Alexander, William · published 1637 · first performed or written 1607 [1605-1607] (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 481 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.
To draw his love from me did ways prepare, Yet were their slights by duteous love o'erthrown, And I respected with a reverend care. His tender love to me was much extolled, Then when he sought to establish a decree, That with Immortals I might be enrolled, And (as a Goddess) honours have to me. Ah! how can I this tragic time survive, Who lost a son so great, a son so kinder? And all the means which make me now to live, Is with revenge a hope to ease my mind. His love to you it could not but abound, (By nature, parents of their own are loved) Since those to whom he by no band was bound, Of his humanity the fruits have proved. His clemency did make his state more sure, Then all the terrors rising from his name, Which whilst he lived, did public love procure, And after death a never dying fame. Old Sisigambis lifting up her heart, (Of her own sons the death who bade survived) To Alexander did that love impart, Which was to Darius' due while as he lived; But when these tidings wounded had her ears, That heaven from th'earth had robbed that praise of men: (Whilst all dissolved in floods of bitter tears) She hated life, as never spoiled till then. Her widowed nephew groaning at her feet, Who of Hephestion did the death bewail, In depths of woe she (drowned with tears) did fleet, Till that o'erwhelmed, her strength began to fail; Then barred from food, she grovelling did abide, Till that life's course (than hastened fast) was run: Thus she survived her son, yet with him died, In whom she found the kindness of a son. If but when hearing this his tragic end, A stranger (once his Captive) died for grief, Ah, shall his mother yet on hope depend, As such a loss might look for some relief? And yet I will, for it were a great disgrace To me the mother of that matchless man, (Like other women) to give fortune place, And faintly yield as vulgar wretches can. Though grief at first must mollify me once, Or (as unnatural) I might be admired Yet will I not still burst my breast with groans; Then that, of me more courage is required, I'll not degener from my generous kind, (Faint-hearted Hindes brought never Lion forth) Nor yet a Mother of an abject mind, Had never borne a Monarch of such worth. And O! who knows, but once the time may come, That I to venge myself a means may have? Whilst those vile traitors ruined are by some, Who with their blood may bathe their Sovereign's grave. Now on Perdiccas I repose my trust, Who with Eumenes would our wrongs red resse; Their valour (venturing in a cause so just) By all appearance, promise doth no less.
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)
To draw his love from me did wayes prepare, Yet were their ſlights by dutious love o're-throwne, And I reſpected with a reverend care. His tender love to me was much extold, Then when he ſought to ſtabliſh a decree, That with Immortals I might be enrold, And (as a Goddeſſe) honours have to me. Ah! how can I this tragicke time ſurvive, Who loſt a ſonne ſo great, a ſonne ſo kinder? And all the meanes which make me now to live, Is with revenge a hope to eaſe my minde. His love to you it could not but abound, (By nature, parents of their owne are lov'd) Since thoſe to whom he by no band was bound, Of his humanity the fruits have prov'd. His clemency did make his ſtate more ſure, Then all the terrours riſing from his name, Which whilſt he liv'd, did publike love procure, And after death a never dying fame. Old Siſigambis lifting up her heart, (Of her owne ſonnes the death who bad ſurviv'd) To Alexander did that love impart, Wich was to Darius due while as he liv'd; But when theſe tidings wounded had her eares, That heaven from th'earth had rob'd that praiſe of men: (Whilſt all diſſolv'd in flouds of bitter teares) She hated life, as never ſpoil'd till then. Her widow'd nephew groning at her feet, Who of Hepheſtion did the death bewaile, In depths of woe ſhe (drown'd with teares) did fleet, Till that o're-whelm'd, her ſtrength began to faile; Then barr'd from food, ſhe groveling did abide, Till that lifes courſe (then haſtened faſt) was runne: Thus ſhe ſurviv'd her ſonne, yet with him dy'd, In whom ſhe found the kindneſſe of a ſonne. If but when hearing this his tragicke end, A ſtranger (once his Captive) dy'd for griefe, Ah, ſhall his mother yet on hope depend, As ſuch a loſſe might looke for ſome reliefe? And yet I will, for 't were a great diſgrace To me the mother of that matchleſſe man, (Like other women) to give fortune place, And faintly yeeld as vulgar wretches can. Though griefe at firſt muſt mollifie me once, Or (as unnaturall) I might be admir'd Yet will I not ſtill burſt my breſt with grones; Then that, of me more courage is requir'd, I'le not degener from my generous kinde, "(Faint-hearted Hindes brought never Lyon forth) "Nor yet a Mother of an abject minde, "Had never borne a Monarch of ſuch worth. And O! who knowes, but once the time may come, That I to venge my ſelfe a meanes may have? Whilſt thoſe vile traitors ruin'd are by ſome, Who with their bloud may bath their Soveraigns grave. Now on Perdiccas I repoſe my truſt, Who with Eumenes would our wrongs red reſſe; Their valour (ventring in a cauſe ſo juſt) By all appearance, promiſe doth no leſſe.