Heywood, Jasper / Seneca, Lucius Annaeus · published 1581 · first performed or written 1559 (Annals) tragedy T7 The Trojan war: conflict and its afterma typicality 0.83 · 519 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T7: hector, troy, achilles, greeks, aeneas, priam, ulysses, troilus, trojan, trojans.
O mischief, never durst the Greeks show yet such cruelty. Ye strain the temples and the Gods that most have favoured you, The dead ye spare not, on their tombs your fury rageth now. I will their weapons all resist myself with naked hand, The ire of heart shall give me strength their armour to withstand. As fierce as did the Amazones beat down the Greeks in fight, And Menas once inspired with God, in sacrifice doth smite, With spear in hand, and while with furious pace she treads the ground And wood as one in rage she strikes, and feeleth not the wound: So will I run on midst of them and on their weapons die, And in defence of Hector's tomb among his ashes lie. Cease ye: doth rage and fury vain of women move ye ought? Dispatch with speed what I command, & pluck down all to nought. O slay me rather here with sword rid me out the way, Break up the deep Averne, and rid my destinies delay. Rise Hector and beset thy foes, break thou Ulysses ire, A sprite art good enough for him, behold he casteth fire. And weapon shakes with mighty hand do ye not Greeks him see? Or else doth Hector's sprite appear but only unto me Down quite withal. What wilt thou suffer both thy sons be slain, And after death thy husbands bones to be removed again? Perhaps thou mayst with prayer yet appease the Grecians all. Else down to ground the holy tomb of Hector, straight shall fall. Let rather die the child poor wretch and let the Greeks him kill, Than father and the son should cause the tone the others ill. Vllisses, at thy knees I fall, and humbly ask mercy, These hands that no man's feet else knew, first at thy feet they lie. Take pity on the mother's case and sorrows of my breast, vouchsafe my prayers to receive and grant me my request. And by how much the more the Gods have thee advanced high, More easily strike the poor estate of wretched misery. God grant the chaste bed of thy godly wife Penelope, May thee receive and so again Laerta may thee see, And that thy son Telemachus may meet thee joyfully. His grandsires years, and father's wit, to pass full happily. Take pity on the mother's tears, her little child to save, He is my only comfort left, and th'only toy I have. Bring forth thy son and ask. COme hither child out of the dens to me, Thy wretched mother's lamentable store, This Babe Ulysses (lo) this Babe is he. That stayeth your ships and feareth you so sore. Submit thyself my son with humble hand, And worship flat on ground thy masters feet, Think it no shame as now the case doth stand: The thing that Fortune wilth a wretch is meet, Forget thy worthy stock of Kingly kind, Think not on Priam's great nobility, And put thy father Hector from thy mind, Such as thy Fortune let thy stomach be, Behave thyself as captive bend thy Knee,
seed 43: T12 · seed 44: T11 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
O miſchiefe, neuer durſt the Greekes ſhow yet ſuch cruelty. Ye ſtraine the temples and the Gods that moſt haue fauourd you, The dead ye ſpare not, on their tombes your fury rageth now. I wil their weapons all reſiſt my ſelfe with naked hand, The yre of hart ſhal geue me ſtrength their armour to withſtand. As fierce as did the Amazones beate down the Greekes in fight, And Menas once enſpierd with God, in ſacrifyce doth ſmyght, With ſpeare in hand, and while with furyous pace ſhe treads the groūd And wood as one in rage ſhe ſtrykes, and feeleth not the wound: So wil I runne on midſt of them and on theyr weapons dye, And in defence of Hectors tombe among his aſhes lie. Ceaſe ye: doth rage and fury vayne of women moue ye ought? Diſpatch with ſpeede what I commaund, & plucke downe al to naught. O ſlay me rather here with ſword rid me out the way, Breake vp the deepe Auern, and rid my deſtenies delay. Riſe Hector and beſet thy foes, breake thou Vliſſes yre, A ſpright art good enough for him, behold he caſteth fire. And weapon ſhakes with mighty hand do ye not Greekes him ſee? Or els doth Hectors ſpright appear but onely vnto me Downe quight withal. What wilt thou ſuffer both thy ſonnes be ſlayne, And after death thy huſbandes bones to be remou'd agayne? Perhaps thou mayſt with prayer yet apreaſe the Grecians all. Els downe to ground the holy tombe of Hector, ſtreight ſhall fal. Let rather die the childe pore wretch and let the Greekes him kil, Then father and the ſonne ſhould cauſe the tone the others yll. Vlliſſes, at thy knees I fal, and hmbly aſke mercie, Theſe handes that no mans feete els knew, firſt at thy feete they lye. Take pitty on the mothers caſe and ſorrowes of my breaſt, Vochſafe my prayers to receiue and graunt me my requeſt. And by how much the more the Goddes haue thee aduaunced hie, More eaſely ſtryke the pore eſtate of wretched miſery. God graunt the chaſt bed of thy godly wyfe Penelope, May thee receiue and ſo agayne Laerta may thee ſee, And that thy ſonne Telemachus may meete thee ioyfully. His graundſtres yares, ad fathers witte, to paſſe ful happely. Take ptty on the mothers teares, her litle child to ſaue, He is my onely comfort left, and th'onely to I haue. ¶Bryng forth thy ſonne and aſke. COme hither child out of the dennes to mee, Thy wretched mothers lamentable ſtore, This Babe Vliſſes (loe) this Babe is hee. That ſtayeth your ſhips and feareth you ſo ſore. Submit thy ſelfe my ſonne with humble hand, And worſhip flat on ground thy mayſters feete, Thinke it no ſhame as now the caſe doth ſtand: The thing that Fortune wilth a wretche is meete, Forget thy worthy ſtocke of Kingly kynd, Thinke not on Priams great nobility, And put thy father Hector from thy mynde, Such as thy Fortune let thy ſtomacke bee, Behaue thy ſelfe as captiue bend thy Knee,