Hercules Oetaeus (Hercules on Mount Oeta) (Seneca's Tenth Tragedy) · chunk 29 of 44
Seneca, Lucius Annaeus / Studley, John · published 1581 · first performed or written 1566 (Annals) tragedy T20 Hercules: labours, suffering and virtue typicality 0.90 · 519 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T20: hercules, hercles, ioue, deianeira, alcides, hand, lo, death, skies, hell.
Why dost thou thus with privy wound my careful Carcase foil? What gulf under the frozen Climb in savage Scythian soil Engendered them? what water Hag did spawn thee on the shore? Or stony Calpe Rock in Spain that borders on the Moare: O irksome ill, and art thou not the Serpent that doth sting With crest on ugly head, or else some other loathly thing, Or sprung of Hydraës blood, or left here by the hellish hound. Art thou no plague? and yet a plague in whom all plagues abound? What ghastly countenance carriest thou (alas) yet let me know? What kind of mischief may thou be that dost torment me so? What savage sore, or murrain strange, or uncouth plague thou be? With open combat face to face thou should encounter me. And not thus rankle in my flesh, nor soak into the sap. By sultering heat within my bones thy boiling bane to wrap, And in the mid thereof to fry the Marrow that doth melt. My jagged skin is ripped, and out my smoky Bowels swelled. From bursten Paunch myself do flay the skin with grasping pause, And from the naked bones do tear the mangled flesh by flaws, I searched for thee through my Maw, yet further dost thou creep, And festering farther in my flesh hast gnawn an hole more deep. O mischief match to Hercules, what grief could make me greet? Whence flow these streams of trilling tears that down my cheeks do fleet The time hath been no plunging pangs could cause our courage quail, That never use with crystal tears our anguish to bewail. Ah, fie, I am ashamed that I should learn these tears to shed: That Hercules in weeping wise his grief hath languished: whoever saw at any day in any time or place? All bitter brunes I bore with dry, and eke unreky face The manhood that so many ills hath mastered heretofore, Hath yielded only unto thee, to thee thou canker sore. Thou first of all haste strained the tears out of my weeping eyes Thy gargoyle face thy visage man that doth me sore aggrise. More tough than mossy Rocks, more hard than Gads of sturdy steel, Or roaming stream of Simplegade, whereby this smart I feel Hath crushed my cracking jaws, & wrong the streaming tears from me. O wielder of the Welkin swift, lo, lo the Earth doth see How Hercules doth weep and wail, and to my greater pain My Stepdame Iuno sees the same, behold, behold again My lungs do fry, the scorching heat prevaileth more, and more. Whence fell this thunder bolt on me that burns in me so sore? Who stoopeth not when grief doth gal? more tough than Aem of Thrace was whilom haughty Hercules, and did no more give place Then doth the marble axletree, his Limbs he now doth yield To painful pangs: and on his Neck his aching head doth wield, And tossing still from side to side, he bends with hugy sway, And oft his noble heart doth force his trilling tears to stay.
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)
Why doſt thou thus with priuy wound my carefull Carkas foyle? What gulph vnder the frozen Clyme in ſaluage Scithian ſoyle Engendred the? what water Hag did ſpawne thee on the ſhore? Or ſtony Clpe Rock in Spayne that borders on the Moare: O yrkſome ill, and art thou not the Serpent that doth ſting With creſt on ougly head, or els ſome other lothly thing, Or ſpronge of Hydraës bloude, or left heere by the hellick hound. Art thou no plague? and yet a plague in whom all plagues abound? What gaſtly countnaunce carieſt thou (alas) yet let me know? What kinde of miſchiefe may thou be that doſt torment mee ſo? What ſaluage ſore, or murreyn ſtraunge, or vncouth plague thou bee? With open combat face to face thou ſhould encounter mee. And not thus ranckle in my fleſh, nor ſoake into the ſap. By ſowltring heate within my bones thy boyling bane to wrap, And in the mid thereof to fry the Maroe that doth melt. My iagged ſkin is ript, and out my ſmoaky Bowells ſwelt. From burſten Paunch my ſelfe doe flea the ſkin with graſping pawſe, And from the naked boanes doe teare the mangled fleſh by flawes, I ſearched for thee through my Mawe, yet further doſt thou creepe, And feſtring farther in my fleſh haſt gnawne an hole more deepe. O miſchiefe match to Hercules, what griefe coulde make mee greete? Whēce flow theſe ſtreames of trillīg teares y• down my cheekes do fleete The time hath bin no plunging pangues could cauſe our courage quaile, That neuer vſe with criſtall teares our anguiſh to bewayle. Ah, fy, I am aſhamde that I ſhould learne theſe teares to ſhed: That Hercules in weeping wiſe his griefe hath languiſhed: Who euer ſaw at any day in any time or place? All bitter brunes I bare with dry, and eake vnreky face The manhoode that ſo many ills hath maiſtred heretofore, Hath yeelded onely vnto thee, to thee thou Cankar ſore. Thou firſt of all haſt ſtraynde the teares out of my weeping eyes Thy gargle face thy viſage man that doth mee ſore aggriſe. More towgh then moſſy Rockes, more hard then Gads of ſturdy ſleele, Or roaming ſtreame of Simplegade, whereby this ſmart I feele Hath cruſht my cracking Iawes, & wronge the ſtreaming teares frō me. O wielder of the Welkin ſwifte, loe, loe the Earth doth ſee How Hercules doth weepe and wayle, and to my greater payne My Stepdame Iuno ſees the ſame, beholde, beholde agayne My Lunges doe fry, the ſcorching heate preuayleth more, and more. Whence fell this thunder Boult on mee that burnes in mee ſo ſore? Who ſtoupeth not whē griefe doth gal? more tough thē Aem of Thrace Whas whilom hawty Hercules, and did no more gieue place Then doth the marble axelltree, his Lims hee now doth yeelde To paynefull pangues: and on his Neck his aking heade doth wielde, And toſſing ſtill from ſide to ſide, hee bendes with hugy ſway, And oft his noble heart doth force his trilling teares to ſtay.