Norton, Thomas / Sackville, Thomas · published 1565 · first performed or written 1562 [Jan 18] (Annals) tragedy · before the Court unassigned nearest T25 Kings, power and law: political sententi · 519 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T25: feare, kings, power, princes, lawes, loue, state, downe, honor, men.
When youth not bridled with a guiding stay fray, Is left to random of their own delight And wields whole Realms, by force of sovereign Great is the danger of unmasted might Lest skills rage throw down with headlong fall Their lands, their states, their lives, themselves & all. When growing pride doth fill the swelling breast And greedy lust doth raise the climbing mind Oh hardly may the peril be repressed, Ne fear of angry Gods, ne Laws kind, Ne Country care can fired hearts restrain When force hath armed Envy and disdain. When kings of foreset will neglect the read, Of best advise, and yield to pleasing tales That do their fancies noisome humour feed He reason, nor regard of right avails Succeeding heaps of plagues shall teach to late To learn the mischiefs of misguiding state. Foul fall the Traitor false that undermines The love of Brethren to destroy them both Woe to the Prince, that pliant ear inclines, And yields his mind to poisonous tale, that floweth From flattering mouth, & woe to wretched land That wastes itself with civil sword in hand. Lo, thus it is poison in gold to take, And wholesome drink in homely Cup forsake. O Cruel fates, O mindful wrath of Gods, whose vengeance neither Simois strained streams. Flowing with blood of Trojan Princes slain Nor Phrygian fields made rank with Corpses dead Of Asian kings and Lords can yet appease, He slaughter of unhappy Priam's race Nor Ilion's fall made level with the soil, Can yet suffice: but still continued rage, Pursue our lives, and from the farthest Seas Doth chaste the issues of destroyed Troy: Oh no man happy, till his end be seen, If any flowing wealth and seeming joy In present years might make a happy wight, Happy was Hecuba the woefullest wretch That ever lived to make a Mirror of And happy Priam with his noble sons, And happy I till now, Alas, I see And feel my most unhappy wretchedness: Behold my Lords, read ye this Letter here Lo it contains the ruin of our Realm If timely speed provide not hasty help Yet (O ye Gods) if ever woeful king Might move you kings of kings, wreak it on me And on my Sons, not on this guiltless Realm. Send down your wasting flames from wrathful skies To reave me & my sons the hateful breath Read, read my Lords: this is the matter why I called ye now to have your good advise. MY Sovereign Lord, what I am loath to write But loathest am to see, that I am forced By Letters now to make you understand My Lord Ferrex your eldest son mislead By Traitors framed of young untempered wits Assembleth force against your younger son, Ne can my Counsel yet withdraw the heat And furious pangs of his inflamed head: Disdain (saith he) of his inheritance Arms him to wreak the great pretended wrong With civil sword upon his Brother's life, If present help do not restrain this rage This flame will waste your sons, your land & you.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Whan youth not bridled with a guyding ſtaie fraie, Is left to randon of their owne delight And welds whole Realmes, by force of ſoueraigne Great is the daunger of vnmaiſtred might Leſt ſkilles rage throwe downe with headlong fal Their lands, their ſtates, their liues, them ſelues & all. When growing pride doth fil the ſwelling breſt And gredy luſt doth raiſe the clymbynge minde Oh hardlie maye the perill be repreſt, Ne feare of angrie Goddes, ne Lawes kinde, Ne Countrie care can fiered hartes reſtrayne Whan force hath armed Enuie and diſdaine. VVhan kinges of foreſet wyll neglecte the rede, Of beſt aduiſe, and yelde to pleaſinge tales That do their fanſies noyſome humour feede He reaſon, nor regarde of right auailes Succedinge heapes of plagues ſhall teache to late To learne the miſchiefes of miſguydinge ſtate. Fowle fall the Traitour falſe that vndermines The loue of Brethrene to deſtroye them bothe Wo to the Prince, that pliant eare enclynes, And yeldes his minde to poyſonous tale, yt floweth From flatterynge mouth, & wo to wretched lande That waſts it ſelfe with ciuyll ſworde in hande. Loe, thus it is poyſon in golde to take, And holſome drinke in homely Cuppe forſake. O Cruell fates, O mindfull wrath of Goddes▪ whoſe vēgeaūice neither Simois ſtreined ſtreames. Flowing wt blood of Troian Princes ſlaine Nor Phrygian fieldes made rancke wt Corpſes dead Of Aſian kynges and Lordes can yet appeaſe, He ſlaughter of vnhappie Pryams race Nor Ilions fall made leuell with the ſoile, Can yet ſuffice: but ſtill continued rage, Purſue our lyues, and from the fartheſt Seas Doth chaſt the iſſues of diſtroyed Troye: Oh no man happie, tyll his ende be ſeene, If any flowyng wealth and ſeemynge Ioye In preſent yeresmight make a happy wight, Happie was Hecuba the wofulleſt wretche That euer lyued to make a Myrrour of And happie Pryam with his noble ſonnes, And happie I till nowe, Alas, I ſee And feele my moſt vnhappie wretchednes: Beholde my Lordes, reade ye this Letter here Loe it conteines the ruyne of our Realme If timelie ſpeede prouide not haſtle helpe Yet (O ye Goddes) if euer wofull kynge Might moue you kings of kinges, wreke it on me And on my Sonnes, not on this gilties Realme. Sende down your waſting flames from wrathful ſkies To reue me & my ſōnes the hateful breath Reade, reade my Lordes: this is the matter whie I called ye nowe to haue your good aduyſe. MY Soueraigne Lord, what I am loth to write But lotheſt am to ſee, that I am forced By Letters nowe to make you vnderſtande My Lord Ferrex your eldeſt ſonne miſlead By Traitours framde of yong vntempred wittes Aſſembleth force againſt your yonger ſonne, Ne can my Counſell yet withdrawe the heate And furyous panges of his enflamed head: Diſoaine (ſaieth he) of his inheritaunce Armes him to wreke the great pretended wronge With ciuyll ſword vpon his Brothers life, If preſent helpe do not reſtraine this rage This flame will waſt your ſōnes, your land & you.