Hercules Furens (Mad Hercules) (Seneca's First Tragedy) · chunk 23 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 0.83 · 515 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.
Thou hast not son yet all performed, fill up the sacrifice. Lo th'offering doth at th'altars stand, it waits thy hand likewise With neck full prone: I give myself, I run, I follow lo. Me sacrifice. what meaneth this? his eyes roll to and fro, And heaviness doth dull his sight. see I of Hercules The trembling hands? down falls his face to sleep and quietness, And weary neck with bowed head full fast doth downward shrink, With bended knee: now all at once he down to ground doth sink, As in the woods wild Ash cut down, or Bulwark for to make A Haven in Seas. liv'st thou? or else to death doth thee betake The self same rage, that hath sent all thy family to death? It is but sleep, for to and fro doth go and come his breath. Let time be had of quietness, that thus by sleep and rest Great force of his disease subdued, may ease his grieved breast. Remove his weapons servants, lest he mad get them again. LEt th'air complain, and eke the parent great Of haughty Sky, and fertile land throughout, And wandering wave of ever moving fret. And thou before them all, which lands about And train of Sea thy beams abroad dost throw With glittering face, and mak'st the night to flee, O fervent Titan: both thy lettings lo And rising, hath Alcides seen with thee: And known likewise he hath thy howsen twain. From so great ills release ye now his breast, O God's release: to better turn again His righter mind, and thou O tamer best O sleep of toils, the quietness of mind, Of all the life of man the better part, O of thy mother Astrey winged kind, Of hard and pining death that brother art, With truth mingling the false, of after state The sure, but eke the worst foreteller yet: O Father of all things, of Life the gate, Of light the rest, of night and fellow fit, That com'st to King, and servant equally, And gently cherishest who weary be, All mankind lo that dreadful is to die, Thou dost constrain long death to learn by thee. Keep him fast bound with heavy sleep oppressed, Let slumber deep his Limbs untamed bind, Nor sooner leave his unright raging breast Then former mind his course again may find. Lo laid on ground with full fierce heart yet still His cruel sleeps he turns: and not yet is The plague subdued of so great raging ill And on great club the weary head of his He wont to lay, doth seek the staff to find With empty hands his arms out casting yet With moving vain: nor yet all rage of mind He hath laid down, but as with Southwind great The wave once vexed yet after keepeth still His raging long, and though the wind now be Assuaged swells, shake of these mad and ill tossings of mind, return let piety, And virtue to the man, else let be so His mind with moving mad tossed every way:
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 1060–1116 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 23 of 28 in this edition
Length
515 words · 656 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T20 — Hercules: labours, suffering and virtuecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.834 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
Other seeds
seed 43: T17 · seed 44: T19 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Thou haſt not ſonne yet all perform'de, fill vp the ſacrifiſe. Loe th'offring doth at th'aultars ſtande, it waytes thy hand likewyſe With necke full prone: I geue my ſelfe, I roon, I follow loe. Mee ſacrifice. what meaneth this? his eyes rolle to and froe, And heauines doth dull his ſight. ſee I of Hercules The trembling hands? downe falles his face to ſleepe and quietnes, And weary necke with bowed head full faſt doth downeward ſhrynke, With bended knee: nowe all at once he downe to ground doth ſinke, As in the woods wylde Aſhe cut downe, or Bulwarke for to make A Hauen in Seas. Liu'ſte thou? or els to death doth thee betake The ſelfe ſame rage, that hath ſent all thy famyly to death? It is but ſleepe, for to and fro doth goe and come his breath. Let tyme bee had of quietneſſe, that thus by ſleepe and reſt Great force of his diſeaſe ſubdew'de, may eaſe his greeued breſt. Remoue his weapons ſeruants, leaſt he mad get them agayne. LEt th'ayre complayne, and eke the parent great Of haughty Sky, and fertile land throughout, And wandring waue of euer mouing freat. And thou before them all, which lands about And trayn of Sea thy beames abroade doſt throe With glittring face, and mak'ſt the night to flee, O feruent Titan: bothe thy lettinges loe And ryſing, hath Alcides ſeene wyth thee: And knowne lykewiſe hee hath thy howſen twayne. From ſo great ills releaſe yee nowe hys breſt, O Gods releaſe: to better turne agayne His ryghter mynde, and thou O tamer beſt O ſleepe of toyles, the quietneſſe of mynde, Of all the lyfe of man the better parte, O of thy mother Aſtrey wynged kynde, Of hard and pyning death that brother arte, With truth mingling the falſe, of after ſtate The ſure, but eke the worſte foreteller yet: O Father of all thynges, of Lyfe the gate, Of lyght the reſt, of nyght and fellowe fyt, That com'ſt to Kyng, and ſeruaunt equally, And gently cheryſſheſt who weary bee, All mankynde loe that dreadfull is to dye, Thou dooſt conſtrayne long death to learne by thee. Keepe him faſt bounde wyth heauy ſleepe oppreſt, Let ſlomber deepe his Limmes vntamed bynde, Nor ſoner leaue his vnright raginge breaſte Then former mynd his courſe agayne may fynd. Loe layd on ground with full fieree hart yet ſtill His cruel ſleepes he turnes: and not yet is The plague ſubdude of ſo great raging yll And on great club the weary head of his He wont to laye, doth ſecke the ſtaffe to fynde VVith empty handes his armes out caſting yet VVith mouing vayne: nor yet all rage of minde He hath layd downe, but as with Sowthwind greate The waue once vxt yet after kepeth ſtill His raging long, and though the wind now bee Aſſwaged ſwelles, ſhake of theis madde and yll Toſſinges of mynde, returne let piety, And vertue to the man, els let be ſo His mynde with mouing mad toſte euery waye: