Alexander, William · published 1637 · first performed or written 1607 (Annals) tragedy T12 Olympian gods: Jupiter, Juno, Venus and typicality 0.76 · 473 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T12: iupiter, saturn, iuno, venus, gods, mars, earth, titan, love, fair.
That from their thoughts (which now no reason bounds) Not only laws, but Nature's laws doth bar; The Son the Sire, the brother brother wounds; Whilst th'Eagles are opposed to th'Eagles so, O what contentment doth my mind attain! No wound is wrong bestowed, each kills a foe, What ever side doth lose, I always gain. But this my soul exceedingly annoys, That all at one time cannot be suppressed: The war helps some, as others it destroys, And those who hate me most, still prosper best. Whilst with their blood their glory thousands spend, Ah! once advancement aggravates my woe, Who vaunts himself from Venus to descend, As if he claimed by kind to be my foe. I mean the man whose thoughts nought can appease, Whilst, them too high a blind ambition bends, Whom (as her minion) Fortune bend to please, Her rarest treasures prodigally spends; Not only hath he daunted by the Sword The Gauls, the Germans, and th' Egyptians now, But of all Lords pretends to be made Lord, That who command the world to him may bow; Thus dispossessing Princes of their Thrones, Whilst his Affection nothing can assuage, That the subjected world in bondage groans, The prey of pride, the sacrifice to rage, Men rail on Iove, and sigh for Saturn's time, And to the present, Ages past prefer, Than burden would the Gods with every crime, And damn the heavens, where only th'earth doth err. Though Iove (as stupid) still with Cupid sports, And not the humour of proud Caesar spies? Who may (if forcing thus the world's chief Forts) Then Titans erst, more powerful, scale the skies. Yet lest he thrall him too, who none free leaves, We from the bounds above him must repel, To brawl with Pluto in th'umbrageous Caves, There since he will be first, made first in hell. What? with that Tyrant I will strait be even, And send his soul to the Tartarian grove▪ Though Iove will not be jealous of his heaven, Yet Iuno must be jealous of her Iove; And though none in the heavens would do him ill, I'll raise up some in th'earth to haste his death: Yea though both heaven and earth neglect my will, H●ll 〈◊〉 me Ministers of wrath▪ I'll cro●● 〈◊〉 and the smoking lakes; To borrow ●●enc●●●y brothers damned bands, The furies armed with fire-barands, and with Snakes, Shall plant their hell where Rome so stately stands; Whilst Furies furious by my fury made, Do spare the dead to have the living pined: O! with what joy will I that Army lead? Nought then revenge more calms a wronged mind; I must make this a memorable age, By this high vengeance which I have conceived: But what though thousands dye t'appease my rage? So Caesar perish, let no soul be saved.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 181–239 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 4 of 50 in this edition
Length
473 words · 652 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T12 — Olympian gods: Jupiter, Juno, Venus and Marscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.756 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
Other seeds
seed 43: T28 · seed 44: T22 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
That from their thoughts (which now no reaſon bounds) Not onely laws, but Natures laws doth barre; The Sonne the Syre, the brother brother wounds; Whil'ſt th'Eagles are oppos'd to th'Eagles ſo, O what contentment doth my minde attaine! No wound is wrong beſtow'd, each kills a foe, What ever ſide doth loſe, I alwayes gaine. But this my ſoule exceedingly annoyes, That all at one time cannot be ſuppreſt: "The warre helps ſome, as others it deſtroyes, And thoſe who hate me moſt, ſtill proſper beſt. Whil'ſt with their bloud their glory thouſands ſpend, Ah! ones advancement aggravates my woe, Who vaunts himſelfe from Venus to deſcend, As if he claim'd by kinde to be my foe. I meane the man whoſe thoughts nought can appeaſe, Whil'ſt, them too high a blinde ambition bends, Whom (as her minion) Fortune bent to pleaſe, Her rareſt treaſures prodigally ſpends; Not onely hath he daunted by the Sword The Gauls, the Germans, and th'Aegyptians now, But of all Lords pretends to be made Lord, That who command the world to him may bow; Thus diſpoſſeſſing Princes of their Thrones, Whil'ſt his Ation nothing can aſſwage, That the ſubjected world in bondage grones, The prey of pride, the ſacrifice to rage, "Men raile on Iove, and ſigh for Saturnes time, "And to the preſent, Ages paſt preferre, "Then burden would the Gods with every crime, "And damne the heavens, where onely th'earth doth erre. Though Iove (as ſtupid) ſtill with Cupid ſports, And not the humour of proud Caeſar ſpies? Who may (if forcing thus the worlds chiefe Forts) Then Titans earſt, more pow'rfull, ſcale the skies. Yet leſt he thrall him too, who none free leaves, We from the bounds above him muſt repell, To brawle with Pluto in th'umbragious Caves, There ſince he will be firſt, made firſt in hell. What? with that Tyrant I will ſtraight be even, And ſend his ſoule to the Tartarian grove▪ Though Iove will not be jealous of his heaven, Yet Iuno muſt be jealous of her Iove; And though none in the heavens would do him ill, I'le raiſe up ſome in th'earth to haſte his death: Yea tho both heaven and earth neglect my will, Hll me Miniſters of wrath▪ I'le cro and the ſmoaking lakes; To borrow ency brothers damned bands, The furies arm'd with fire-barands, and with Snakes, Shall plant their hell where Rome ſo ſtately ſtands; Whil'ſt Furies furious by my fury made, Do ſpare the dead to have the living pin'd: O! with what joy will I that Army leade? "Nought then revenge more calmes a wronged minde; I muſt make this a memorable age, By this high vengeance which I have conceiv'd: But what though thouſands dye t'appeaſe my rage? 'So Caeſar periſh, let no ſoule be ſav'd.