Alexander, William · published 1637 · first performed or written 1607 [1605-1607] (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T34 Thebes and royal catastrophe: siege, sla · 453 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T34: thebes, antigone, polynices, creon, eteocles, war, theban, gods, dear, country.
Yet this opinion partly I disprove, Which would not (as you think) our troubles end: For, if we do from hence our force remove, And to th' Aemathian bounds directly tend, There must at first a doubtful war be proved, With those brave bands whose valour is well known: Of whom Craterus dearly is beloved; Antipater is borne, and bred their own. And though indeed (as kindly to those parts) My friendship may affected be by some, Yet those who start in time by many arts, May undermyne their minds before we come. Then whilst we trouble Macedony most, And leave those Realms unarmed which now are ours, Strait Ptolemy when strengthened is his host, May (like a tempest) swallow Asia's powers. I, for the time most willingly would take The course which seems to make our state most sure: A foe is dangerous, when behind ones back, (Who whilst not looked for) may our harm procure▪ My purpose is, though yet to none made known, That Egypt first shall burdened be with war: For, if that Ptolemy were once o'erthrown, Then that from Greece all hope of help would bar. Hold still with you those of the sacred blood, Whom to protect you always must pretend: The countenance of the great, may do much good, Whom still (though weak) all glory to attend. LEt sorrow prove a tyrant to my soul, Whose rage with reason now no measure keeps; What of my tears the torrent can control, Since flowing from afflictions deepest deeps? How can my breast but burst whilst sobs rebound, Since on●e the seat of joys now not the same? May not huge horrors press me to the ground, In thinking what I was, and what I am? I was a great man's wife, a greater's mother, Even she to whom the heavens their best did give; Yet, I, even I, more plagued than any other, In dungeons now of desolation live. My son who was the glory of his time, Stain of times past, and light of times to come, (O frail mortality! O slipper ●yme!) Though having all o're-comed, death did overcome. And I (dejected wretch) whole dying eyes (By Nature's custom bound) he should have closed, Was not to shut his stars with th'yvory skies, Which curtained once where Majesty reposed: But ah! his falling in a foreign part Hath (if aught can enlarge) enlarged my grief, Or else on him I melted had my heart, And spent myself to purchase his relief. Yet though I was not present at his death, He shall not be defrauded of my tears: But for his funeral fires my flaming breath Shall smoak, and to his Ghost a tribute bears.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T33 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Yet this opinion partly I diſprove, Which would not (as you thinke) our troubles end: For, if we do from hence our force remove, And to th'Aemathian bounds directly tend, There muſt at firſt a doubtfull warre be prov'd, With thoſe brave bands whoſe valour is well known: Of whom Craterus dearly is belov'd; Antipater is borne, and bred their owne. And though indeed (as kindly to thoſe parts) My friendship may affected be by ſome, Yet thoſe who ſtart in time by many arts, May under-myne their mindes before we come. Then whil'ſt we trouble Macedony moſt, And leave thoſe Realmes unarm'd which now are ours, Straight Ptolomie when ſtrengthned is his hoſt, May (like a tempeſt) ſwallow Aſia's pow'rs. I, for the time moſt willingly would take The courſe which ſeemes to make our ſtate moſt ſure: "A foe is dangerous, when behinde ones backe, "(Who whil'ſt not look'd for) may our harme procure▪ My purpoſe is, though yet to none made knowne, That Egypt firſt ſhall burden'd be with warre: For, if that Ptolomie were once o'rethrowne, Then that from Greece all hope of help would barre. Hold ſtill with you thoſe of the ſacred bloud, Whom to protect you alwayes muſt pretend: "The count'nance of the great, may do much good, "Whom ſtill (though weake) all glory to attend. LEt ſorrow prove a tyrant to my ſoule, Whoſe rage with reaſon now no meaſure keeps; What of my teares the torrent can controull, Since flowing from afflictions deepeſt deeps? How can my breaſt but burſt whil'ſt ſobs rebound, Since one the ſeat of joyes now not the ſame? May not huge horrours preſſe me to the ground, In thinking what I was, and what I am? I was a great mans wife, a geaters mother, Even ſhe to whom the heavens their beſt did give; Yet, I, even I, more plagu'd then any other, In dungeons now of deſolation live. My ſonne who was the glory of his time, Staine of times paſt, and light of tmes to come, (O fraile mortality! O ſlipper yme!) Though having all o're-com'd, death did o're-come. And I (dejected wretch) whole dying eyes (By Natures cuſtome bound) he ſhould have clos'd, Was not to ſhut his ſtarres with th'yvory skies, Which curtain'd once where Majeſty repos'd: But ah! his falling in a forraine part Hath (if ought can enlarge) enlarg'd my griefe, Or elſe on him I melted had my heart, And ſpent my ſelfe to purchaſe his reliefe. Yet though I was not preſent at his death, He ſhall not be defrauded of my teares: But for his funerall fires my flaming breath Shall ſmoak, and to his Ghoſt a tribute beares.