Hercules Oetaeus (Hercules on Mount Oeta) (Seneca's Tenth Tragedy) · chunk 43 of 44
Seneca, Lucius Annaeus / Studley, John · published 1581 · first performed or written 1566 (Annals) tragedy T20 Hercules: labours, suffering and virtue typicality 0.86 · 497 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T20: hercules, hercles, ioue, deianeira, alcides, hand, lo, death, skies, hell.
My Hercules did bring to pass I had it by What mortal mother ever bare and lost so dear a son? Erst down the cheeks of Niobe the trilling tears When of her dear and tender brats she wholly was bereuen, And did bewail with strained sighs her children seven and seven And yet might I compare this one (my Hercles') unto those And I in him as much as she in all her imps did lose. The mothers that are mourning dames do lack on head and chief, And now Alcmene shallbe she deprived of all relief, Cease woeful mothers cease, if that among you any are constrain to shed your streaming tears by force of pensive care: Ye Lady whom lamenting song of women formed rocks, Give place unto my glutting grief, beat on with burning knocks Ye hands upon my riveled breast, alas am I alone Enough for such a funeral to languish and to move, Whom all the world shall shortly need? yet steech thy feeble arms To thump upon thy sounding breast thy grief with doleful And in despite of all the God's power put thy woeful erye And to receive thy flowing tears thy warry cheeks apply. Bewail Alcmena's woeful state: the son of Ioue bewail, Whose birth did cause the dusky day in kindly course to fail. The East compact two nights in one: Lo, to, a greater thing Then glorious day the world hath lost now let your furrows ring, Yet people all whose lowering lords he draw to dens of death Their blades (that recked with guiltless gore) he put into the sheath. Bestow on him your Crystal tears, which he deserved wellt Howl out ye heavens, ye mardle seas, and gulfs with groanings yell. O Crete Dear darling unto Ioue For Ioue of Hercles' rose, Ye hundred cities beat yond arms: my son, for evermore Is gone among the grisly ghosts, and shimmering shades of hell Lament for him ye woeful mights, that here on earth do dwell, WHy Mother wayle you mee an hot of hell? Or plunged in pangs of death, sith I among the Spheres do dwell? Forbear, forbear, to moan for me for virtue opened hath To me the passage to the Stars: and set me in the path, That guides to everlasting Life, whence coms this dreadful sound? Whence roars this thundering voice. that doth against mine ears rebounded, And biddeth me to shine my tears? I know it now I know, The darksome dungeons daunted are, and dens of Lakes allow. O Son art thou returned to the from Stygian gulf again? And can thou twice of ugly death the conquest thus obtain? And burst the baleful prisons twice, of glum and ghastly night. Against thus by might? May any scape from thou stape alone? Hath hell no power to hold thy sprite, when breath from breast is gone? Or else hath Pluto baalde thee out, for fear lest thou alone
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)
My Hercules did bring to paſſe I had by. What mortall mother euer bare and loſt ſo deare a ſonne? Earſt downe the cheekes of Niobe the When of her deare and tender brattes ſhe wholly was hereuen, And did bewale with ſtrayned ſighes her children ſeuen and ſeue And yet might I compare this one (my Hercles) vnto thoſe And I in him as much as ſhee in all her imps die loſe. The mothers that are mourning dames do lacke on hd and chefe, And now Alcmene ſhalbe ſhee depriude of all releeſe, Ceaſe woeful thers ceaſe, if that among you any are Conſtrayne to ſhed your ſtreaming teares by force of peaſue care Ye Lady whom lamenting ſong of women fourmed rockes, Geue place vnto my gluttyng greefe, beat on with burning knockes Ye handes vppon my riueled breaſt, alas am I alone Enough for ſuch a funerall to languiſh and to moue, Whom al the world ſhall ſhortly neede? yet ſteech thyfeble armes To thumpe vppon thy ſounding breaſt thy griefe with boleful And in deſpyte of al the gods powre put thy woeful erye And to receiue thy flowing teares thy warry cheekes applye. Bewayle Alcmenas woful ſtate: the ſonne of Ioue bewayle, Whoſe byrth did cauſe the duay day in kindly courſe fayle. The Eaſt compact two nightes in one: Lo, to, a greater thing Then glorious day the world hath loſt now let your forrowes ring, Yet people al whoſe lowryng lordes he draw to dennes of death Theyr blades (that reckt with guiltles ) he into the ſheath. Beſtow on hin your Chriſtall teares, which he deſerued wellt Howle out ye heauens, ye mardle ſeas, and goulphes with gronings yell. O Crete Deare darling vnto Ioue For Ioue of Hercles roe, Ye hundred cityes beate yont armes: my ſonne, for euermore Is gone among the grieſy ghoſtes, and ſhimmering ſhades of hell Lament for him ye woeful mightes, that here on do dwell, WHy Mother wayle you mee an hot of hell? Or of death, ſith I among Spheares doe dwell? Forbeare, forbeare, to moane for mee for vertue opened hath To mee the paſſage to the Starres: and ſet mee in the path, That guides to euerlaſting Lyfe, whence cos this dreadfull ſounde? Whence roares this thundring voyce. y• doth againſt mine eares reboſid, And biddeth mee to ſhine my teares? I know it now I know, The darkſome dunge daunied are, and Demies of Lakes alow. O Sonne art thou retrnd to the from Stygian gulph agayne? And can thou twiſe of ougly death the con queſt thus obtayne? And braſt the balefull priſons twiſe, of glum and gaſtly night. Agaſt thus by might? May any ſcape from thou stape alone? Hath hell no power to holde thy ſprite, when breath from breaſt is gone? Or els hath Pluto baalde thee out, for feare leaſt thou alone