Hercules Oetaeus (Hercules on Mount Oeta) (Seneca's Tenth Tragedy) · chunk 30 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 · 505 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T20: hercules, hercles, ioue, deianeira, alcides, hand, lo, death, skies, hell.
O Father with thy heavenly Eyes, Behold my wretched plight, For never HERCULES till now bid crave thy hand of might, Not whenas Hydraës fruitful heads about my limbs were wound, Nor when I lock in Lakes allow fought with th'infernal hound, These hideous fiends I foiled, with kings, & tyrants proud likewise. Yet in these broils I never looked for succour to the skies. This hand did still avouch the vow, no thunder for my sake Did glitter in the holy heavens, this day hath hid me make Some suit to thee, and of my bones yet here's the first and last, One only Thunder boult I crave at me O Ioue to cast. Count me a Giant of myself, I can no less devise, While Ioue I thought of promise true, I spared the starry skies. be thou either a cruel sire, or pity if thou have, Yet lend thy son thy help, and get the glory of my grave: Preventing this my dreary death, of this if thou do scorn, Or that thy hand abhor the guilt, from Sicil clive suborn The sultering Giants that in hand high Pindus' mount can wield, Or Ossa that it hurled on me I may therewith bequielde, burst up hell Gates, and let Bellone scourge me with Iron rod, And let in arms encounter me the mighty martial God, My brother I acknowledge him but by my stepdame's side, And Pallas thou my sister take, let at thy brother slide A thirling Dart. O stepdame mine with humble suit I crave A wound of thee that woman's hand may bring me to my grave. Why dost thou feed thy fury now as one whose wrath were end And satisfied? what seek ye more? I stoop, I yield, I bend. Thou seest Alcides humbly laid, where as unto this day That ever I entreated thee, no Land, no Beast can say, Now do I need thy deadly wrath to rid me of my pain, And now thy rancour is appeased, thy hate is quenched again, And thus thou sparest me my life, whenas I wish to die: O Earth will none make me the fire wherein my bones may fry? Nor reach a blade to Hercules, convey ye all from me? So let no country Monsters breed when I shall buried be, And let none wail the loss of me if monsters mote arise, God send another Hercules to succour Earth and skies. But as for me on every side ding out my bruised brain, And crash with sturdy stroke of stones my cursed skull in twain And rid my torments: wilt thou not? O world to me unkind, And are so soon our benefits forgotten in thy mind. e'en to this bower with bugs and beasts thou had been over laid Had not I been: good people cause his torments to be stayed That succoured you: time gives you leave to recompense my pain, If ye with death will guerdon me, I ask none other gain.
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)
O Father wyth thy heauenly Eyes, Beholde my wretched plight, For neuer HERCVLES till nowe bid craue thy hande of might, Not when as Hydraës fruictfull heads about my Lyms were wounde, Nor when I locke in Lakes alow fought with th'inferdall hownde, Theſe hideous fiends I foylde, with kings, & tyraunts prowde likewiſe. Yet in theſe broyles I neuer lookt for ſuccour to the ſkyes. This hand did ſtill auouch the vowe, no thunder for my ſake Did glitter in the holy heauens, this day hath hid mee make Some ſuite to thee, and of my boones yet heeres the firſt and laſt, One onely Thunder boult I craue at mee O Ioue to caſt. Count mee a Giaunt of my ſelfe, I can no leſſe deuiſe, While Ioue I thought of promiſe true, I ſpaarde the ſtarry ſkies. Bee thou eyther a cruell ſier, or pity if thou haue, Yet lend thy ſonne thy help, and get the glory of my graue: Preuenting this my dreary death, of this if thou doe ſkorne, Or that thy hand abhorre the guilt, from Sicill cliue ſuborne The ſoultring Giaunts that in hand high Pindus mount can weilde, Or Oſſa that it hurlde on mee I may therewith bequielde, Braſt vp hell Gates, and let Bellone ſcourge mee with Iron rod, And let in armes encounter mee the mighty Martiall God, My brother I acknowledge him but by my ſepdames ſide, And Pallas thou my ſiſter take, let at thy brother ſlide A thirling Darte. O ſtepdame myne with humble ſuite I craue A wounde of thee that womans hand may bring mee to my graue. Why doſt thou feede thy fury nowe as one whoſe wrath were ende And ſatiſfied? what ſeeke yee more? I ſtoupe, I yeelde, I bende. Thou ſeeſt Alcides humbly layde, where as vnto this day That euer I entreated thee, no Land, no Beaſt can ſay, Now doe I neede thy deadly wrath to rid mee of my payne, And now thy rankour is appeaſde, thy hate is quencht agayne, And thus thou ſpareſt mee my life, when as I wiſhe to dye: O Earth will none make mee the fier wherein my bones may fry? Nor reach a blade to Hercules, conuay yee all from mee? So let no country Monſters breede when I ſhall buried be, And let none wayle the loſſe of mee if more aryſe, God ſend another Hercules to ſuccour Earth and ſkyes. But as for mee on euery ſide ding out my brooſed brayne, And craſh with ſturdy ſtroke of ſtones my curſed Scull in twayne And rid my torments: wilt thou not? O worlde to mee vnkynde, And are ſo ſoone our benefits forgotten in thy mynde. Een to this bower with bugs and beaſts thou had ouer layde Had not I bin: good people cauſe his torments to beſtayde That ſuccored you: time giues you leaue to recompence my payne, If yee with death will guerden mee, I aſke none other gayne.