Hippolytus (Seneca's Fourth Tragedy) · chunk 30 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 · 507 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T36: hell, earth, gods, death, ghosts, blood, bloody, heaven, night, ghost.
That whirleth still enforce my limbs thy swinging swift to feel. Gape, gape, thou ground and swallow me thou cruel Chaos blind, This passage to th'infernal spirits is fit for me to find: My Son I will ensue, thou Prince of ghastly ghosts in hell, Dread not for chaste we come to thee: give thou me leave to dwell Among thy dreadful dens for aye, and not to pass again. Alas, my prayer at the Gods no favour can obtain, But if that mischief crave I should how ready would they be? O Theseus to thy plaint eternal time is granted thee: Provide thy Son his Obit rites, and shroud in dampish grave His broken limbs, which Monsters foul dispersed and scattered have. The shreddings of this dear beloved carcase bring to me, His mangled members hither bring on heaps that tumbled be: This is Hippolytus, I do acknowledge mine offence, For I it is, that have deprived thee of life and sense. lest that but once, or only I should be a guilty Wight, I Sire attempting mischief have besought my Father's might. Lo I enjoy my father's gift, O solitariness, A grievous plague when feeble years have brought us to distress, Embrace these limbs, and that which yet doth of thy son remain, O woeful wight in baleful breast preserve and entertain. These scattered scraps of body torn O Sire in order fet, The straying gobbets bring again, here was his right hand set: His left hand here instructed will to rule the reins must be. His left side ribs (full well I know to be bewailed of me With bitter tears) as yet alas are lost and wanting still, O trembling hands behold this woeful business to fulfil, And withered Cheeks forbid your streams of flowing tears to run While that the father do account the members of his Son. And eke patch up his body rent, that hath his fashion lost, Disfigured foul with gory wounds, and all about be tossed: I doubt, if this of thee be piece, and piece it is of thee: Here, lay it here, in th'empty place, here let it laid be, Although perhaps it lie not right: (ay me) is this thy face? Whose beauty twinkled as a star, and eke did purchase grace, In sight of F●● procured to ruth. Is this thy beauty lost? O cruel will of Gods, O rage in sin prevailing most. Doth thus the Sire that great good turn perform unto his son? Lo let thy father's last fare well within thine ears to run, My child whom oft I bid farewell: the whilst the fire shall burn These bones, set ope his burial bower, and let us fall to mourn With loud lamenting Mopsus wise for both the corses sake: With Princely Pomp his funeral fire see that ye ready make. And seek ye up the broken parts in field dispersed round, Stop her up hurled into a Pit, let heavy clods of ground lie hard upon her cursed head.
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)
That whirleth ſtil enforce my limmes thy ſwinging ſwift to feele. Gape, gape, thou ground and ſwallow me thou cruell Chaos blynd, This paſſage to thinfernall Sprightes is fit for me to find: My Sonne I wil enſue, thou Prince of gaſtly ghoſtes in hell, Dread not for chaſt wee come to thee: geue thou me leaue to dwell Among thy dreadful dennes for aye, and not to paſſe agayne. Alas, my prayer at the Gods no fauour can obtayne, But if that miſchiefe craue I ſhould how ready would they bee? O Theſeus to thy plaint eternall tyme is graunted thee: Prouyde thy Sonne his Oit rytes, and ſhroude in dompiſh graue His broken lims, which Monſters foule diſperſt and ſcattered haue. The ſhreadings of this deare beloued carkaſse bring to mee, His mangled members hether bring on heapes that tombled be: This is Hyppolytus, I do acknowledge myne offence, For I it is, that haue depriued thee of life and ſenſe. Leaſt that but once, or onely I ſhould be a guilty Wight, I Sire attempting miſchiefe haue beſought my Fathers might. Lo I enioy my fathers gift, O ſolitarineſſe, A grieuous plague when feeble yeares haue brought vs to diſtreſſe, Embrace theſe lims, and that which yet doth of thy ſonne remayne, O woeful wight in baleful breaſt preſerue and entertayne. Theſe ſcattred ſcraps of body torne O Syre in order fet, The ſtraying gobbetts bring agayne, here was his right hand ſet: His left hand here inſtructed will to rule the raynes muſt be. His left ſyde rybbs (ful wel I know to be ewayld of mee With bittter teares) as yet alas are loſt and wanting ſtill, O trembling handes behold this woful buſines to fulfil, And withered Cheekes forbid your ſtreams of flowing tears to runne Whyle that the father do accompt the members of his Sonne. And eke patch vp his body rent, that hath his faſhion loſt, Diſfigured foule with gorye woundes, and all about betoſt: I doubt, if this of thee be peece, and peece it is of thee: Here, lay it here, in th'empty place, here let it layed be, Although perhap it lye not right: (aye me) is this thy face? Whoſe beauty twinckled as a ſtarre, and eake did purchaſe grace, In ſight of Fprocurd to ruth. Is this thy beauty loſt? O cruell will of Gods, O rage in ſinne preuayling moſt. Doth thus the Syre that great good turne perfourme vnto his ſonne? Lo let thy fathers laſt fare wel within thyne eares to runne, Mychild whom oft I bid farewell: the whilſt the fire ſhall burne Theſe bones, ſet ope his buriall bower, and let vs fall to mourne With loude lamenting Mopſus wiſe for both the coarſes ſake: With Princely Pompe his funerall fire ſee that ye ready make. And ſeeke ye vp the broken parts in field diſperſed round, Stop hir vp hurlde into a Pit, let heauy clodds of ground lie hard vpon hir curſed hed.