Alexander, William · published 1637 · first performed or written 1607 [1605-1607] (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T36 Hell, Furies and the language of punishm · 515 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T36: hell, earth, gods, death, ghosts, blood, bloody, heaven, night, ghost.
Heaven's plague Cassander, let that base wretch try That Iove his judgement but a while defers; And let his wife bewail as well as I, I murdered for my Son, and she by hers. Even as th'incestuous Thebans monstrous brood, So may thy Sons contend with mutual wounds, And never let thy house be free from blood, Till banished quite from this usurped bounds; Thus, notwithstanding of my wont power, To me (save wishes) nothing doth remain: But though condemned to dye, yet at this hour Should I begin to curse, and to complain? No, no, that custom best becomes poor souls, Whose resolution cannot climb more high; But I whose courage that base course controls, Must triumph still what ever State I try. Death is the port where all may refuge find, The end of labour, entry unto rest; Death hath the bounds of misery confined, Whose Sanctuary shrowds affliction best. To suffer (oft) with a courageous heart, It doth deserve more praise than deeds most known: For, in our actions Fortune hath some part, But in our sufferings, all things are our own: Lo, now I loathe the world, and worldly things, Of which I both have proved the best and worst: The apprehended death great comfort brings, And hath no cross, but that it should be forced. O hear me now (dear Son) if that thy Ghost May leave th'Elysian fields to look on me: Of all things else this doth content me most, That from this time I may remain with thee. And blush not now to see thy Mother's end, My death in glory with thy life shall strive: It (as a captive) Fortune shall attend, That (as thy fellow) followed thee alive; AH, ah! though man the image of great Iove, And, th'only creature that gives Reason place, With reverence due unto the powers above, His heavenly progeny should seek to prove, By still resembling the Immortal kind; Yet makes the world our better part so blind, That we the clouds of vanity embrace, And from our first excellency decline; This doth distinguish that celestial grace, Which should make souls to burn with Virtue's love, Whose fancies vice luxuriously now feasts; Vice is the Circe that enchants the mind, And doth transform her followers all in Swine; Whilst poisoned pleasures so corrupt our tastes, That of halfgods, we make ourselves whole-beasts: And yet of ruthless Pluto's raging host, The unce which doth transport presumptuous hearts, And makes men from the Gods to differ most, Is cruelty, that to the sufferers cost, And actors both, is oftentimes appeased: The gods delight to give, and to forgive, By pardoning, and not by plagueing pleased; And why should men excogitate strange Arts, To show their tyranny, as those who strive To feed on mischief, though the Author smarts, Oft for the deed of which himself did boast, Whilst whence the blow first came, the grief doth turn? For, that by which the mind at first was eased, May it in th'end the greatest burden give; Oft those whose cruelty makes many mourn,
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)
Heavens plague Caſſander, let that baſe wretch try That Iove his judgement but a while deferres; And let his wife bewaile as well as I, I murdred for my Sonne, and ſhe by hers. Even as th'inceſtuous Thebans monſtrous brood, So may thy Sonnes contend with mutuall wounds, And never let thy houſe be free from bloud, Till baniſh'd quite from this uſurped bounds; Thus, notwithſtanding of my wonted pow'r, To me (ſave wiſhes) nothing doth remaine: But though condemn'd to dye, yet at this houre Should I begin to curſe, and to complaine? No, no, that cuſtome beſt becomes poore ſoules, Whoſe reſolution cannot climbe more high; But I whoſe courage that baſe courſe controuls, Muſt triumph ſtill what ever State I try. "Death is the port where all may refuge finde, "The end of labour, entry unto reſt; "Death hath the bounds of miſery confin'd, "Whoſe Sanctuary ſhrowds affliction beſt. "To ſuffer (oft) with a couragious heart, "It doth deſerve more praiſe then deeds moſt knowne: "For, in our actions Fortune hath ſome part, "But in our ſuffrings, all things are our owne: Loe, now I loath the world, and worldly things, Of which I both have prov'd the beſt and worſt: The apprehended death great comfort brings, And hath no croſſe, but that it ſhould be forc'd. O heare me now (deare Sonne) if that thy Ghoſt May leave th'Elyſian fields to look on me: Of all things elſe this doth content me moſt, That from this time I may remaine with thee. And bluſh not now to ſee thy Mothers end, My death in glory with thy life ſhall ſtrive: It (as a captive) Fortune ſhall attend, That (as thy fellow) follow'd thee alive; AH, ah! though man the image of great Iove, And, th'onely creature that gives Reaſon place, With reverence due unto the powres above, His heavenly progeny ſhould ſeeke to prove, By ſtill reſembling the Immortall kinde; Yet makes the world our better part ſo blinde, That we the clouds of vanity imbrace, And from our firſt excellency decline; This doth diſtinguiſh that celeſtiall grace, Which ſhould make ſoules to burne with Vertues love, Whoſe fancies vice luxuriouſly now feaſts; "Vice is the Circe that enchants the minde, "And doth transforme her followers all in Swine; "Whiſt poyſon'd pleaſures ſo corrupt our taſtes, "That of halfe-gods, we make our ſelves whole-beaſts: And yet of ruthleſſe Pluto's raging hoſt, The vce which doth tranſport preſumptuous hearts, And makes men from the Gods to differ moſt, Is cruelty, that to the ſufferers coſt, And actors both, is often-times appeas'd: The gods delight to give, and to forgive, By pardoning, and not by plagueing pleas'd; And why ſhould men excogitate ſtrange Arts, To ſhew their tyranny, as thoſe who ſtrive To feed on miſchiefe, though the Author ſmarts, Oft for the deed of which himſelfe did boaſt, Whil'ſt whence the blow firſt came, the griefe doth turne? "For, that by which the minde at firſt was eas'd, "May it in th'end the greateſt burden give; "Oft thoſe whoſe cruelty makes many mourne,