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 · 514 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T7: hector, troy, achilles, greeks, aeneas, priam, ulysses, troilus, trojan, trojans.
Alas what cruel, dire and ireful dealer of the doom. What god unjust doth so divide, the captives to their lords? What grievous arbiter is he? that to such choice accords, What cruel hand to wretched folk, so evil fates hath cast? Who hath among Achilles armour, Hector's mothers placed? Now am I captive, and beset with all calamity. My bondage grieves me not, but him to serve it shameth me. He that Achilles' spoils hath won, shall Hector's also have: Shall barren land enclosed with seas receive my bones in grave? Lead me Ulysses where thou wilt, lead me. I make no stay, My master I, and me my fates, shall follow every way. Let never calm come to the seas, but let them rage with wind, Come fire and sword, mine own mischance and Priam's let me find. In mean time haps this deep distress my cares can know no calm: I ran the race with Priamus, but he hath won the Palm, But Pyrrhus comes with swiftened pace & threatening brows doth wrest. What stay'st thou Pyrrhus? strike thy sword now through this woeful breast. And both at ones the parents of thy father's wife now slay, Murderer of age, likes thee her blood? he draw my daughter away Defile the gods and stain the sprights, of hell with slaughtered blood, To ask your mercy what avails? our prayers do no good. The vengeance ask I on your ships, that it the gods may pleas, According to this sacrifice, to guide you on the seas. This wish I to your thousand sails, God's wrath light on them all, Even to the ship that beareth me, whatever may befall. A Comfort is to man's calamity A doleful flock of fellows in distress. And sweet to him that mourns in misery To hear them wail whom sorrows like oppress In deepest care his grief him bites the less, That his estate bewails not all alone, But seeth with him the tears of many one. For still it is the chief delight in woe, And joy of them that sunk in sorrows are, To see like fates by fall to many more, That may take part of all their woeful fare, And not alone to be oppressed with care. There is no wight of woe that doth complain, When all the rest do like mischance sustain. In all this world if happy man were none, None (though he were) would think himself a wretch. Let once the rich with heaps of Gold be gone, Whose hundred head his pastors overreach, Then would the poor man's heart begin to stretch. There is no wretch whose life him doth displease, But in respect of those that live at ease. Sweet is to him that stands in deep distress, To see no man in joyful plight to be, Whose only vessel wind and wave oppress, Full sore his chance bewails and weary he, That with his own none other's wrack doth see When he alone makes shipwreck one the sand, And naked falls to long desired land.
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)
Alas what cruell▪ dyre and yrefull dealer of the dome. What god vniuſt doth ſo deuide, the captiues to their lordes? What grieuous arbiter is he? that to ſuch choyce accordes, What cruel hand to wretched folke, ſo euil faes hath caſte? Who hath amonge Achilles armour, Hectors mothers plaſte? Now am I captiue, and beſet with all calamitie. My bondage grieues me not, but him to ſerue it ſhameth mee. He that Achilles ſpoyles hath won, ſhall Hectors alſo haue: Shall barraine lande encloſde with ſeas receiue my boanes in graue? Leade me Vlyſſes where thou wylt, leade me. I make no ſtay, My maſter I, and me my fates, ſhall follow euery way. Let neuer calme come to the ſeas, but let them rage with winde, Come fire and ſword, mine owne miſchaunce and Priams let me finde. In meane time haps this deepe diſtres my cares can know no calme: I ran the race with Priamus, but he hath won the Palme, But Pyrrhus comes with ſwiftned pace & thretning browes doth wreſt. What ſtayſte thou Pyrrhus? ſtrike thy ſword now through this woful brest. And both at ones the parents of thy fathers wife now ſlay, Murderer of age, likes thee her bloud? he draw my daughter away Defile the gods and ſtaine the ſprights, of hel with ſlaughtred bloud, To aſke your mercy what auayles? our prayers do no good. The vengeance aſke I on your ſhips, that it the gods may pleas, According to this ſacrifice, to guide you on the ſeas. This wiſhe I to your thouſand ſayles, Gods wrath light on them all, Euen to the ſhip that beareth me, what euer may befall. A Comfort is to mans calamity A dolefull flocke of felowes in diſtres. And ſweete to him that mournes in miſerie To here them wayle whom ſorowes like oppre In deepeſt care his griefe him bites the les, That his eſtate bewayles not all alone, But ſeeth with him the teares of many one. For ſtill it is the chiefe delight in woe, And ioy of them that ſonke in ſorrowes are, To ſee like fates by fall to many moe, That may take part of all their wofull fare, And not alone to be oppreſt with care. There is no wight of woe that doth complayne, When all the reſt do like miſchaunce ſuſtayne. In all this world if happy man were none, None (though he were) would thinke himſelfe awretch. Let once the ritch with heapes of Gold be gone, Whoſe hundred head his paſtours ouerretch, Then would the poore mans hart begin to ſtretch. There is no wretch whoſe life him doth diſpleaſe, But in reſpect of thoſe that liue at eaſe. Sweete is to him that ſtandes in deepe diſtreſſe, To ſee no man in ioyful plight to bee, Whoſe onely veſſel wind and waue oppreſſe, Ful ſore his chaunce bewayles and weepeth hee, That with his owne none others wracke doth ſee When he alone makes ſhipwracke one the ſand, And naked falles to long deſyred land.