Hercules Oetaeus (Hercules on Mount Oeta) (Seneca's Tenth Tragedy) · chunk 6 of 44
Seneca, Lucius Annaeus / Studley, John · published 1581 · first performed or written 1566 (Annals) tragedy T20 Hercules: labours, suffering and virtue typicality 0.76 · 500 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T20: hercules, hercles, ioue, deianeira, alcides, hand, lo, death, skies, hell.
I careful caitiff, ay, beheld my Father's fate, When in the Court a deadly club did Pale him on the pate, And sprawling on the floor with brains pashed out he lay, Alas if fates would let thy corpse be shrined in pit of Clay, What flowing tears (O sire) would I on thee bestow? And could I brook it Toxeus, to see thy death with woe? That wert unwaned in years, and take in pits unpoised, Upon whose naked Cheeks the pregnant sap no hairs had razor. Why should I parents dear your fates with tears detest, Whom death with hand indifferent hath taken hence to rest: My Fortune seeks my tears, due is mine own distress, Now as a captive must I dance attendance more and less, Upon my ladies rock: and twist her thread yspoon, Woe worth my beauty, for the which in dread of death I run. And for thy sake alone my stock hath lost his life, While that my sire denieth me to Hercles' as his wife And did for fear refuse his stepfather to be, But to our Lady's baleful bower as Captives hence go we: WHat furious fits of ramping rage doth boil in Women's brain, When in one roof both wedded wife and Harlot do remain? Both Scylla, and Charibdis' gulf no danger like it have, That raging roll on Sicil shore by heaps the wrestling wave. Ne savage beast so bade there is, that betters not the same. For bruit no sooner blew abroad the captive harlot's name, And that the beauty of Iolas countenance shined brim, As doth the day, when marble skies, no filthy fog doth dim: Or like the glimpse of twinkling star, that in the welkin bright Displays abroad his shooting beams amid the frosty mght: But Deianira Hercles' Wife all bedlam like doth stand, And scowleth as the Tiger wild which couched on the sand In shade of rock doth shroud his whelps, and buskells up in hesse, Espying him that of his young both come to make the waste: Or like as Menas overcharge with Bacchus' liquor sixeete With ivy bunch on thurled Dart from place to place doth fleet: She makes a pause, in doubt where to she might direct her pace, Then frantically as on distraught, she fisks from place to place In Hercles' douse. thus was she rayed in rage of flaming ire, The house to narrow was, to cool the desperate dames desire. she runneth in, she trots about, she makes a sudden stay. The malady in frowning face itself doth plain display. No galling grief remains at heart. The tears gush from her Eyes, Nor in on kind of temper still in frenly sits she fries: Her glowning looks with fury fell do change her former hue, Now glaring stand her steaming Eyes, and paleness doth ensue The ruddy colour in her Cheeks: the anguish of her heart Drives out her dolours deep, to show themselves in every part:
seed 43: T17 · seed 44: T19 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
I carefull caytiffe, I, behelde my Fathers fate, When in the Courte a deadly club did Pale him on the pate, And ſprawling on the floore with braynes paſht out hee laye, Alas if fates would let thy Coarſe beſhrynde in pit of Claye, What flowing teares (O Syer) would I on thee beſtowe? And coulde I brooke it Toxeus, to ſee thy death with woe? That wert vnwand in yeares, and take in pits vnpayſde, Vpon whoſe naked Cheekes the pregu hayres had rayſor. Why ſhould I parents deare your fates with teares deteſt, Whom death with hand indfferent hath taken hence to reſt: My Fortune ſeekes my teares, due is myne owne diſtreſſe, Now as a captiue muſt I dawnce attendaunce more and leſſe, Vpon my Ladyes rock: and twyſt her threde yſpoon, Woe worth my beauty, for the which in dread of death I run. And for thy ſake alone my ſtock hath loſt his lyfe, Whyle that my ſyer Denyeth me to Hercles as his wyfe And did for feare refuſe his ſtepfather to bee, But to our Laydes balefull bower as Captiues hence goe wee: WHat furious fits of ramping rage doth boyle in Womens brayne, When in one roofe both wedded wyfe and Harlor doe remayne? Both Scylla, and Charibdis gulfe no daunger like it haue, That raging roll on Sicill ſhore by heapes the wraſtling waue. Ne ſaluage beaſte ſo bad there is, that betters not the ſame. For bruite no ſooner blew abroade the captiue Harlots name, And that the beauty of Iolas countnaunce ſhyned brym, As doth the day, when marble ſkies, no filthy fog doth dim: Or like the glimſe of twinckling ſtarre, that in the welkin bright Diſplayes abroade his ſhooting beames amid the froſty mght: But Deianira Hercles Wyfe all bedlem like doth ſtande, And ſcowleth as the Tiger wilde which couched on the ſande In ſhade of rocke doth ſhrowde his whelpes, and buſkells vp in heſſe, Eſpying him that of his younge both come to make the waſte: Or like as Menas ouercharg with Bacchus licour ſixeete With Iuy bunche on thurled Darte from place to place doth fleete: Shee makes a pawſe, in doubt where to ſhee might derect her pace, Then frantickly as on beſtraught, ſhee from place to place In Hercles douſe. thus was ſhee rayt in rage of flaming yre, The houſe to narrow was, to coole the deſpret dames deſire. Shee runneth in, ſhee rots about, ſhee makes a ſoddayne ſtay. The mallady in frowning face it ſelfe doth playne diſplay. No galling griefe remaynes at heart. The teares guſh from her Eyes, Nor in on kinde of temper ſtill in frenly ſits ſhee fryes: Her glowning lookes with fury fell doe chaunge her former hew, Now glaring ſtande her ſteaming Eyes, and paleneſſe doth enſew The ruddy colour in her Cheekes: the anguiſh of her heart Driues out her dolors deepe, to ſhew them ſelues in euery part: