The Brazen Age (The Age of Brass) · chunk 14 of 40
Heywood, Thomas · published 1613 · first performed or written 1611 [1610-1611] (Annals) classical legend or myth · Queen Anne's Men T20 Hercules: labours, suffering and virtue typicality 0.83 · 503 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T20: hercules, hercles, ioue, deianeira, alcides, hand, lo, death, skies, hell.
For fair Atlanta, and your Honours, Lords We banquet you this day: and to begin Our festivals we'll crown this jovial health Unto our brother, Theban Hercules And Deianeira, will you pledge it Lords? None but admire and love their matchless worths, Not fair Atlanta will refuse this health. You beg of me a pledge, I'll take it lason, As well for his sake that begins the round, As those to whom 'tis vowed. Well spoke Atlanta, but I wonder Lords What Province now holds Theban Hercules? He is the mirror and the pride of Greece, And shall in after ages be renowned, But we forget his health, come Telamon Aim it at me. Assist my rage you stern Eumenides, To you this black deed will I consecrate. Pity away, hence thou consanguine love, Maternal zeal, parental piety. All cares, loves, duties, offices, affections, That grow 'tween sons and mothers, leave this place; Let none but furies, murders, parricides, Be my assistants in this damned attempt: All that's good and honest, I confine, Black is my purpose; Hell my thoughts are thine. To bright Atlanta this loud music sowed, Her health shall with our loftiest strains be crowned. Drink, quaff, be blithe; oh how this festive joy Stirs up my fury to revenge and death, Thus, thus, (you Gods above, abject your eyes From this unnatural act) the murderer dies. Oh, oh. My Lord. I burn, I burn. What sudden passion's this? The flames of hell, and Pluto's sightless fires, Are through my entrails and my veins dispersed, oh! My Lord take courage. Courage Telamon? I have a heart dares threat or challenge hell, A brow front heaven; a hand to challenge both: But this my pain's beyond all human sufferance, Or mortal patience. What hast thou done Althaea? stay thy fury, And bring not these strange torments on thine own Thou hast too much already, back my hand, And save his life as thou conserv'st this brand. How cheers the warlike Prince of Calidon? Well now, I am at ease and peace within, Whither's my torture fled? that with such suddenness Hath freed me from disturbance, were we ill? Come sit again to banquet, music sound, Till this to Deianeira's health go round. Shall mirth and joy crown his degenerate head? Whilst his cold Uncles on the earth lie spread? No, wretched youth whilst this hand can destroy, I'll cut thee off in midst of all thy joy. Again, Again. Burn, perish, waste, fire, sparkle, and consume And all thy vital spirits fly with this fume. still, still, there is an Aetna in my bosom The flames of Styx, and fires of Acheron Are from the black Chimerian shades removed, And fixed here, here; oh for Euenus' flood, Or some cool stream, to shoot his currents through My flaming body, make thy channel here Thou mighty flood that streamest through Calidon And quench me, all you springs of Thessaly Remove your heads, and fix them in my veins To cool me, oh!
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)
For faire Atlanta, and your Honours, Lords We banquet you this day: and to beginne Our festiuals we'le crowne this Iouiall health Vnto our brother, Theban Hercules And Deyaneira, will you pledge it Lords? None but admire and loue their matchlesse worths, Not faire Atlanta will refuse this health. You beg of mee a pledge, I'le take it lason, As well for his sake that beginnes the round, As those to whom 'tis vow'd. Well spoke Atlanta, but I wonder Lords What Prouince now holds Theban Hercules? He is the mirrour and the pride of Greece, And shall in after ages be renoun'd, But we forget his health, come Tellamon Aime it at mee. Assist my rage you sterne Eumenides, To you this blacke deed will I consecrate. Pitty away, hence thou consanguine loue, Maternall zeale, peccentall piety. All cares, loues, duties, offices, affections, That grow 'tweene sonnes and mothers, leaue this place; Let none but furies, murders, paracides, Be my assistants in this dam'd attempt: All that's good and honest, I confine, Blacke is my purpose; Hell my thoughts are thine. To bright Atlanta this loud musicke sown'd, Her health shall with our loftiest straines be crown'd. Drinke, quaffe, be blith; oh how this festiue ioy Stirs vp my fury to reuenge and death, Thus, thus, (you Gods aboue, abiect your eies From this vnnaturall act) the murderer dies. Oh, oh. My Lord. I burne, I burne. What suddaine passion's this? The flames of hell, and Pluto's fightlesse fires, Are through my entrals and my veines dispierst, oh! My Lord take courage. Courage Tellamon? I haue a heart dares threate or challenge hell, A brow front heauen; a hand to challenge both: But this my paine's beyond all humane sufferance, Or mortall patience. What hast thou done Althea? stay thy fury, And bring not these strange torments on thine owne Thou hast too much already, backe my hand, And saue his life as thou conferust this brand. How cheeres the warlike Prince of Calidon? Well now, I am at ease and peace within, Whither's my torture fled? that with such suddennesse Hath freed me from disturbance, were we ill? Come sit againe to banquet, musicke sownd, Till this to Deyaneiraes health go round. Shall mirth and ioy crowne his degenerate head? Whilst his cold Vnkles on the earth lie spread? No, wretehed youth whilst this hand can destroy, I'le cut thee off in midst of all thy ioy. Againe, Againe. Burne, perish, wast, fire, sparkle, and consume And all thy vitall spirits flie with this fume. still, still, there is an Aetna in my bosome The flames of Stix, and fires of Acheron Are from the blacke Chimerian shades remou'd, And fixt heere, heere; oh for Euenus floud, Or some coole streame, to shoote his currents through My flaming body, make thy channell heere Thou mighty floud that streamest through Calidon And quench me, all you springs of Thessaly Remoue your heads, and fixe them in my veines To coole me, oh!