Hercules Oetaeus (Hercules on Mount Oeta) (Seneca's Tenth Tragedy) · chunk 28 of 44
Seneca, Lucius Annaeus / Studley, John · published 1581 · first performed or written 1566 (Annals) tragedy T20 Hercules: labours, suffering and virtue typicality 0.83 · 510 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T20: hercules, hercles, ioue, deianeira, alcides, hand, lo, death, skies, hell.
Behold how death and hell Cannot appaule the virtuous mind that of deserving well. By guiltless conscience warrant hath the death that doth him spoil, Irks not as thus of such an one to take this filthy foil. If with this torment life were lost, his mind should much be eased, As with unwieldy Giants sway he had his body squeezed. Or Titan's burden with his monsters all he would abide. Or wish of raging Giants rent in pieces to have dyde, And if thy doleful death because that monster none is left. Who may be worthy thought by whom Alcides life be reft? But thine own hand to do the deed. ay me and wellaway, What Scorpion scrapes within my Maw? what crawling Crab I say With crooking cleaze to cumber me, from scorching zone returns, And boat within my boiling bones the seething Marrow burns. My River whilom rank of blood my rotting lungs it taws, And teareth them in shattered gubs, and filthy withered flaws. And now my Gall is dried up my burning Liver glows. The stewing heat hath stulde away the blood, and Ioue he knows My upper skin is scorched away and thus the canker strong Doth eat an hole that get it may my wretched Limbs among, And from my frying Ribs (alas) my Liver quite is rent. It gnaws my flesh, devours all, my Carcase quite is spent, It soaks into the empty bones, and out the juice it sucks The bones by lumps drop of while it the joints asunder plucks My corpulent Carks is consumed of Hercules every Limb Yet stauncheth not the festering rot that feedeth fast on him O what a tingling ache it is that makes me thus to smart, O bitter plague, O pestilence that gripeth to the heart. Lo cities, lo what now remains of Hercules the great. Are these the arms that did with stripes the roaring Lion beat? And in Nemea wood did tear him from his hary case Might this hand bend the bow from clouds the stymphal foul to chase? Are these the shanks that coped the heart who shifting pace full oft? Did bear his branched head ypranked with garland gay aloft? Was Calpe craggy clive of these my feeble clouches broke? To raise a dam in seas that did their foamy channel choke. Had these arms pith the breath of Kings, of Beasts, and bugs to stop? Or might these shoulders tough the poise of heaven underprop? Are these the lusty Limbs and Neck that shrank not at the poise? Are these hands that I against the weltering heavens did raise? Alas whose hands shall now perforce from hence hell jailor lead? Alas the noble courage erst that now in me is dead. Why call I Ioue my Father great of whom my stock should rise? Why by the Thunderer make I my challenge to the skies? Now, now Ampitrio is my ster all men may it avouch. Come out thou murrain fowl that dost within my bowels couch.
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)
Beholde how death and hell Cannot appaule the verteous mynde that of deſeruing well. By guiltleſſe conſcience warrant hath the death that doth him ſpoyle, Irkes not as thus of ſuch an one to take this filthy foyle. If with this torment life were loſt, his mynde ſhould much be aſde, As with vnweldy Gyauntes ſway hee had his body ſqueaſde. Or Titans burden with his monſters all he woulde abyde. Or wiſhe of raging Gyants rent in pieces to haue dyde, And if thy dlefull death becauſe that monſter none is left. Who may be worthy thought by whom Alcides life bee reft? But thine owne hand to doe the deede. Aye me and wellaway, What Scorpion ſcrapes within my Mawe? what cralling Crab I ſay With crooking cleaze to comber mee, from ſcorching zone returnes, And boat within my boyling bones the ſeathing Marowe burnes. My Riuer whilom ranke of bloude my rotting Lunges it tawes, And teareth them in ſhattred gubs, and filthy withered flawes. And now my Gall is dryed vp my burning Lyuer glowes. The ſtewing heate hath ſtulde away the bloude, and Ioue hee knowes My vpper ſkin is ſcorcht away and thus the Cankar ſtronge Doth eate an hole that get it may my wretched Limmes amonge, And from my frying Ribs (alas) my Lyuer quite is rent. It gnawes my fleſh, deuowers all, my Carkas quite is ſpent, It ſoakes into the empty bones, and out the iuyce it ſuckes The bones by lumps drop of while it the ioyntes a ſunder pluckes My corpulent Carkes is conſumde of Hercules euery Iim Yet ſtauncheth not the feſtring ot that feedeth faſt n him O what a tingling ache it is that makes mee thus to ſmart, O bitter plague, O peſtilence that gripeth to the heart. Loe Cittes, loe what now remaynes of Hercules the great. Are theſe the armes that did with ſtripes the roaring Lyon beate? And in Nemea wood did teare him from his hary caſe Might this hand bend y• bow from cloudes the Stimphall foule to chaſe? Are theſe the ſhankes that coapt the heart who ſhifting pace full oft? Did beare his braunched head ypranckt with garlond gay aloft? Was Cale craggy cliue of theſe my feeble clowches broake? To rayſe a dam in eas that did their foamy channell choake. Had theſe armes pith the breath of Kings, of Beaſtes, and bugs to ſtop? Or might theſe ſhoulders tough the payſe of heauen vnderprop? Are theſe the luſty Lims and Neck that ſhrank not at the payſe? Are theſe handes that I agaynſt the weltring heauens did rayſe? Alas whoſe handes ſhall now perforce from hence hell Iaylo leade? Alas the noble courage earſt that now in mee is deade. Why call I Ioue my Father great of whom my ſtock ſhould ryſe? Why by the Thunderer make I my challenge to the ſkyes? Now, now Ampitrio is my ſter all men may it auouch. Come out thou murreyn fowle that doſt within my bowells couch.