Hippolytus (Seneca's Fourth Tragedy) · chunk 16 of 30
Seneca, Lucius Annaeus / Studley, John · published 1581 · first performed or written 1567 (Annals) tragedy T36 Hell, Furies and the language of punishm typicality 0.82 · 510 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T36: hell, earth, gods, death, ghosts, blood, bloody, heaven, night, ghost.
My Sister Ariadne would, for thee have spun the thread. Therewith in crafty compassed Maze to lead thee to and fro, In ugly Laberynthus long returning from thy Fo. Thee, thee O Sister dear whereso in all the Heaven thou are, And shinest bright with blazing beams transformed into a Star, I thee beseech come succour me with like distress now cloyed: Alas us stely Sisters twain one kindred hath destroyed. The Sire thy smart, the son hath brewed the bane that me doth lees. Behold an Imp of royal race laid humbly at thy Knees, Yet never stained, and undefiled, an harmless innocent, To thee alone of all the World my crouching Knees are bent, And for the nonce my haughty heart, and Princely courage stout I did abate, that humbly thee with tears entreat I mought. O sovereign Sire of Gods, dost thou abide so long to hear This vile abomination? so long dost thou forbear To see this heinous villainy? if now the Skies be clear, Wilt thou henceforth at any time with furious raging hand Dart out thy cracking thunder dint, and dreadful lightnings brand? Now battered down with bouncing bolts the rumbling Skies let fall That foggy Clouds with dusky drooping day may cover all, And force the backward starring starts to slide aslope withal Thou starry crested crown, and Titan pranked with beamy blaze Come out, with staring bush upon thy kindred's guilt to gaze. Dash out and drown thy leaming lamp eclipsed in glummy Skies, To shrink in shimmering shape: why doth thy right hand not arise O guide of Gods and men? how haps the world yet doth not burn, Enkindled with three forked brand? on me thy thunder turn, Dash out on me thy bobbing bolt, and let thy fiery flake Whirled out with force, burned Cinders of my wasted Carcase make: For guilty (Ioue) I guilty am, deserved death I have, My Stepdame's Fancy I have fed: shall I most sinful slave, Be worthy thought to blot my Father's honourable Bed? Canst thou for mischief such through me alone be lightly sped? O Caitiff thou of womankind for guilt that hears the bell, Whose enterprised heinous evil doth passingly excel, Thy Monster breeding Mother's fault with whoredom she alone herself, when storming sighs with sorrow 'gan she groan, Through beastly lust of Bull: till it the Minotaurus ster In act of generation, had quenched her foul desire: And yet the time concealed long, the grim twi-shaped seed At length bewrayed with Bull-like brows, thy Mother's naughty deed, The doubted Infant did disclose: that wicked womb she bore. With thrice, yea, four times blessed Fate of life deprived ye are, Whom swollen of waltering Seas have sunk, me cankered hate of breath Despoiled hath, and traitorous trains have quelled by daunting death. With Stepdame's banes and sorcery O Father, Father mine, I rue thy lot, not to be slain of milder Stepdame thine. This mischief greater, greater fair the wickedness doth pass That by Medea desperate Dame of Colchis practised was.
seed 43: T32 · seed 44: T26 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
My Siſter Ariadne would, for thee haue ſpunne the threede. Therewith in crafty compaſt Maze to leade thee to and fro, In vgly Laberynthus long returning from thy Fo. Thee, thee O Siſter deare whereſo in all the Heauen thou are, And ſhineſt bright with blaſing beames tranſform'de into a Starre, I thee beſeech come ſuccour mee with like diſtreſſe now cloyde: Alas vs ſtely Siſters twaine one kinred hath deſroyde. The Sire thy ſmart, the ſonne hath brewd the bane that me doth lees. Beholde an Impe of royall race layde humbly at thy Knees, Yet neuer ſtaynde, and vndefilde, an harmeleſſe innocent, To thee alone of all the Worlde my crowching Knees are bent, And for the nones my hawty heart, and Princely courage ſtout I did abate, that humbly thee with teares entreate I mought. O ſoueraygne Sire of Gods, doſt thou abide ſo long to heare This vile abhomination? ſo long doſt thou forbeare To ſee this haynous villany? if now the Skies be cleare, Wilt thou henceforth at any time with furious raging hand Dart out thy cracking thunder dint, and dreadfull lightnings brand? Now battred downe wt bouncing bolts the rumbling Skies let fall That foggy Cloudes with duſky drouping day couer all, And force the backward ſtarring ſtartes to ſlide a ſlope wythall Thou ſtarry creſted crowne, and Titan prankt with beamy blaſe Come out, with ſtaring buſh vpon thy kindreds guilt to gaſe. Daſh out and drowne thy leaming lampe ecliſde in glummy Skyes, To ſhrink in ſhimmering ſhape: why doth thy right hand not aryſe O guide of Gods and men? how haps the worlde yet doth not burne, Enkindled with three forked brand? on me thy thunder turne, Daſh out on mee thy bobbing bolt, and let thy fiery flake Whirlde out with force, burnt Cinders of my waſted Carcaſſe make: For guilty (Ioue) I guilty am, deſerued death I haue, My Stepdames Fancy I haue fed: ſhall I moſt ſinfull ſlaue, Be worthy thought to blot my Fathers honorable Bed? Canſt thou for miſchiefe ſuch through mee alone be lightly ſped? O Caitiue thou of womankinde for guilt that heares the bell, Whoſe enterpriſed hainous euill doth paſſingly excell, Thy Monſter breeding Mothers fault with whoredome ſhee alone Defde her ſelfe, when ſtorming ſighes with ſorrow gan ſhee grone, Through beaſtly luſt of Bull: till it the Minotaurus ſter In act of generation, had quencht her oule deſier: And yet the time concealed long, the grim twiſhaped ſeede At length bewrayd with Bullike browes, thy Mothers naughty deede, The doubted Infant did diſcloſe: that wicked wombe ſhee bare. With thriſe, yea, foure times bleſſed Fate of lyfe depriu'de yee are, Whom ſwolne of waltring Seas haue ſonck, me cankred hate of breath Diſpoyled hah, and traytrous traynes haue quelde by daunting death. With Stepdames banes and ſorcery O Father, Father myne, I rue thy lot, not to be ſlayne of milder Stepdame thyne. This miſchiefe greater, greater faire the wickedneſſe doth paſſe That by Medea deſpret Dame of Colchis practiſde was.