Alexander, William · published 1637 · first performed or written 1607 (Annals) tragedy T2 Roman politics: senate, consuls and civi typicality 0.80 · 482 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T2: rome, caesar, senate, sulla, roman, consul, brutus, romans, men, marius.
That of my deeds none challenge might a share, Would God that I had acted all alone: And yet at last I need to mourn no more For envy of the Macedonians praise, Since I have equalled all that went before; My deeds in number do exceed my days. Some erst (whose deeds rest registered by Fame) Did from their Conquests glorious titles bring, But Greatness to be great, must have my name, To be a Caesar is above a King. Those warlike Nations, which did Nations spoil, Are by thy Legions to our laws made thrall; What can brave minds not do by time and toil? True magnanimity triumphs o'er all. Th'outrageous Gauls who in most monstrous swarms Went wasting Asia, thundering down all things, And (Macedony quaking at their Arms) Did insolently make, and un-make Kings: Those Gauls who having the world's conquerors foiled, (As if the world might not have matched them then) Would sacrilegiously have Delphos spoiled, And warred against the Gods, contemning men; Yea, those whose Ancestors our City burned, (The only people whom the Romans feared) By me (Rome's nursling) matched, and o'ermatched mourned: So what they first eclipsed, again they cleared. Then, as to Subjects having given degrees, The Gauls no more presuming of their might, I (wounding Neptune's bosom with winged trees) Did with the world-divided Britain's fight; The Germans from their birth enured to war, Whose martial minds still haughty thoughts have bred, Whilst neither men, nor walls, my course could bar, (Masked with my banners) saw their Rhine run red; The Eastern Realms when conquering now of late, My coming, and o're-comming was but one; With little pain ear'st Pompey was called great, Who fought soft bands whose glorious days were gone: But what though thousands set one's praises forth, For fields which shadows, and not swords, obtained; The rate (too easy) vilifies the worth: Save by great pains, no glory can be gained: From dangers past, my comfort now proceeds, Since all who durst gainstand I did overcome: And, in few words to comprehend my deeds, Rome conquered all the world, and Caesar, Rome. Lo those who strived your virtue to suppress, (As whose great actions made them jealous still) Whilst labouring but too much to make you less, Have made you to grow great against your will: Great Pompey's pomp is past, his glory gone, And rigorous Cato by himself lies killed; Then dastard Cicero more you● honours none, Thus all your foes are with confusion filled. The Senators who could not be assuaged, Long to your prejudice their power abused, Till at their great ingratitude enraged, I swore our swords would grant what they refused▪ When having scaped, endangered, and despised, Brave Curio and I did to your Camp resort, In old bare gowns (like some base slaves) disguised, All sighed to see us wronged in such a sort.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 320–381 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 6 of 50 in this edition
Length
482 words · 672 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T2 — Roman politics: senate, consuls and civil warcross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.801 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
Other seeds
seed 43: T1 · seed 44: T2 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
That of my deeds none challenge might a ſhare, Would God that I had acted all alone: And yet at laſt I need to mourne no more For envy of the Macedonians praiſe, Since I have equall'd all that went before; My deeds in number do exceed my dayes. Some earſt (whoſe deeds reſt regiſtred by Fame) Did from their Conqueſts glorious titles bring, But Greatneſſe to be great, muſt have my name, To be a Caeſar is above a King. Thoſe warre-like Nations, which did Nations ſpoile, Are by thy Legions to our laws made thrall; "What can brave mindes not do by time and toyle? "True magnanimity triumphs o're all. Th'out-ragious Gauls who in moſt monſtrous ſwarmes Went waſting Aſia, thundering downe all things, And (Macedony quaking at their Armes) Did inſolently make, and un-make Kings: Thoſe Gauls who having the worlds Conquerours foil'd, (As if the world might not have match'd them then) Would ſacrilegiouſly have Delphos ſpoil'd, And warr'd againſt the Gods, contemning men; Yea, thoſe whoſe Anceſtors our City burn'd, (The onely people whom the Romanes fear'd) By me (Romes nurſling) match'd, and o're-match'd mourn'd: So what they firſt eclipſ'd, againe they clear'd. Then, as to Subjects having given degrees, The Gauls no more preſuming of their might, I (wounding Neptunes boſome with wing'd trees) Did with the world-divided Britains fight; The Germans from their birth inur'd to warre, Whoſe martiall mindes ſtill haughtie thoughts have bred, Whil'ſt neither men, nor walls, my courſe could barre, (Mask'd with my banners) ſaw their Rhene runne red; The Eaſterne Realmes when conqu'ring now of late, My comming, and o're-comming was but one; With little paine ear'ſt Pompey was call'd great, Who fought ſoft bands whoſe glorious dayes were gone: But what though thouſands ſet ones praiſes forth, For fields which ſhadows, and not ſwords, obtain'd; The rate (too eaſie) vilifies the worth: "Save by great paines, no glory can be gain'd: From dangers paſt, my comfort now proceeds, Since all who durſt gaine-ſtand I did o're-come: And, in few words to comprehend my deeds, Rome conquer'd all the world, and Caeſar, Rome. Loe thoſe who ſtriv'd your vertue to ſuppreſſe, (As whoſe great actions made them jealous ſtill) Whil'ſt labouring but too much to make you leſſe, Have made you to grow great againſt your will: Great Pompeys pompe is paſt, his glory gone, And rigorous Cato by himſelfe lyes kill'd; Then daſtard Cicero more you honours none, Thus all your foes are with confuſion fill'd. The Senatours who could not be aſſwag'd, Long to your prejudice their pow'r abus'd, Till at their great ingratitude enrag'd, I ſwore our ſwords would grant what they refus'd▪ When having ſcap'd, endanger'd, and deſpis'd, Brave Curio and I did to your Camp reſort, In old bare gownes (like ſome baſe ſlaves) diſguis'd, All ſigh'd to ſee us wrong'd in ſuch a ſort.