34 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Then once to me a maſſe of gold he ſent, And offred too a ſtately Aſian towne Which I refuſde, pleaſde more with my poore rent, Than he with all the treaſures of a crowne. I tolde, that ſuch a ſumme but ſeru'd, to make Him a corrupter, me corrupted thought: And foule for him to giue, for me to take, If vſde, ſhamde both, vnuſde, did ſerue for nought. But all thoſe baites I neuer daign'd to touch, Leſt I that all my life had liude ſo free Might be poſſeſt too much; poſſeſſing much, If taking riches, it had taken me. No, I would rather learne to liue on leſſe, Then for ſuperfluous furniture to ſtriue: Who ſeekes out ſubſtance t'entertaine exceſſe, Doth liue t'vſe it, not it that he may liue. My fortune doth afford ſufficient meanes, That may preſerue all Natures powres in force: And he that on a golden ſcepter leanes, Can not haue more, but may wel vſe it worſe. Ah, ſince aboundance but abuſes brings, Why ſeeke men more then ſerues t'haue Nature eaſde? And why ſhould men toile for ſo many things, Since Nature with alittle can be pleaſde? Lo how the heauens, whoſe loue towards man exceeds, Haue made his bodie ſtrong, his minde diuine: And haue made th'earth to furniſh all his needes, Leſt downe-weigh'd cares might make his thoughts decline. So that he hath a meanes to raiſe his flight, If wing'd with Vertue, and may mounting hie, Aſpire t'approach to the celeſtiall light, And deifie himſelfe before he die. Yet doth he ſtrait forgoe that glorious way, To toile for things that th'earth vnforc'd affords: The which his wants firſt fram'd were to defray, But by himſelfe are of his life made Lords. O how vnworthie of the worth of man, Are many labors that delight him moſt, Since that corruption boldly firſt began, To make men nouriſh vice at vertues coſt. And now what hath great Alexander gain'd By endleſſe labours, and exceſſiue cares? Of whom loe now it's onely ſaid he raign'd, But death vnto himſelfe, worſe to his heires. Lo, for the guiltleſſe blood that he hath ſpill'd; The partners of his conqueſts doe beginne To die by the ſame ſwords by which they kill'd, And all his of-ſpring expiates his ſinne. Such is the reuolution of all things, The wheele of Fortune ſtill muſt ſlippery proue, And chiefly when it burdend is with kings, Whoſe ſtates as weightieſt moſt muſt make it moue. Yet Alexander I muſt ſay was bleſt, That ouer the worlde a victor alwaies rang'd: And hauing ended all his warres, in reſt, Did die in time before his fortune changde. And for his fauour which I oft did trie, Whilſt earneſtly he labord me t'aduaunce: Whilſt earneſtly he labord me t'aduaunce: I'm ſorie that himſelfe ſo ſoone did die, And that his of-ſpring hath ſo hard a chance.