Gomersall, Robert · published 1633 · first performed or written 1628 [1622-1628] (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 479 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
O my stars! What have I done? ay me. I have betrayed, What Tyranny had left me, my sweet boy, For whom I never knew a grief; till now; I brought him forth with pleasure, when I think Upon this pain of parting: my dear child, O too too like thy mother; if thou chance To draw thyself unto that hated length, That thou arrive to the discretion To know, what by my folly, thou hast lost, Call it no more, o do not call it crime, No mother willingly would lose a son: Whilst in some darker cell I will entomb Thy ruins cause, where whatsoever tear Sorrow did once force, now devotion shall: That my new name unto the heavens may reach Whom misery the way to bliss did teach. Never till now had we the victory, And now no single one, this happy hour Has gained a conquest for Posterity. They may be idle now, now the French youth May grow up without wounds, & at their homes, Steal to a private grave, no more being forced To death, though by a glory; nay this Land May thank us, for our thrift of victory, For lighting on this blessed occasion, Which makes us need no more to conquer them: If heaven continue us this kindness still, we'll measure out our conquests by our will▪ O What is man? and all that happiness That puffs him to security? to day One acts a Prince, and swelled with Majesty Fills a proud throne, from whence the Multitude Thinks he rules Fortune too, as well as them, Whilst she in just esteem of her own name, Makes him forgot, or odious, that none Can be so miserably fooled, to wish His well-appareled misery: thus we That did enjoy beyond a Crown, a brain Able to meet, or challenge the worst chance: Yet in the space of a few days, a space Of too short lasting to expel a man (By the most subtle fetches of the Law) Out of a false inheritance: we lost, We were expelled out of a Monarchy; But does Fate make a stand at this? O no, She is not constant, no not in her curse, But giving most again, which once was mine She gives me too the capability Of a new curse. Of a new joy: for shame Give thanks at least for your felicity: Can you repine being crammed, and so deserve A bountiful unhappiness? I've known Some that have long endured a tedious siege, Or a more tedious sickness, who have been Forced to a lasting Lent, when they have come Or to their health, or to their liberty, Not dare to take the nourishment they might, Making themselves their sickness, and their foe: Is not my Sforza one of these? you grieve Because you have no longer cause to grieve.
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)
O my starres! What have I done? ay me. I have betrayd, What Tyranny had left me, my sweet boy, For whom I never knew a griefe; till now; I brought him forth with pleasure, when I thinke Vpon this paine of parting: my deare child, O too too like thy mother; if thou chance To draw thy self unto that hated length, That thou arrive to the discretion To know, what by my folly, thou hast lost, Call it no more, ô doe not call it crime, No mother willingly would lose a sonne: Whilst in some darker cell I will intombe Thy ruines cause, where whatsoever teare Sorrow did once force, now devotion shall: That my new name unto the heav'ns may reach Whom misery the way to blisse did teach. Never till now had we the victory, And now no single one, this happy houre Has gain'd a conquest for Posterity. They may be idle now, now the French youth May grow up without wounds, & at their homes, Steale to a private grave, no more being forc't To death, though by a glory; nay this Land May thanke us, for our thrift of victory, For lighting on this blest occasion, Which makes us need no more to conquer them: If heav'n continue us this kindnesse still, Wee'll measure out our conquests by our will▪ O What is man? and all that happinesse That puffes him to security? to day One acts a Prince, and swell'd with Majesty Fills a proud throne, from whence the Multitude Thinkes he rules Fortune too, as well as them, Whilst she in just esteeme of her owne name, Makes him forgot, or odious, that none Can be so miserably fool'd, to wish His well-apparell'd misery: thus we That did enjoy beyond a Crowne, a braine Able to meet, or challenge the worst chance: Yet in the space of a few dayes, a space Of too short lasting to expell a man (By the most subtle fetches of the Law) Out of a false inheritance: we lost, We were expell'd out of a Monarchy; But does Fate make a stand at this? O no, She is not constant, no not in her curse, But giving most againe, which once was mine She gives me too the capability Of a new curse. Of a new joy: for shame Give thankes at least for your felicity: Can you repine being cramm'd, and so deserve A bountifull unhappinesse? I've knowne Some that have long endur'd a tedious siege, Or a more tedious sicknesse, who have beene Forst to a lasting Lent, when they have come Or to their health, or to their liberty, Not dare to take the nourishment they might, Making themselves their sicknesse, and their foe: Is not my Sforza one of these? you grieve Because you have no longer cause to grieve.