Hercules Oetaeus (Hercules on Mount Oeta) (Seneca's Tenth Tragedy) · chunk 4 of 44
Seneca, Lucius Annaeus / Studley, John · published 1581 · first performed or written 1566 (Annals) tragedy T7 The Trojan war: conflict and its afterma typicality 0.68 · 499 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T7: hector, troy, achilles, greeks, aeneas, priam, ulysses, troilus, trojan, trojans.
Amid the Channel deep a landing plot, When dismal death appears in every wave He cannot suffer shipwreck all alone: With pined carrion corpse, and streams of tears, And with our country dust our heads upon, powdering our locks, we languish out our years. Neither flashing flame, nor thumping thunder crack Will once daunt us: O death thou dost pursue, Where fortune fawns: but where she worketh wrack, Thou shunnest those, that would thee not eschew, we stand not in our razed country wall, Whose ground shall now be overgrown (alas) With bramble, and briar, and down the temples fall: While mucky sheepecotes are planted in their place. And now the frosty-faced Greek (alas) This way, this way, with all his drove of Neat By so much of AEchalia must pass, As heaped on ashes gloweth still with heat. The Thessal shepherd sitting by the way On jarring Pipe shall play his country rhyme, Singing with sighs alack, and welladay, Thus to bewail the sorrows of our time. Ere time shall roll the race of many a year, It will be asked, where erst the town did stand? O well was I, whenas I lived a lere, Not in the barren balks of fallow land, Nor in Thessalia on the foodless cliffs, But now among rough Trachin craggy Rocks, And ugly shrubs necessity me drives, Whose flaming tops deters the feeding Ox. And in the way less woods untrod before All comfortless, affright and in a maze Needs must I trot alone, that would abhor The savage beasts, that on the mountains graze But better lot (if any Dames may have) They over Inach wambling stream shall row, Or shroud in Dirce Walls, where Ismen wave With feeble force of shallow ford doth flow. The haughty Hercles' mother here was wed, What Scythian crag, what stones engendered him? What Rocky mountain Rhodope thee bred, Of Tyrant, Titan's race a cursed limb? Stipe Athos hill, the brutish Caspia land. With teat unkind fed thee twixt rock & stone: False is the tale, wherewith thou bear'st in hand, Two nights for thee thy Mother dear did groan. While lingering stars long lodged in purple sky: The shepherd star his course did interchange With the load star, and up the Moon doth sty, That couched Phoebe durst not the Welkin range, No Lance can pierce his monsters ruggy skin, The blunted Iron tried it with thumping thwack, And Steel is not so tough: on naked skin A sword was burst, and stones rebounded back. The force of fate he utterly defies, And toughly timbered as he is of limb He doth contrive, how quarrels may arise, That death might prove his feebled force in him The quaries could not enter to his flesh, Nor yet the bow with Scythian steule drawn deep, No nor the glaives, with which Sarmacians fresh, Hot skirmishes in th'icy Climb do keep. No nor the Parthian better Archer far, Than Crete, who parched with Phaeton's sultering flame,
seed 43: T12 · seed 44: T11 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Amid the Channell deepe a landing plot, When diſmall death appeares in euery waue Hee cannot ſuffer ſhipwracke all alone: With pined karrayne coarſe, and ſtreames of teares, And with our countrey duſt our heades vpon, Powldring our lockes, wee languiſhe out our yeares. Neyther flaſhing flame, nor thumping thunder cracke Will once dawnt vs: O death thou doſt purſew, Where fortune fawnes: but where ſhee worketh wracke, Thou ſhunneſt thoſe, that woulde thee not eſchew, Wee ſtand not in our razed countrey wall, Whoſe ground ſhall now bee ouergrowne (alas) With bramble, and bryer, and down the temples fall: While mucky ſheepecotes are planted in their place. And now the froſtifaced Greeke (alas) This way, this way, with all his droue of Neate By ſo much of AEchalia muſt paſſe, As heapt on aſhes gloweth ſtill with heate. The Teſſayle ſheepherd ſitting by the way On iarringe Pype ſhall play his countrey ryme, Singing wyth ſighes alacke, and weladay, Thus to bewayle the ſorrowes of our time. Ere tyme ſhall roll the race of many a yeare, It will be aſkt, where earſt the towne did ſtand? O well was I, when as I liued a leare, Not in the barren balkes of fallow land, Nor in Theſſalia on the foodeleſſe cliues, But now among rough Trachin craggy Rocks, And ougly ſhrubs neceſſity mee driues, Whoſe flaming toppes detarres the feeding Oxe. And in the way leſſe woods vntrode before All comfortleſſe, afright and in a maze Needes muſt I trot alone, that would abhorre The ſaluage beaſtes, that on the mountaynes graze But better lot (if any Dames may haue) They ouer Inach wambling ſtreame ſhall row, Or ſhrowd in Dirce Walles, where Iſmen waue With feeble force of ſhallow fourde doth flow. The hawty Hercles mother heere was wed, What Scythian crag, what ſtones engendred him? What Rocky mountayne Rhodope thee bred, Of Tyrant, Titans race a cuſed lim? Stipe Athos hill, the brutiſh Caſpia land. With teate vnkinde fed thee twixt rocke & ſtoane: Falſe is the tale, wherewith thou bearſt in hande, Two nights for thee thy Mother deare did groane. While lingring ſtarres long lodged in purple ſky: The ſhepherd ſtarre his courſe did enterchaunge With the loade ſtarre, and vp the Moone doth ſty, That couched Phoebe durſt not the Welkin raunge, No Launce can pearce his monſters ruggy ſkin, The blunted Iron tryed it with thumping thwack, And Steele is not ſo tough: on naked ſkin A ſwerd was braſt, and ſtones rebounded back. The force of fate he vtterly defies, And toughly timberd as he is of lim Hee doth contriue, how quarrells may ariſe, That death might proue his febled force in him The quaries coulde not enter to his fleſh, Nor yet the bowe with Scythian ſteule drawn deepe, No nor the glaues, vvith vvhich Sarmacians freſh, Hot ſkirmiſhes in th'yſy Clyme doe keepe. No nor the Parthian better Archer farre, Then Creete, who parcht with Phaētons ſoultring flame,