Thyestes (Seneca's Second Tragedy) · chunk 24 of 24
Heywood, Jasper / Seneca, Lucius Annaeus · published 1560 · first performed or written 1560 (Annals) tragedy T36 Hell, Furies and the language of punishm typicality 0.86 · 457 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T36: hell, earth, gods, death, ghosts, blood, bloody, heaven, night, ghost.
Now fall upon this hateful head, that hath deserved them well. Ye all be plagued wrongfully, your gylts be small, in sight Of mine, and meet it were your pangs on me alone should light. Now thou O grandsire guiltless art, and meeter were for me, With fleeing flood to be beguiled, and fruit of fickle tree. Thou slewst thy son, but I my sons, alas have made my meat. I could thy famine better bear, my paunch is now replete With food: and with my children three, my belly is extent. O filthy fowls and gnawing gripes, that Tityus' bosom reut Behold a fit pray for you, to fill yourselves upon Then are the growing guts of him: four wombs enwrapped in one. This paunch at ones shall fill you all: yfye abhor the food, Nor may yourselves abide to bathe, in such a cursed blood: Yet lend to me your clinching claws, your prey a while forbear, And with your talons suffer me, this monstrous maw to tear. Or whirling wheels, with swinging of which Ixion still is rolled, Your hooks upon this glutted gorge, would catch a surer hold. Thou filthy flood of Lymb●… lake, and Stygian pool so dire, From choked channel belch abroad. thou fearful fret of fire, Spew out thy flames O Phlegeton: and over shed the ground. With vomit of thy fiery stream, let me and earth be drowned. Break up thou soil from bottom deep, and give thou room to hell, That night, where day, that ghosts, were gods were wont to reign, may dwell. Why gapste thou not? Why do you not O gates of hell unfold? Why do ye thus thinfernal fiends, so long from hens withhold? Are you likewise afraid to see, and know so wretched wight, From whom the gods have wried their looks, and turned are to flight? O hateful head, whom heaven and hell, have shunned and left alone, The Sun, the Starts, the light, the day, the Gods, the ghosts be gone. Yet turn again ye Skies a while, ere quite ye go fro me, Take vengeance first on him, whose fault enforceth you to f●…. If needs ye must yo●… flight prepare, and may no lenget bide, But roll ye must with you forth with, the Gods and Sun a side, Yet slowly flee: that I at length, may you yet overtake, While wandering ways I after you, and speedy journey make. By seas, by lands, by woods, by rockꝭ, in dark I wander shall: And on your wrath, for right reward●… to due deserts, will call. ye scape not fro me so ye Gods, still after you I go, And vengeance ask on wicked wight, your thunder bolt to throw.
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)
Now fall vppon this hatefull hed, that hathe deserude them well. Ye all be plagued wrongfully, your gylts be small, in sight Of myne, and meete it were your pangs on me alone should light. Now thou O grandsier giltles arte, and meeter were for me, With fleeyng floud to be beguilde, and frute of fickle tree. Thou slewst thy son, but I my sons, alas haue made my meate. I coulde thy famyne better beare, my panche is now repleate With foode: and with my children three, my belly is extent. O filthy fowles and gnawyng gripes, that Tityus bosome reut Beholde a fitter pray for you, to fill your selues vppone Then are the growyng gutts of him: foure wombes enwrapt in one. This panche at ones shall fill you all: yfye abhorre the foode, Nor may your selues abide to bathe, in suche a cursed bloode: Yet lend to me your clinchyng clawes, your pray a while forbeare, And with your tallons suffer me, this monstrous mawe to teare. Or whirlyng wheeles, with swynge of whiche Ixion still is rolde, Your hookes vppon this glutted gorge, woulde catche a surer holde. Thou filthy floud of Lymb lake, and Stygian poole so dyre, From choaked chanell belche abrode. thou ferfull freate of fyre, Spue out thy flames O Phlegethon: and ouer shed the grounde. With vomite of thy fyrye streame, let me and earth be drownde. Breake vp thou soyle from botome deepe, and geue thou roome to hell, That night, where day, that ghosts, were gods were woont to raigne, may dwell. Why gapste thou not? Why do you not O gates of hell vnfolde? Why do ye thus thynfernall feendes, so long from hens withholde? Are you likewyse affrayde to see, and knowe so wretched wight, From whome the godds haue wryde theyr lookes, and turned are to flight? O hatefull hed, whom heauen and hell, haue shoonde and lefte alone, The Sun, the Starts, the light, the day, the Godds, the ghosts be gone. Yet turne agayne ye Skyes a whyle, ere quight ye goe fro me, Take vengeance fyrst on him, whose faulte enforceth you to f. If needes ye must yo flight prepare, and may no lenget byde, But rolle ye must with you foorth with, the Goddes and Sun a syde, Yet slowly flee: that I at lengthe, may you yet ouertake, While wandryng wayes I after you, and speedy iorney make. By seas, by lands, by woods, by rockꝭ, in darke I wander shall: And on your wrathe, for right reward to due deserts, wyll call. ye scape not fro me so ye Godds, still after you I goe, And vengeance aske on wicked wight, your thunder bolte to throe.