Hercules Furens (Mad Hercules) (Seneca's First Tragedy) · chunk 19 of 28
Heywood, Jasper / Seneca, Lucius Annaeus · published 1581 · first performed or written 1561 (Annals) tragedy; literary play T20 Hercules: labours, suffering and virtue typicality 0.75 · 500 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T20: hercules, hercles, ioue, deianeira, alcides, hand, lo, death, skies, hell.
Eurystheus borne with swiftened birth in haste, Did bid to bottom of the World to go: This only lacked of labours all at last, To spoil the King of third estate also. The dungeons dark to enter ventured he, Where as the way to spirits far off doth bring Full sad, and wood so black and feared to be: But full with flock full great him following. As great a press as flock in cities streets, To see the Plays of Theatre new wrought: As great as at Eléus' thunder meetcs, When summer fift the sacred game hath brought: As great as when comes hour of longer night, And willing quiet sleeps to be extent, Holds equal Libra Phoebus' Chariots light, A sort the secret Ceres do frequent, And from their howsen left do haste to come, The Attic priests the night to celebrate: Such heap is chaste beneath by fields so dumb. With age full slow some taking forth their gate Full sad, and filled with life so long now led: Some yet do run the race of better years, The virgins yet unjoined to Spouses bed, And younglings eke on whom grow yet no hears And Infant lately taught his mother's name. To these alone, (that they the less might fear) Is granted night to ease with foreborne flame. The rest full sad by dark do wander there: As is our mind, when once away is fled The light, when each man sorry feels to be Deep over whelmed with all the earth his head. Thick Chaos stands, and darkness foul to see, And colour ill of night, and slothful state Of silent World, and divers Clouds about. Let hoary age us thither bring full late. No man comes late to that, whence never out, When once he is come, turn again he may. To haste the hard and heavy Fate what veils? This wandering heap in wide lands far away, Shall go to Ghosts: and all shall give their sails too slow Cocytus all is to thee inclined, Both what the fall, and rise of son doth see: Spare us that come, to thee we death are signed: Though thou be slow, ourselves yet haste do we. first hour, that gave the life, it lost again. TO Thebes is come the joyful day, Your Altars touch ye humbly, The fat fair Sacrifices slay. Maids mixed with men in company Let them in solemn Flocks go roil: And now with yoke laid down let cease The Tillers of the fertile Soil. Made is with hand of Hercles' peace Between the morn and Hesper's Glade, And where Son holding middle seat, Doth make the Bodies cast no Shade. whatever ground is overwet With compass long of Seas about, Alcides labour taemde full well. He over fords of Tartar brought Returned appeased being Hell. There is remaining now no fear, Nought lies beyond the Hell to see. O Priest thy staring Locks of hear Wrap in with loved Poplar tree.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 842–906 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 19 of 28 in this edition
Length
500 words · 646 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T20 — Hercules: labours, suffering and virtuecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.746 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
Other seeds
seed 43: T17 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
EVryſtheus borne with ſwiftned birth in haſt, Did bid to bottome of the Worlde to go: This onely lackt of labours all at laſt, To ſpoyle the Kyng of thyrde eſtate alſo. The dongeons darke to enter ventred hee, Where as the way to ſprits farre of doth bring Full ſadde, and woode ſo blacke and fear'de to bee: But full with flocke full great him following. As great a preaſſe as flocke in cyties ſtreetes, To ſee the Playes of Theatre newe wrought: As great as at Eléus thundrer meetcs, When Sommer fift the ſacred game hath brought: As great as when comes houre of longer night, And willing quiet ſleepes to bee extent, Holdes equall Libra Phoebus Char light, A ſorte the ſecrete Ceres doe frequent, And from theyr howſen left doe haſt to comme, The Atticke prieſtes the nyghte to celebrate: Such heape is chaſte beneath by fieldes ſo dumme. With age full ſlowe ſome taking forth their gate Full ſad, and fillde with life ſo long now led: Some yet doe runne the race of better yeares, The virgins yet vnioynde to Spowſes bed, And yonglings eke on whom grow yet no heares And Infant lately taught his mothers name. To theſe alone, (that they the leſſe might feare) Is graunted night to eaſe with foreborne flame. The reſt full ſad by darke doe wander theare: As is our mynde, when once away is fled The lyght, when eche man ſorry feeles to bee Deepe ouer whelmde with all the earth his hed. Thick Chaos ſtandes, and darkneſſe fowle to ſee, And colour ill of night, and ſlouthfull ſtate Of ſilent World, and diuers Cloudes about. Let hoary age vs thyther bring full late. No man comes late to that, whence neuer out, When once hee is come, turne agayne he may. To haſt the hard and heauy Fate what vayles? This wandring heape in wyde landes farre away, Shall goe to Ghoſts: and all ſhall geue their ſayles To ſlowe Cocytus all is to thee enclinde, Both what the fall, and riſe of ſonne doth ſee: Spare vs that comme, to thee wee death are ſignde: Though thou be ſlow, our ſelues yet haſte doe wee. Fyrſt houre, that gaue the lyfe, it loaſt agayne. TO Thebes is come the ioyfull day, Your Aulters touch yee humbylly, The fat fayre Sacrifices ſlay. Maydes myxte with men in cumpany Let them in ſolempne Flockes goe royle: And nowe wyth yoake layde downe let caſe The Iillers of the fertile Soyle. Made is wyth hande of Hercles peace Betweene the morne and Heſpers Glade, And where Sonne holding myddle ſeate, Doth make the Bodyes caſte no Shade. What euer grounde is ouerweate Wyth compaſſe longe of Seas abought, Alcydes laboure taemde full well. Hee ouer foordes of Tartare brought Returnde appeaſed beeinge Hell. There is remayning nowe no feare, Nought lyes beyonde the Hell to ſee. O Prieſt thy ſtaring Lockes of heare Wrappe in wyth loued Poplar tree.