Hippolytus (Seneca's Fourth Tragedy) · chunk 29 of 30
Seneca, Lucius Annaeus / Studley, John · published 1581 · first performed or written 1567 (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T36 Hell, Furies and the language of punishm · 501 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T36: hell, earth, gods, death, ghosts, blood, bloody, heaven, night, ghost.
Which I of spite imagined, when raging breast did swerve. Thou father falsely punished hast him that did not deserve. The young man chaste is cast away for mine uncestuous vice, Both bashful he and guiltless was, now play thy wonted guise. My guilty breast with bloody Lance of Sword deserved is riven, The Dirge toth' dead to purge my spouse shall with my blood be given. Thou father of the stepdame learn, what things thy Son should have Of life deprived, as to lay his carcase in a grave. O wanny jaws of black Averne, ●ake Tartar dungeon grim, O Lethe's Lake of woeful Souls the joy that therein swim, And eke ye glummy Gulfs destroy, destroy me wicked wight And still in pit of pangs let me be plunged day and night. Now, now, come up ye goblin grim from water creeks allow, whatever Proteus hugy swollen aloof doth overflow, Come dowse me drowned in swallows deep, that triumph in my sin: And father thou that evermore full ready priest hath been To wreak mine ire, adventuring jam deed deserving death With new found slaughter have bereft mine only Son of breath. His tattered limbs I scattered have the bloody field about, While th'innocent I punish do, by chance I have found out The truth of all this wickedness: heaven, stars, and sprites of hell I pester with my treachery that me doth overquell. No mischiefs hap remaineth more: iii. kingdoms know me well: We are returned to this World. For this did Hell unfold His gates that burials twain I might and double death behold? Whereby I both a wifeless Wight andeak● a Sonles Sire, May with one brand to wise and Son inflame the funeral fire. O tamer of black-faced light Alcides, now restore Thy booty brought from Hell, redeem to me, to me therefore These Ghosts that now be gone, ah sinful wretch to death in vain I sue, most undiscrete by whom these wretched Wights were slain. Imagining destruction sore about it will I go, Now with thine own hands on thyself due vengeance do bestow: A Pine tree bough down strained perforce unto the ground allow, Let slip into the open air shall cut my corpses in twain. From top of Scyrons Rocks I will be tumbled down amain. More grievous vengeance yet I have in Phlegethon River found, Tormenting guilty Ghosts enclosed with fiery Channel round. What pit and pangs shall plunge my soul already have I known, That tiring toil of Sisyphus that reckless rolling stone, Let yield unto my guilty Ghost, and being laid on These shoulders, these, these lifting hands of mine down let it sway: And let the fleeting flood about my lips deluded play. Yea let the ravening gripe come hear and Tytius' paunch forsake, For glutting food with grasping Cleaze my liver let him take, Increasing still to feed the Foul, and for my torments sake. And pause thou my Pyrothous' Sire, and eke the snackle Wheel
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)
Which I of ſpite imagined, when raging breaſt did ſwarue. Thou father falſly puniſht haſt him that did not deſerue. The youngman chaſt is caſt away for myne vnceſtuous vice, Both baſhful he and guiltles was, now play thy wonted guyſe. My guilty breaſt with bloudy Launce of Sword deſeru'd is riuen, The Dirge toth dead to purge my ſpouſe ſhal with my bloud be geuen. Thou father of the ſtepdame learne, what things thy Sōne ſhould haue Of life depriued, as to lay his carkaſſe in a graue. O wanny Iawes of blacke Auerne, ake Tartar dungeon grim, O Lethes Lake of woful Soules the ioy that therein ſwimme, And eake ye glummy Gulphes deſtroy, deſtroy me wicked wight And ſtil in pit of pangues let me be plunged day and night. Now, now, come vp ye Gobline grim from water creekes alow, What euer Proteus hugie ſwolue aloofe doth ouerflow, Come dowſe me drownd in ſwallowes depe, that triumphe in my ſinne: And father thou that euermore ful ready preſt hath binne To wreake myne yre, aduentring Ia deede deſeruing death With new found ſlaughter haue bereft myne onely Sonne of breath. His tattred lims I ſcatred haue the bloudy field about, Whyle th'innocent I puniſh doe, by chaunce I haue found out▪ The truth of al this wickednes: heauen, ſtarres, and ſprites of hell I pſter with my treachery that me doth ouerquell. No miſchiefes hap remayneth more: iii. kingdomes know mee well: We are returned to this World. For this did Hell vnfold His gates that burials twayne I might and double death beholde? Wherby I both a wyueles Wight andeak a Sonles Sire, May with one brand to wyſe and Sonne enflame the funeral fire. O amer of blackefaced light Alcides, now reſtore Thy booty brought from Hel, redeeme to mee, to mee therfore Theſe Ghoſtes that now be gone, ah ſinful wretch to death in vayne I ſue, moſt vndiſcrete by whom theſe wretched Wightes were ſlayne. Imagining deſtruction ſore aboute it wil I goe, Now with thyne owne handes on thy ſelfe due vengeance do beſtow: A Pine tree bough downe ſtraind perforce vnto the ground alow, Let ſlip into the open ayre ſhal cut my corpes in twayne. From top of Scyrons Rockes I wil be tumbled downe amayne. More grieuous vengeance yet I haue in Phlegethon Riuer found, Tormenting guilty Ghoſtes encloſd with fiery Channel round. What pit and pangues ſhal plunge my ſoule already haue I known, That tyring toyle of Siſyphus that retchles rolling ſtone, Let yeeld vnto my guilty Ghoſt, and beyng layed on Theſe ſhoulders, theſe, theſe lifting handes of myne downe let it ſway: And let the fleeting floud aboute my lips deluded play. Yea let the rauening grype come heare and Tytius paunch forſake, Forglutting foode with graſping Cleaze my liuer let him take, Encreaſyng ſtil to feede the Foule, and for my tormentes ſake. And pauſe thou my Pyrothous Syre, and eke the ſnackle Wheele