Herbert, Mary Sidney / Garnier, RobertSidney Herbert, Mary · published 1595 · first performed or written 1590 (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T36 Hell, Furies and the language of punishm · 471 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T36: hell, earth, gods, death, ghosts, blood, bloody, heaven, night, ghost.
What horrible fury, what cruel rage, O Egypt so extremely thee torments? Hast thou the Gods so angered by thy fault? Hast thou against them some such crime conceived. That their engrained hand lift up in threats They should desire in thy heart blood to bathe? And that their burning wrath which nought can quench Should pitiless on us still lighten down? We are not hewn out of the monstrous mass Of Giants those, which heavens wrack conspired: Ixion's race, false prater of his loves: Nor yet of him who feigned lightnings found: Nor cruel Tantalus, nor bloody Atreus, Whose cursed banquet for Thyestes plague Made the beholding Sun for horror turn His back, and backward from his course return: And hastening his wing-footed horse's race Plunge him in sea for shame to hide his face: While sullen night upon the wondering world For midday's light her starry mantle cast. But what we be, whatever wickedness By us is done, Alas! with what more plagues, More eager torments could the Gods declare To heaven and earth that us they hateful hold? With soldiers, strangers, horrible in arms Our land is hid, our people drowned in tears. But terror here and horror, nought is seen: And present death prising our life each hour. Hard at our ports and at our porches waits Our conquering foe: hearts fail us, hopes are dead: Our Queen laments: and this great Emperor Sometime (would now they did) whom worlds did fear Abandoned, betrayed, now minds no more But from his evils by hastened death to pass. Come! you poor people tired with ceaseless plaints With tears and sighs make mournful sacrifice On Isis' altars: not ourselves to save, But soften Caesar and him piteous make To us, his pray: that so his lenity May change our death into captivity. Strange are the evils the fates on us have brought, O but alas! how far more strange the cause! Love, love (alas, whoever would have thought?) Hath lost this Realm inflamed with his fire. Love, playing love, which men say kindles not But in soft hearts, hath ashes made our towns. And his sweet shafts, with whose shot none are killed, Which ulcer not, with deaths our lands have filled, Such was the bloody, murdering, hellish love Possessed thy heart fair false guest Priam's son, Firing a brand which after made to burn The Trojan towers by Grecians ruinate. By this love, Priam, Hector, Troilus, Memnon, Deiphobus, Glaucus, thousands more. Whom red Scamander's armour clogged streams Rolled into Seas, before their dates are dead. So plaguy he, so many tempests raiseth, So murdering he, so many Cities raiseth, When insolent, blind, lawless, orderless, With made delights our sense he entertains. All knowing Gods our wracks did us foretell By signs in earth, by signs in starry Spheres,
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
What horrible furie, what cruell rage, O Aegipt so extremely thee torments? Hast thou the Gods so angred by thy fault? Hast thou against them some such crime conceiu'd. That their engrained hand lift vp in threats They should desire in thy heart bloud to bathe? And that their burning wrath which noght cā quēch Should pittiles on vs still lighten downe? We are not hew'n out of the monst'rous masse Of Giantes those, which heauens wrack conspir'd: Ixions race, false prater of his loues: Nor yet of him who fained lightnings found: Nor cruell Tantalus, nor bloudy Atreus, Whose cursed banquet for Thyestes plague Made the beholding Sunne for horrour turne His backe, and backward from his course returne: And hastning his wing-footed horses race Plunge him in sea for shame to hide his face: While sulleine night vpon the wondring world For mid-daies light her starrie mantle cast. But what we be, what euer wickednesse By vs is done, Alas! with what more plagues, More eager torments could the Gods declare To heauen and earth that vs they hatefull holde? With souldiors, strangers, horrible in armes Our land is hidde, our people drown'd in teares. But terror here and horror, nought is seene: And present death prising our life each hower. Hard at our ports and at our porches waites Our conquering foe: harts faile vs, hopes are dead: Our Queene laments: and this great Emperour Somtime (would now they did) whom worlds did fear Abandoned, betraid, now mindes no more But from his euils by hast'ned death to passe. Come! you poore people ti'rde with ceasles plaints With teares and sighes make morunfull sacrfice On Isis altars: not our selues to saue, But soften Caesar and him piteous make To vs, his praie: that so his lenitie May change our death into captiuitie. Strange are the euils the fates on vs haue brought, O but alas! how far more strange the cause! Loue, loue (alas, who euer would haue thought?) Hath lost this Realme inflamed with his fire. Loue, playing loue, which men say kindles not But in soft hearts, hath ashes made our townes. And his sweet shafts, with whose shot none are kill'd, Which vlcer not, with deaths our lands haue fill'd, Such was the bloudie, murdring, hellish loue Possest thy hart faire false guest Priams sonne, Firing a brand which after made to burne The Troian towers by Graecians ruinate. By this loue, Priam, Hector, Troilus, Memnon, Deiphaebus, Glancus, thousands mo. Whome redd Scamanders armor clogged streames Roll'd into Seas, before their dates are dead. So plaguie he, so many tempests raiseth, So murdring he, so many Citties raiseth, When insolent, blinde, lawles, orderles, With made delights our sence he entertaines. All knowing Gods our wracks did vs fortell By signes in earth, by signes in starry Sphaeres,