Alexander, William · published 1637 · first performed or written 1607 (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T50 Fleets, armies and generals: war by sea · 455 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T50: sea, honour, general, soldiers, men, ship, fight, soldier, king, vittori.
And without me, canst thou resolve so soon, To try the danger of a doubtful strife? As if despaired, and always but undone, Of me grown weary, weary of thy life. Yet since thou thus thy rash design hast shown, Leave Portia's portion, venture not her part, Endanger nought but that which is thine own, Go where thou like st, I will hold still thy heart. But lest by holding of thy best part back▪ The other perished, aggravate my groans: Who would be so thought guilty of thy wrack, Take all thy Treasure to the Seas at once. Like Asia's Monarch's wife, who with short hairs, (Sad signs of bondage) past still where he passed, To wear away, or bear away thy cares, I'll follow thee, and of thy fortune taste. These hands which were with mine own blood imbrued, To strike another, may more strength afford, At lest when thou by th'enemies' art pursued, I'll set myself betwixt thee and each Sword; But if too great a privilege I claim, Whose actions all should be disposed by thee, Ah! pardon (Brutus) and but only blame This stream of passions that transported me. Thou ask'st what thou shouldst give, forgive dear Mate, This venturous course of mine, which must have place, Though it make Fortune Tyrant of our State, Whose fickle footsteps Virtue grieves to trace. And wonder not though thus to thee I prove, Since private duties now all power have lost; I weigh not glory, profit, pleasure, love, Nor what respect may now import me most: So to the land of which I hold my life, I may perform that work which I intent, Let me be called unkind unto my wife: Yea, worst of all, ingrate unto my friend. As an instinct by Nature makes us know, There are degrees of duty to be past, Of which the first unto the Gods we own, The next t'our Country, to our friends the last. From Rome of old proud Tyrants bend to drive, Did th'author of my race with ardent zeal, Make those to dye, whom he had made to live, And spoiled himself to raise the Commonweal▪ To settle that which Caesar now o'erthrows, (Though virtues nursery, stately whilst it stood) He with the Tyrant interchanging blows, On Glories Altar offered Fame his blood. And did that man to cross the common foe, Then damn his Sons to death? and with dry eyes, And is his special heir degenered so, In abject bondage that he basely lies? No, his posterity his name not stains, But even to tread his steps doth fast draw near; Yet, of his spirit in us some spark remains, Who more than life, our liberty hold dear.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T6 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
And without me, canſt thou reſolve ſo ſoone, To try the danger of a doubtfull ſtrife? As if deſpair'd, and alwayes but undone, Of me growne weary, weary of thy life. Yet ſince thou thus thy raſh deſigne haſt ſhowne, Leave Portia's portion, venter not her part, Endanger nought but that which is thine owne, Go where thou lik ſt, I will hold ſtill thy heart. But leſt by holding of thy beſt part back▪ The other periſh't, aggravate my grones: Who would be ſo thought guilty of thy wrack, Take all thy Treaſure to the Seas at once. Like Aſia's Monarchs wife, who with ſhort haires, (Sad ſignes of bondage) paſt ſtill where he paſt, To weare away, or beare away thy cares, I'le follow thee, and of thy fortune taſte. Theſe hands which were with mine own bloud imbru'd, To ſtrike another, may more ſtrength afford, At leaſt when thou by th'enemies art purſu'd, I'le ſet my ſelfe betwixt thee and each Sword; But if too great a priviledge I claime, Whoſe actions all ſhould be diſpoſ'd by thee, Ah! pardon (Brutus) and but onely blame This ſtreame of paſſions that tranſported me. Thou ask'ſt what thou ſhouldſt give, forgive deare Mate, This ventrous courſe of mine, which muſt have place, Though it make Fortune Tyrant of our State, Whoſe fickle foot-ſteps Vertue grieves to trace. And wonder not though thus to thee I prove, Since private duties now all pow'r have loſt; I weigh not glory, profit, pleaſure, love, Nor what reſpect may now import me moſt: So to the land of which I hold my life, I may performe that worke which I intend, Let me be call'd unkinde unto my wife: Yea, worſt of all, ingrate unto my friend. "As an inſtinct by Nature makes us know, "There are degrees of duty to be paſt, "Of which the firſt unto the Gods we owe, "The next t'our Countrey, to our friends the laſt. From Rome of old proud Tyrants bent to drive, Did th'author of my race with ardent zeale, Make thoſe to dye, whom he had made to live, And ſpoil'd himſelfe to raiſe the Common-weale▪ To ſettle that which Caeſar now o're-throws, (Though vertues nurſerie, ſtately whil'ſt it ſtood) He with the Tyrant inter-changing blows, On Glories Altar offered Fame his bloud. And did that man to croſſe the common foe, Then damne his Sonnes to death? and with dry eyes, And is his ſpeciall heire degener'd ſo, In abject bondage that he baſely lyes? No, his poſterity his name not ſtaines, But even to tread his ſteps doth faſt draw neare; Yet, of his ſprit in us ſome ſpark remaines, Who more then life, our liberty hold deare.