Herbert, Mary Sidney / Garnier, RobertSidney Herbert, Mary · published 1595 · first performed or written 1590 (Annals) tragedy T36 Hell, Furies and the language of punishm typicality 0.71 · 476 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T36: hell, earth, gods, death, ghosts, blood, bloody, heaven, night, ghost.
Which should have moved us, had not destiny With too strong hand warped our misery. The Comets flaming through the scattered clouds With fiery beams, most like unbraided hairs: The fearful dragon whistling at the banks: And holy Apis ceaseless bellowing (As never erst) and shedding endless tears: Blood raining down from heaven in unknown showers: Our God's dark faces over cast with woe, And dead men's Ghosts appearing in the night. Yea even this night while all the City stood Oppressed with terror, horror, servile fear, Deep silence over all: the sounds were heard Of divers songs, and diverse instruments, Within the void of air: and howling noise, Such as mad Bacchus' priests in Bacchus' feasts On Nisa make: and (seemed) the company, Our City lost, went to the enemy. So we forsaken both of Gods and men, So are we in the mercy of our foes: And we henceforth obedient must become To laws of them who have us overcome. Lament we our mishaps, Drown we with tears our woe: For Lamentable haps Lamented easy grow: and much less torment bring then when they first did spring. We want that woeful song, wherewith wood music's Queen doth ease her woes, among, fresh spring-time's bushes green, on pleasant branch alone renewing ancient moan. We want that moanful sound, that prattling Progne makes on fields of Thracian ground, or streams of Thracian lakes: to empt her breast of pain for Itys by her slain. Though haltions do still, bewailing Ceyx's lot, the Seas with plainings fill which his dead limbs have got, not ever other grave than tomb of waves to have: And though the bird in death that most Meander loves: so sweetly sighs his breath when death his fury proves, as almost softs his heart, and almost blunts his dart: Yet all the plaints of those, nor all their tearful larmes, cannot content our woes, nor serve to wail the harms, in soul which we, poor we. to feel enforced be. Nor they of Phoebus bred in tears can do so well, they for their brother shed, who into Padus fell, rash guide of chariot clear surveyor of the year. Nor she whom heavenly powers to weeping rock did turn, whose tears distill in showers, and show she yet doth mourn, wherewith his top to Skies mount Sipylus doth rise. Nor weeping drops which flow from bark of wounded tree, that Myrrha's shame doth show with ours compared may be, to quench her loving fire who durst embrace her fire. Nor all the howlings made on Cybel's sacred hill By eunuchs of her trade, Who Atys, Atys still with doubled cries resound, which Echo makes rebound. Our plaints no limits stay, nor more than do our woes: both infinitely stray and neither measure knows In meam sure let them plain: Who measured griefs sustain.
seed 43: T32 · seed 44: T26 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Which should haue mou'd vs, had not destinie With too strong hand warped our miserie. The Comets flaming through the scat'red clouds With fiery beames, most like vnbroaded haires: The fearfull dragon whistling at the bankes: And holy Apis ceasles bellowing (As neuer erst) and shedding endles teares: Bloud raining down frō heau'n in vnknow'n showers: Our Gods darke faces ouer cast with woe, And dead mens Ghosts appearing in the night. Yea euen this night while all the Cittie stood Opprest with terror, horror, seruile feare, Deepe silence ouer all: the sounds were heard Of diuers songs, and diuerse instruments, Within the voide of aire: and howling noise, Such as madde Bacchus priests in Bacchus feasts On Nisa make: and (seem'd) the company, Our Cittie lost, went to the enemie. So we forsaken both of Gods and men, So are we in the mercy of our foes: And we henceforth obedient must become To lawes of them who haue vs ouercome. Lament we our mishaps, Drowne we with teares our woe: For Lamentable happes Lamented easie growe: and much lesse torment bring then when they first did spring. We want that wofull song, wherwith wood-musiques Queen doth ease her woes, among, fresh springtimes bushes greene, on pleasant branch alone renewing auntient mone. We want that monefull sound, that pratling Progne makes on fields of Thracian ground, or streames of Thracian lakes: to empt her brest of paine for Itys by her slaine. Though Halcyons do still, bewailing Ceyx lot, the Seas with plainings fill which his dead limmes haue got, not euer other graue then tombe of waues to haue: And though the bird in death that most Meander loues: so sweetly sighes his breath when death his fury proues, as almost softs his heart, and almost blunts his dart: Yet all the plaints of those, nor all their tearfull larmes, cannot content our woes, nor serue to waile the harmes, in soule which we, poore we. to feele enforced be. Nor they of Phaebus bredd in teares can doo so well, they for their brother shedd, who into Padus fell, rash guide of chariot cleere surueiour of the yeare. Nor she whom heau'nly powers to weping rocke did turne, whose teares distill in showers, and shew she yet doth mourne, wherewith his toppe to Skies mount Sipylus doth rise. Nor weping drops which flowe from barke of wounded tree, that Mirrhas shame doth showe with ours compar'd may be, to quench her louing fire who durst embrace her fire. Nor all the howlings made on Cybels sacred hill By Eunukes of her trade, Who Atys, Atys still with doubled cries resound, which Eccho makes rebound. Our plaints no limits stay, nor more then do our woes: both infinitely straie and neither measure knowes In mea sure let them plaine: Who measnr'd griefes sustaine.