Alexander, William · published 1607 · first performed or written 1607 [1605-1607] (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T38 Death, parting and grief at court · 496 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T38: queen, king, death, dead, heart, life, die, lord, royal, news.
She constant still, though moaned, would never moan, Whose stately gesture scorned their foul attempt: And did unite her virtues all in one, To grace disgrace, and glorify contempt. She on two Ladies shoulders leaned her arms, And with a Majesty did march towards death: Like Alexander once amidst th'alarms, As if in triumph bent t'abandon breath. The height of virtue admiration brings, At this great magnanimity amazed: As spying th'Image of their ancient kings, Or then some goddess; all the soldiers gazed. But ah, some boasted by the tyrant strived To spoil (unnatural) natures fairest frame; And th'Alabaster balls between they drived Th'unwilling swords, that straight grew red for shame. Then she in worth, that would herself excel, Would neither word, nor tear, nor sigh forth send; But spread her garments over her whilst she fell, As jealous of her honour still to th'end. O strange barbarity, most monstrous deed, Could men a woman, subjects kill their Queen? And could her fortune past no pity breeds? whoever gave the wound hath not her seen. The ugly Authors of those odious evils, Feared for deserved plagues must still be sad, His breast t'a hell, his thoughts all turned to devils, Through horror of himself must make him mad. And yet the plague of these detested times. Hath wrought more mischief t'aggravate our groans. No end in sin, crimes are maintained by crimes Who fall in th'Ocean touch the bottom once, The path of honour hath but narrow bounds, On which who steps attentive must remain. It's raised so high above the vulgar grounds, That who thence fall can never rise again. Thus now Cassander since he cannot win True reputation, but lives tainted still, Embarked in mischief sails the depths of sin, So, if not loved as good, yet feared as ill. Though by his means his ruthless eyes have seen, Fates (as it were from Fortune's bosom) rend His King by poison, by the sword his Queen; In wickedness t'exceed himself in th'end: He prospering in impiety, grew proud, And murdered both his masters son and wife: Thus he that all the world by birthright owed, Could hold no part of it, no not his life. Yet could Roxanes death not ease his mind, Nor her young son too soon made Pluto's guest: But bent t'undo all Alexander's kind, That to revenge the rest there might none rest. By treason he (as all his deeds are done,) Caused Hercules his brother's steps to trace: That was great Alexander's bastard son, And th'only remnant of that great man's race. Lo thus Cassander th'enemy to all good, Whose soul so much for Macedon longs: Hath to the Sceptre swim'd through seas of blood, Yet, O weak right that's builded but on wrongs! O how ambition doth abuse the great, That with enough not pleased still strive for more: Lo how our Sovereign seemed to raise his state, Yet made it but to fall whilst starved with store.
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)
She conſtant ſtill, though mon'd, would neuer mone, Whoſe ſtately geſture ſcorn'd their foule attempt: And did vnite her vertues all in one, To grace diſgrace, and glorifie contempt. She on two Ladies ſhoulders lean'd her armes, And with a Maieſtie did march towards death: Like Alexander once amidſt th'alarmes, As if in triumph bent t'abandon breath. The height of vertue admiration brings, At this great magnanimitie amaz'd: As ſpying th'Image of their auncieat kings, Or then ſome goddeſſe; all the ſouldiers gaz'd. But ah, ſome boſted by the tirant ſtriu'd To ſpoile (vnnaturall) natures faireſt frame; And th'Alabaſter balles betweene they driu'd Th'vnwilling ſwords, that ſtrait grew red for ſhame. Then ſhe in worth, that would her ſelfe excell, Would neither word, nor teare, nor ſigh forth ſend; But ſpread her garments ouer her whilſt ſhe fell, As iealous of her honour ſtill to th'end. O ſtrange barbaritie, moſt monſtrous deed, Could men a woman, ſubiects kill their Queene? And could her fortune paſt no pitie breeds? Who euer gaue the wound hath not her ſeene. The ougly Authors of thoſe odious euils, Fear'd for deſerued plagues muſt ſtill be ſad, His breaſt t'a hell, his thoughts all turn'd to deuils, Through horror of himſelf muſt make him mad. And yet the plague of theſe deteſted times. Hath wrought more miſchiefe t'aggrauate our grones. No end in ſinne, crimes are maintain'd by crimes Who fall in th'Ocean touch the bottome once, The path of honor hath but narrow bounds, On which who ſteps attentiue muſt remaine. It's raiſde ſo hie aboue the vulgar grounds, That who thence fall can neuer riſe againe. Thus now Caſſander ſince he cannot winne True reputation, but liues tainted ſtil, Imbarkt in miſchiefe ſailes the depths of ſinne, So, if not lou'd as good, yet feard as ill. Though by his meanes his ruthleſſe eies haue ſeene, Fates (as it were from Fortunes boſome) rend His King by poiſon, by the ſword his Queene; In wickednes t'exceede himſelfe in th'end: He proſpring in impietie, grew prowd, And murdred both his maiſters ſonne and wife: Thus he that all the world by birthright ow'd, Could hold no part of it, no not his life. Yet could Roxanes death not eaſe his minde, Nor her yong ſonne too ſoone made Plutoes gueſt: But bent t'vndoe all Alexanders kinde, That to reuenge the reſt there might none reſt. By treaſon he (as all his deedes are done,) Cauſde Hercules his brothers ſteppes to trace: That was great Alexanders baſtard ſonne, And th'onelie remnant of that great mans race. Lo thus Caſſander th'enemie to all good, Whoſe ſoule ſo much for Macedonie longs: Hath to the Scepter ſwimd through ſeas of blood, Yet, O weake right thats builded but on wrongs! O how ambition doth abuſe the great, That with enough not pleaſde ſtill ſtriue for more: Loe how our Soueraigne ſeemde to raiſe his ſtate, Yet made it but to fall whilſt ſtaru'd with ſtore.