Hercules Oetaeus (Hercules on Mount Oeta) (Seneca's Tenth Tragedy) · chunk 5 of 44
Seneca, Lucius Annaeus / Studley, John · published 1581 · first performed or written 1566 (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T36 Hell, Furies and the language of punishm · 503 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T36: hell, earth, gods, death, ghosts, blood, bloody, heaven, night, ghost.
Under the Equinoctial raiseth were, 'gainst th' easterling discomfiting the same. He with his body did batter down the wall, Of Oechalie: nothing may him withstand: By valiant prowess he hath conquered all: 'tis won before, that he doth take in hand: The huge Briar that fifty paunches had, The haughty Gyges' with hundred arms likewise, That clamb up Thessal hills as Giant mad, When rebels rage would take from love the skies, Such steaming Eyes, such ghastly visage foul, Such gargoyle face, such countenance glaring grim, Wherewith stern Hercles' glowningly doth scowl, Those Giants had resembling plainly him. Thus greatest bliss is prone to greatest bale There wants no woe whose cup we have not taste we wretched women have with countenance pale. But careful caitiff I do not bewail forlorn The sweeping flames, nor Idols, with their taitred Temples torn: Nor that the Fathers burn together with their Sons, That Gods, & men, that tombs & Church, at once to ruin runs. Upon the common care wec doe not powre our playnt, For Fortune wills us turn our tears with other woes attaint: And thus my frowning face alotteth unto me Another kind of wretchedness, that must lamented be: What shall I first beweep? Or chiefly what complain? And to bewail them all at once, would mitigate my pain. Alas that but on breast Dame Nature did me frame, That blows agreeing to my grief might bounce upon the same. With weeping Sipill rock, bruise ye my baleful breast, Or on Eridanus silent shore in sorrows let we rest, Where as the mourning troop of Nymphs do hale their hears. To wail the death of Phaïron, with showers of dropping tears. Or else in Sicil rock cause me encouched to dwell, Where Scylla Hag with howling noise, and barking big doth yell. Or else in Linnet's shape let me tell on my tale, And weep with Adon in the woods, or turned to Nightingale As Lady Philomele, records with weeping lay In shade of holy Ismar hill upon a tender spray, With soaking sighs her grief, O Gods: and me addight In shape, that may be suitable unto my plaintiff plight. And of my piteous moan let craggy Trachin sound, Sith Myrra saw the tears where in Dame Venus' eyes were drowned, That she for Adonis with smoky sighs did shed, And Halcion might wail at will her loving Ceyx's dead: The Lady Tastalis get life to weep alone, And Philomele did change her shape, and earnfully did move Her tender Itis' death: (alas) why are not yet With flickering Feathers fit for wings, my naked arms beset? O happy shall I be, and happily be blessed, When in the woods as in an house I make my shrouding nest, And sitting like a bird upon my country ground In doleful harmony shall tune the cares, that me confound. That thus the people fond may talk how they have seen In piteous likeness of a Bird, the Daughter of a Queen.
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)
Vnder the Equinoctiall rayſeth werre, Gaynſt th' eaſterling diſcomfetinge the ſame. Hee with his body did batter downe the wall, Of Oechalie: nothing may him withſtande: By valiaunt proweſſe hee hath conquerd all: Tis woon before, that hee doth take in hande: The howgy Briar that fifty paunches had, The hawty Giges with hundred armes likewiſe, That clamb vp Thaſſayle hills as Gyant mad, When rebells rage woulde take from loue the ſkyes, Such ſteaming Eyes, ſuch gaſtly viſage foule, Such Gargle face, ſuch countnaunce glaring grim, Wherewith ſtearne Hercles glowningly doth ſcowle, Thoſe Gyaunts had reſembling playnely him. Thus greateſt bliſſe is prone to greateſt bale There wants no woe whoſe cup wee haue not taſte Wee wretched women haue with countnaunce pale. BVt carefull caytiffe I doe not bewayle forlorne The ſweeping flames, nor Idolles, wyth their taitred Temples torne: Nor that the Fathers burne together with theyr Sonnes, That Gods, & men, that tombes & Church, at once to ruin runnes. Vpon the common care wec doe not powre our playnt, For Fortune wills vs turne our teares with other woes attaynt: And thus my frowning face allotteth vnto mee Another kinde of wretchednes, that muſt lamented bee: What ſhall I firſt beweepe? Or chiefly what complayne? And to bewayle them all at once, woulde mitigate my payne. Alas that but on breaſt Dame Nature did mee frame, That blowes agreeing to my griefe might bounce vpon the ſame. With weeping Sipill rocke, brſe yee my balefull breaſt, Or on Eridanus ſilent ſhore in ſorrowes let wee reſt, Where as the mourning troupe of Nymphes doe hale theyr heares. To wayle the death of Phaïron, with ſhowres of dropping teares. Or els in Sicill rocke cauſe mee encoucht to dwell, Where Scilla Hag with howling noyſe, and barking big doth yell. Or elſe in Lynnets ſhape let me tell on my tale, And weepe with Adon in the woods, or turnde to Nightingale As Lady Philomele, recordes with weeping lay In ſhade of hawly Iſmar hill vpon a tender ſpray, With ſoking ſighes her griefe, O Gods: and mee addight In ſhape, that may be ſuetable vnſo my playntiffe plight. And of my piteous moane let craggy Trachin ſounde, Sith Myrra ſawe the teares where in Dame Venus eyes were drownde, That ſhee for Adopis with ſmoky ſighes did ſhed, And Halcion might wayle at will her louing Ceyx dead: The Lady Tastalis get life to weepe alone, And Philomele did chaunge her ſhape, and earnefully did moue Her tender Itis death: (alas) why are not yet With flickering Fethers fit for wynges, my naked armes beſet? O happy ſhall I bee, and happily bee bleaſt, When in the woods as in an houſe I make my ſhrowding neaſt, And ſitting like a birde vpon my countrey grounde In dolefull harmony ſhall tune the cares, that me confounde. That thus the people fond may talke how they haue ſeene In piteous likeneſſe of a Byrde, the Daughter of a Queene.