Thyestes (Seneca's Second Tragedy) · chunk 24 of 24
Heywood, Jasper / Seneca, Lucius Annaeus · published 1581 · first performed or written 1560 (Annals) tragedy T36 Hell, Furies and the language of punishm typicality 0.87 · 457 words · other edition — not in the analysis
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 guilts be small, in sight Of mine, and meet it were your pang 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 Tytius be some rent Behold a fitter pray for you, to fill yourselves upon Then are the growing guts of him: four wombs enwrapped in one. This paunch at once shall still you all: if ye 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 swinge of which Ixion still is rolled, Your books upon this glutton gorge, would catch a surer hold. Thou filthy flood of Limbo lake, and Stygian pool so dire, From chocked channel belch abroad. Thou fearful freate of fire, Spue out thy flames O Phlegethon: and overshed the ground. With vomit of thy fiery stream, let me and earth eyre drowned, Break up thou soil from bottom deep, and give thou room to hell, That night, where day, the ghosts, where Gods were wont to reign, may dwell. Why gap'st thou not? Why do you not O gates of hell unfold? Why do ye thus th'infernal fiends, so long from hence withhold? Are you likewise afraid to see, and know so wretched wight, From whom the Gods have wried their looks, & turned are to flight? O hateful head, whom heaven and hell, have shunned and left alone, The Sun, the stars, 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 flee. If needs ye must your flight prepare, and may no longer bide, But roll ye must with you forthwith, 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 rocks, 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.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 1214–1252 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 24 of 24 in this edition
Length
457 words · 617 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T36 — Hell, Furies and the language of punishmentcross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.869 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
Other seeds
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 head, that hath deſerude them well. Yee all be plagued wrongfully, your guiltes be ſmall, in ſight Of myne, and meete it were your pange on me alone ſhould light. Now thou O graundſter guiltleſſe arte, and meeter were for mee, With fleeing floud to be beguilde, and fruite of fickle tree. Thou ſlewſt thy ſonne, but I my ſonnes, alas, haue made my meate. I coulde thy famyne better beare, my paūch is now repleate With foode: and with my children three, my belly is extent. O filthy fowles and gnawyng gripes, that Tytius be ſome rent Beholde a fitter pray for you, to fill your ſelues vppone Then are the growing guts of him: foure wombes enwrapt in one. This paūche at once ſhall ſtll you all: if yee abhorre the foode, Nor may your ſelues abide to bathe, in ſuch a curſed bloode: Yet lend to me your clinching clawes, your pray a while forbeare, And with your tallons ſuffer mee, this monſtrous mawe to teare. Or whirling wheeles, with ſwinge of which Ixion ſtill is rolde, Your bookes vpon this glutten gorge, would catche a ſurer holde. Thou filthy floud of Lym bo lake, and Sygian poole ſo dyre, From chocked chanell belche abrode. Thou fearefull freate of fyre, Spue out thy flames O Phlegethon: and ouerſhed the grounde. With vomit of thy fyry ſtreame, let me and earth be drownde, Breake vp thou ſoyle from bottome deepe, and geue thou roome to hell, That night, where day, y• ghoſts, where Gods were woōt to raigne, may dwel. Why gapſt thou not? Why do you not O gates of hell vnfolde? Why do yee thus thinfernall ſtendes, ſo long from hence withholde? Are you likewyſe affrayde to ſee, and knowe ſo wretched wight, From whom the Gods haue wryde theyr lookes, & turned are to flight? O hatefull head, whom heauen and hell, haue ſhoonde and left alone, The Sunne, the ſtarres, the light, the day, the Gods, the ghoſts be goue. Yet turne agayne yee Skyes a while, ere quight yee goe fro mee, Take vengeance fyrſt on him, whoſe faulte enforceth you to flee. If needes yee muſt your flight prepare, and may no longer bide, But rolle yee muſt with you forthwt, the Gods and Sunne a ſyde, Yet ſlowly flee: that I at length, may you yet ouertake, While wandring wayes I after you, and ſpeedy iorney make. By ſeas, by lands, by woods, by rocks, in darke I wander ſhall: And on your wrath, for right rewarde to due deſrts, will call. Yee ſcape not fro me, ſo yee Gods, ſtill after you I goe, And vengeaunce aſke on wicked wight, your thunder bolte to throe.