Alexander, William · published 1637 · first performed or written 1607 (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T36 Hell, Furies and the language of punishm · 562 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.
Though all such things seem wonderful to some, They may by Reason comprehended be, For, what, beyond what usual is, doth come, The Ignorant with wondering eyes do see. Those bastard Stars, not heritors of th'air, Are first conceived below, then borne above, And when foreknowing things, spirits take most care, And by illusion, superstition move. Yet this, no doubt, a great regard should breed, When Nature hath brought forth a monstrous birth, In secret Characters where men may read The wrath of heaven, and wickedness of th'earth. The naturalists, and th'Astrologians skill May oft, encountering, manifest like care: Since th'one looks back, the other forward still, One may tell what, the other why things are. Shall sorrow through the waves of woes to sail, Have still your tears for Seas, your sighs for winds; To misery what do base plaints avail? A course more high becomes heroic minds. None are overcome, save only those who yield, From froward Fortune though some blows be borne, Let Virtue serve Adversity for shield: No greater grief to grief than th'enemies' scorn; This makes your foes but laugh to see you weep, At least these tears but for yourself bestow, And not for that great spirit, whose spoils heavens keep; For, he no doubt, rests deified ere now. I only wail my life, and not his death; Who now amongst th'immortals doth repose, And shall so long as I have blood or breath, To furnish forth the elements of woes. I care not who rejoice, so I lament, Who do to darkness dedicate my days, And since the light of my delight is spent, Shall have in horror all Apollo's rays. (I will retire myself to wail alone, As trusty Turtles mourning for their Mates) And (my misfortune always bend to moon) Will spurn at pleasures as empoisoned baits; No second guest shall press great Caesar's bed, Warmed by the flames to which he first gave life; I think there may be greater honour had, When Caesar's widow, than another's wife. This had afforded comfort for my harms, If I (ere chanced abandoned thus to be) Had had a little Caesar in mine arms, The living picture of his Sire to me. Yet doth that Idol which my thoughts adore, With me of late most strictly matched remain, For, where my arms him sometimes held before, Now in my heart I shall him still retain. That (though I may no precious things impart) Thy deity may by me be honoured oft, Still offering up my thoughts upon my heart, My sacred flame shall always mount aloft. WHat fools are those who do repose their trust On what this mass of misery affords? And (bragging but of th'excrements of dust) Of lifeless Treasures labour to be Lords: Which like the Sirens songs, or Circe's charms, With shadows of delight hide certain harms. Ah! whilst they sport on pleasures yeie grounds, Oft poisoned by Prosperity with Pride, A sudden storm their floating joys confounds, Whose course is ordered by the eyeless guide, Who so inconstantly herself doth bear Th'unhappy men may hope, the happy fear. The fortunate who bathe in floods of joys, To perish oft amidst their pleasure's chance, And mirthless wretches wallowing in annoy▪ Oft by adversity themselves advance; Whilst Fortune bent to mock vain worldlings cares, Doth change despairs in hopes, hopes in despairs▪
seed 43: T49 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Though all ſuch things ſeeme wonderfull to ſome, They may by Reaſon comprehended be, For, what, beyond what uſuall is, doth come, The Ignorant with wondring eyes do ſee. Thoſe baſtard Starres, not heritours of th'ayre, Are firſt conceiv'd below, then borne above, And when fore-knowing things, ſprits take moſt care, And by illuſion, ſuperſtition move. Yet this, no doubt, a great regard ſhould breed, When Nature hath brought forth a monſtrous birth, In ſecret Characters where men may reade The wrath of heaven, and wickedneſſe of th'earth. The Naturalliſts, and th'Aſtrologians skill May oft, encountring, manifeſt like care: Since th'one looks back, the other forward ſtill, One may tell what, the other why things are. Shall ſorrow through the waves of woes to ſaile, Have ſtill your teares for Seas, your ſighs for winds; To miſerie what do baſe plaints availe? A courſe more high becomes heroicke mindes. "None are o're-come, ſave onely thoſe who yeeld, From froward Fortune though ſome blows be borne, Let Vertue ſerve Adverſity for ſhield: "No greater griefe to griefe then th'enemies ſcorne; This makes your foes but laugh to ſee you weep, At leaſt theſe teares but for your ſelfe beſtow, And not for that great ſprit, whoſe ſpoyls heavens keep; For, he no doubt, reſts deified ere now. I onely waile my life, and not his death; Who now amongſt th'immortals doth repoſe, And ſhall ſo long as I have bloud or breath, To furniſh forth the elements of woes. I care not who rejoyce, ſo I lament, Who do to darkneſſe dedicate my dayes, And ſince the light of my delight is ſpent, Shall have in horrour all Apollo's rayes. (I will retyre my ſelfe to waile alone, As truſtie Turtles mourning for their Mates) And (my misfortune alwayes bent to mone) Will ſpurne at pleaſures as empoyſon'd baits; No ſecond gueſt ſhall preſſe great Caeſars bed, Warm'd by the flames to which he firſt gave life; I thinke there may be greater honour had, When Caeſars widow, then anothers wife. This had afforded comfort for my harmes, If I (ere chanc'd abandon'd thus to be) Had had a little Caeſar in mine armes, The living picture of his Syre to me. Yet doth that Idoll which my thoughts adore, With me of late moſt ſtrictly match'd remaine, For, where my armes him ſometimes held before, Now in my heart I ſhall him ſtill retaine. That (though I may no pretious things impart) Thy deitie may by me be honour'd oft, Still offring up my thoughts upon my heart, My ſacred flame ſhall alwayes mount aloft. WHat fools are thoſe who do repoſe their truſt On what this maſſe of miſery affords? And (bragging but of th'excrements of duſt) Of life-leſſe Treaſures labour to be Lords: Which like the Sirens ſongs, or Circes charmes, With ſhadows of delight hide certaine harmes. Ah! whil'ſt they ſport on pleaſures yie grounds, Oft poyſon'd by Proſperitie with Pride, A ſudden ſtorme their floting joyes confounds, Whoſe courſe is ordred by the eye-leſſe guide, Who ſo inconſtantly her ſelfe doth beare Th'unhappie men may hope, the happy feare. The fortunate who bathe in flouds of joyes, To periſh oft amidſt their pleaſures chance, And mirthleſſe wretches wallowing in annoye▪ Oft by adverſitie themſelves advance; Whl'ſt Fortune bent to mock vaine worldlings cares, Doth change deſpaires in hopes, hopes in deſpaires▪