Alexander, William · published 1637 · first performed or written 1607 (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T36 Hell, Furies and the language of punishm · 484 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.
WE should be loath to grieve the gods, Who hold us in a balance still; And as they will May weigh us up, or down; Those who by folly foster pride, And do deride The terror of the Thunderers rods, In seas of sin their souls do drown, And others them abhor as most unjust, Who want Religion do deserve no trust: How dare frail flesh presume to rise (Whilst it deserves heaven's wrath to prove) On th'earth to move, Lest that it opening strait, Give death and burial both at once? How dare such one's Look up unto the skies, For fear to feel the Thunderers weight? All th'Elements their Makers will attend, As prompt to plague, as men are to offend. All must be plagued who God displease, Then whilst he Bacchus rites did scorn, Was Pentheus torn; The Delians high disdain Made Niobe (though turned a stone) With tears still moan, And (Pallas to appease) Arachne weaves loathed webs in vain: Heaven hath prepared ere ever they begin, A fall for pride, a punishment for sin. Lo, Iuno yet doth still retain That indignation once conceived, For wrong received From Paris as we find; And for his cause (bend to disgrace The Trojan race) Doth hold a high disdain, Long laid up in a lofty mind: We should abstain from irritating those Whose thoughts (if wronged) not till revenged repose. Thus, thus for Paris fond desire, Who of his pleasures had no part, For them must smart: Such be the fruits of lust; Can heavenly breasts so long time lodge A secret grudge? Like Mortals thrall to ire, Till justice sometime seems unjust? Of all the furies which afflict the soul, Lust and revenge are hardest to controull● The Gods give them but rarely rest, Who do against their will contend, And plagues do spend, That fortunate in nought, Their spirits (quite parted from repose) May still expose The stormy troubled breast A prey to each tyrannic thought: All self-accusing souls no rest can find, What greater torment than a trouble mind? Let us adore th'immortal powers, On whose decree, of all that ends, The state depends, That (far from barbarous broils) We of our life this little space May spend in peace Free from afflictions showers; Or at the least from guilty toils; Let us of rest the treasure strive to gain, Without the which nought can be had but pain. NOw have my hopes attained the longed for heaven, In spite of partial Envies poisonous blasts: My Fortune with my courage hath proved even; No Monument of miscontentment lasts. Those who corrivaled me, by me overthrow, Did by their falls give feathers to my flight: I in some corner rather live unknown Then shine in glory, and not shine most bright; What common is to two, rests no more rare, In all the world no Phoenix is save one,
seed 43: T32 · seed 44: T26 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
"VVE ſhould be loath to grieve the gods, "Who hold us in a ballance ſtill; "And as they will "May weigh us up, or downe; "Thoſe who by folly foſter pride, "And do deride "The terrour of the Thunderers rods, "In ſeas of ſinne their ſoules do drowne, "And others them abhorre as moſt unjuſt, "Who want Religion do deſerve no truſt: How dare fraile fleſh preſume to riſe (Whil'ſt it deſerves heavens wrath to prove) On th'earth to move, Leſt that it opening ſtraight, Give death and buriall both at once? How dare ſuch ones Look up unto the skies, For feare to feele the Thunderers weight? "All th'Elements their Makers will attend, "As prompt to plague, as men are to offend. All muſt be plagu'd who God diſpleaſe, Then whil'ſt he Bacchus rites did ſcorne, Was Pentheus torne; The Delians high diſdaine Made Niobe (though turn'd a ſtone) With teares ſtill mone, And (Pallas to appeaſe) Arachne weaves loath'd webbes in vaine: Heaven hath prepar'd ere ever they begin, A fall for pride, a puniſhment for ſinne. Loe, Iuno yet doth ſtill retaine That indignation once conceiv'd, For wrong receiv'd From Paris as we finde; And for his cauſe (bent to diſgrace The Trojan race) Doth hold a high diſdaine, Long layd up in a loftie minde: "We ſhould abſtaine from irritating thoſe "Whoſe thoughts (if wrong'd) not till reveng'd repoſe. Thus, thus for Paris fond deſire, Who of his pleaſures had no part, For them muſt ſmart: Such be the fruits of luſt; Can heavenly breaſts ſo long time lodge A ſecret grudge? Like Mortals thrall to yre, Till juſtice ſometime ſeemes unjuſt? "Of all the furies which afflict the ſoule, "Luſt and revenge are hardeſt to controull The Gods give them but rarely reſt, Who do againſt their will contend, And plagues do ſpend, That fortunate in nought, Their ſprits (quite parted from repoſe) May ſtill expoſe The ſtormy troubled breſt A prey to each tyrannicke thought: "All ſelfe-accuſing ſoules no reſt can finde, "What greater torment then a trouble minde? Let us adore th'immortall powers, On whoſe decree, of all that ends, The ſtate depends, That (farre from barbarous broiles) We of our life this little ſpace May ſpend in peace Free from afflictions ſhowres; Or at the leaſt from guilty toyles; "Let us of reſt the treaſure ſtrive to gaine, "Whithout the which nought can be had but paine. NOw have my hopes attain'd the long'd for heaven, In ſpight of partiall Envies poyſnous blaſts: My Fortune with my courage hath prov'd even; No Monument of miſcontentment laſts. Thoſe who corrival'd me, by me o're-throwne, Did by their falls give feathers to my flight: I in ſome corner rather live unknowne Then ſhine in glory, and not ſhine moſt bright; What common is to two, reſts no more rare, In all the world no Phoenix is ſave one,