Seneca, Lucius Annaeus / Newton, Thomas · published 1581 · first performed or written 1581 (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 502 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
O wish himselfe in graue: for why, starcke crauens vse such wayes. But as for him, that's drenched in dole and wrapped in carking care, Whose pensive plight can be no worse, nor taste of sourer fare, That man hath cause well plased to be: sith he in safety stands, And pikes hath passed, and now is free from fear of further bands. Put case the Gods would weave the web of further woe to thee, What more can any of them do thy grieves to amplify? Nay, thou thyself, (although thou wouldst) canst add thereto no more, Unless thou think thyself, to have deserved death therefore. And yet, thou art not worthy death: my reason is, because Through ignorance thou didst a fact contrary to the laws. And therefore Father think yourself most guiltless in the case, And (maugre Gods) stand on your guard, my counsel sound embrace: For doubtless you an innocent are deemed and thought to be, And are in deed: what makes you thus in dumps and doleful glee? What cause so great should so enchant your conscience, and your wits, To seek your own decay and spoil? what mean faint hearted fits? That thus in haste you would so feign abandon this your life And go to hell, where torment dwells and grisly ghosts be rife. You would not see Sun, Moon, ne Star: no more you can: your eyes Are blind: you feign would leave your Court, and country's miseries. Why so you may, and so you do. These all are put to sack, That now alive, as well as dead you feel of these the lack. You flee from Mother, Wife, and child, you see no man alive: What more can death dispatch away but life doth now deprive? your lords, your knights, your courtly train, your kingly state & crown Your grand Affairs, your weighty charge is gone & brought abowne. From whom, from what, do you thus flee. From none but from myself Who have a breast full fraught with guilt: who, wretched caitiff else Have all imbrued my hands with blood. From these apace I flee And from the heavens and Gods therein: and from that villainy Which I most wicked wretch have wrought. Shall I tread on this ground? Or am I worthy so to do, in whom such tricks abound? Am I to have the benefit of any Element? Of Air for breath, of water moist, or Earth for nourishment? O Slave forlorn, O beastly wretch, O Incestmonger vile, O Varlet most detestable, O Peasant full of guile. Why do I with polluted Fist, and bloody paws presume To touch thy chaste and comely hand? I foam, I fret, I fume In hearing any speak to me. Ought I hear any tell Or once of Son or Father speak, sith I did Father quell? Would God it were within my power my Senses all to stop, Would God I could these Ears of mine, even by the stumps to crop.
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 wiſh himſelfe in graue: for why, ſtarcke crauens vſe ſuch wayes. But as for him, thats drencht in dole and wrapt in carking care, Whoſe penſius plight can be no worſe, nor taſt of ſowrer fare, That man hath cauſe well pleaſ to be: ſith hee in ſafety ſtandes, And pykes hath paſt, and now is free from feare of further bandes. Put caſe the Gods would wrae the webbe of further woe to thee, What more can any of them doe thy grieues to amplifie? Nay, thou thy ſelfe, (although thou wouldſt) canſt adde thereto no more, Vnleſſe thou thinke thy ſelfe, to haue deſerued death therefore. And yet, thou arte not worthy death: my reaſon is, becauſe Through ignoraunce thou didſt a fact contrary to the lawes. And therefore Father thinke your ſelfe moſt guiltleſſe in the caſe, And (maugre Gods) ſtand on your guarde, my counſell ſound embrace: For doubtleſſe you an innocent are deem'de and thought to bee, And are in deede: what makes you thus in dumpes and dolefull glee? What cauſe ſo great ſhould ſo enchaunt your conſcience, and your wits, To ſeeke your owne decay and ſpoyle? what meane faint hearted fits? That thus in haſt you would ſo faine abandon this your lyfe And goe to hell, where torment dwelles and griſly ghoſtes be ryfe. You would not ſee Sun, Moone, ne Starre: no more you can: your eyes Are blynd: you faine would leaue your Court, and Countries miſeries. Why ſo you may, and ſo you doe. Theſe all are put to ſacke, That now alyue, aſwell as dead you feele of theſe the lacke. You flee from Mother, Wyfe, and Cylde, you ſee no man lyue: What more can death diſpatch away but life doth now depriue? your lords, your knights, your courtly traine, your kingly ſtate & crowne Your graund Affaires, your waighty charge is gone & brought abowne. From whom, frō what, do you thus flee. Frō none but frō my ſelfe Who haue a breaſt full fraught with guilte: who, wretched caitiffe Elte Haue all embrude my hands with bloud. From theſe apace I flee And from the heauens and Gods therein: and from that villanie Which I moſt wicked wretch haue wrought. Shall I treade on thys ground? Or am I worthy ſo to doe, in whom ſuch trickes abound? Am I to haue the benefite of any Element? Of Ayre for breath, of water moyſt, or Earth for nouriſhment? O Slaue forlorne, O beaſtly wretch, O Inceſtmonger vyle, O Varlet moſt deteſtable, O Peyſaunte full of guile. Why doe I with polluted Fyſt, and bloudy pawes preſume To touch thy chaſt and comely hand? I foame, I fret, I fume In hearing any ſpeake to mee. Ought I heare any tell Or once of Sonne or Father ſpeake, ſyth I did Father quell? Would God it were within my power my Senſes all to ſtop, Would God I could theſe Eares of myne, euen by the ſtumps to crop.