Norton, Thomas / Sackville, Thomas · published 1570 · first performed or written 1562 [Jan 18] (Annals) tragedy · before the Court unassigned nearest T25 Kings, power and law: political sententi · 519 words · other edition — not in the analysis
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 Is left to random of their own delight, And wields whole realms, by force of sovereign sway, Great is the danger of unmaistred might, Jest skilless 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, O hardly may the peril be repressed, Ne fear of angry Gods, ne laws kind. Ne countries 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, Ne reason, nor regard of right avails. Succeeding heaps of plagues shall teach to late, To learn the mischiefs of misguided state. foul fall the traitor false, that undermines The love of brethren to destroy them both. woe to the prince, that pliant care inclines, And yields his mind to poisonous tale, that floweth From flattering mouth. And 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 stained streams Flowing with blood of Trojan princes slain, Nor Phrygian fields made rank with corpses dead Of Asian kings and lords, can yet appease, Ne slaughter of unhappy Priam's race, Nor Ilion's fall made level with the soil. Can yet suffice: but still continued rage Pursues our lines, and from the farthest seas Doth chase the issues of destroyed Troy. O 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 ye kings of kings, wreak it on me And on my sons, not on this guiltless realm. Sand down your wasting flames from wrathful skies, To reave me and 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 writ, But loathest am to see, that I am forced By letters now to make you understand. My lord Ferrex your eldest son misled By traitorous fraud 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 disheritance 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)
When youth not bridled with a guiding stay Is left to randon of their owne delight, And welds whole realmes, by force of soueraign sway, Great is the daunger of vnmaistred might, Lest skillesse rage throwe downe with headlong fall Their lands, their states, their liues, them selues & al When growing pride doth fill the swelling brest, And gredy lust doth rayse the climbing minde, Oh hardlie maye the perill be represt, Ne feare of angrie Goddes, ne lawes kinde. Ne countries care can fiered hartes restrayne, Whan force hath armed enuie and disdaine. When kinges of foreette will neglect the rede Of best aduise, and yelde to pleasing tales, That do their fansies noysome humour feede, Ne reason, nor regarde of right auailes. Succeding heapes of plagues shall teach to late, To learne the mischiefes of misguided state. Fowie fall the traitour false, that vndermines The loue of brethren to destroye them both. Wo to the prince, that pliant care nclynes, And yeldes his mind to poysonous tale, that floweth From flattering mouth. And woe to wretched land That wastes it selfe with ciuil sworde in hand. Loe, thus it is, poyson in golde to take, And holsome drinke in homely cuppe forsake. O cruel fates, O mindful wrath of Goddes, Whose vengeance neither Simois stayned streames Flowing with bloud of Troian princes slaine, Nor Phrygian fieldes made ranck with corpses dead Of Asian kynges and lordes, can yet appease, Ne slaughter of vnhappie Pryams race, Nor Ilions fall made leuell with the soile. Can yet suffice: but still continued rage Pursues our lynes, and from the farthest seas Doth chase the issues of destroyed Troye. " Oh no man happie, till his ende be seene. If any flowing wealth and seemyng ioye In present yeres might make a happy wight, Happie was Hecuba the wofullest wretch 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 vnhappye wretchednesse. Beholde my lordes, read ye this letter here. Loe it conteins the ruine of our realme, If timelie speede prouide not hastie helpe. Yet (O ye Goddes) if euer wofull kyng Might moue ye kings of kinges, wreke it on me And on my sonnes, not on this giltlesse realme. Send down your wasting flames frō wrathful skies, To reue me and my sonnes the hatefull breath. Read, read my lordes: this is the matter why I called ye nowe to haue your good aduyse. MY soneraigne 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 misledde By traitorous fraude of yong vntempred wittes, Assembleth force agaynst your yonger sonne, Ne can my counsell yet withdrawe the heate And furyous panges of hys enflamed head. Disdaine (sayth he) of his disheritance Armes him to wreke the great pretended wrong, With ciuyll sword vpon his brothers life. If present helpe do not restraine this rage, This flame will wast your sonnes, your land, & you.