Agamemnon (Seneca's Eighth Tragedy) · chunk 5 of 28
Seneca, Lucius Annaeus / Studley, John · published 1566 · first performed or written 1566 (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T7 The Trojan war: conflict and its afterma · 530 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T7: hector, troy, achilles, greeks, aeneas, priam, ulysses, troilus, trojan, trojans.
From sands allow, doth hoist & rear the seas with surges high, The waltering wave doth staggering stand, not witting what to do, But (hovering) doubts, whose furious force he best may yield him to. My kingdom therefore I cast of, my sceptre I forsake As anger, sorrow, hope, me lead, that way I mean to take. At all adventure to the seas I yield my beaten Barge, At random careless will I run, now will I rove at large. Where as my mind to fancy fond doth gad, and run astray, It is the best to choose that chance, and follow on that way. This desperate dotage doth declare, and rashness rude and blind, To choose out chance to be the guide and ruler of thy mind. He that is driven to utter pinch, and furthest shift of all, What need he doubt his doubtful lot, or how his luck be fall? In silent shore thou sailest yet, thy trespass we may hide, If thou thyself detect it not, nor cause it be dyscryde. Alas it is more blazed abroad, and further is it blown, Then any crime that ever in this princely court was sown. Thy former fault with pensive heart and sorrow thou dost rue, And fond yet thou goest about, to set abroach anew, It is avery foolishness to keep a mean therein, The thing he fears he doth augment, who heapeth sin to sin. But fire & sword to cure the same, the place of salve supply. There is no man who at the first extremity will try. In working mischief men do take the readiest way they find. The sacred name of wedlock once revoke and have in mind, Ten years have I been desolate, and led a widows life. Yet shalt I entertayne anew my husband as his wife? Consydor yet thy son and ha●●e whom he of the begote And eke my daughters wedding blaze as yet forget I not. Achilles eke my son in law to mind I do not spare, How well he kept his vow that he to me his mother swore. When as our navy might not pass by wind, nor yet by stream, Thy daughters blood in sacrifice their passage did redeem: She stirred and broke the sluggish seas, whose water still did stand, Whose feeble force might not hoist up, the vessels from the land. I am ashamed herewith all, it maketh me repine, That Tyndaris (who from the gods doth fetch her noble line) Should give the ghost tasswage the wrath of gods and them appease, Whereby the greekish navy might have passage free by seas. My grudging mind still haps upon my daughter's wedding day, Whom he hath made for Pelops stock the blooddye rawnsam pay. When as with cruel countenance imbrued with gory blood, As at a wedding alter side thunpy●yfull parent stood, It irked Calchas woeful heart, who did abhor the same, His Oracle he rued, and eke the back reflycting flame. O wicked and ungracious stock that winnest ill with ill, Triumphing in thy filthy feats, increasing lewdness still. By blood we win the wavering winds, By death we purchase war.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
From sandes alow, doth hoyst & reare the seas with surges hye, The waltryng waue doth staggrynge stand, not wetyng what to doe, But (houeryng) doubts, whose furious force he best may yeld him to. My kyngdome therfore I cast of, my scepter I orsake As anger, sorow, hope, me lead, that way I meane to take. At all aduenture to the seas I yelde my beten Barge, At randon carelesse will I ron, now wyll I roue at large. Whear as my mynd to fancy fonde doth gad, and ron astray, It is the best to chuse that chaunce, and folow on that waye. ¶This desperate dotage doth declare, and rashnes rude and blynde, To chuse out chaunce to be the guyde and ruler of thy mynde. ¶He that is dryuen to vtter pynche, and furthest shyft of all, What neade he doubt hys doutful lot, or how hys lucke be fall? In sylent shore thou saylest yet, thy trespasse we may hyde, If thou thy selfe detect it not, nor cause it be dyscryde. ¶Alas it is more blasd abrode, and further is it blown, Then any cryme that euer in this pryncelye court was sown. ¶Thy former fault with pensiue harte and sorow thou doste rew, And fondly yet thou goest about, to set abroche anew, ¶It is auery folyshnes to kepe a meane therin, ¶The thing he feares he doth augmēt, who heapeth syn to syn. ¶But fyre & swerde to cure the same, the place of salue supplye. ¶Ther is no man who at the fyrste extremytie wyll try. ¶In workyng myschyfe men do take the redyest waye they fynd. ¶The sacred name of wedlocke once reuoke and haue in mynd, ¶Ten yeares haue I bin desolate, and led a wydowes lyfe. Yet shalt I enteraye anew my husband as hys wyfe? ¶Consydor yet thy son and hae whom he of the begot ¶And eke my doughters wedding blase as yet forget I not. Achilles eke my sonne in lawe to mynde I do not spare, Howe well he kepte hys vowe that he to me hys mother sware. ¶When as our nauye myght not passe by wynd, nor yet by stream, Thy doughters blood in sacryfyce theyr passage did redeme: She sturd and brake the sluggysh seas, whose water styll dyd stand, Whose feble force myght not hoyse vp, the vessells from the land. ¶ I am ashamed herewith all, it maketh me repyne, That Tyndaris (who from the gods doth fetche her noble lygne) Shold gyue the ghost tasswage ye wrath of gods and them appeas, Wherby the grekyshe nauye myght haue passage free by seas. My grudgyng mynd styll harpes vpon my daughters weddyng daye, Whom he hath made for Pelops stocke the blooddye rawnsam paye. When as with cruell countenaunce embrewd wyth gorye blood, As at a weddyng alter syde thunpyyfull parent stood, It erkd Calchas wofull harte, who dyd abhor the same, His Oracle he rewd, and eake the backe reflyctyng flame. O wycked and vngracyous stocke that winnest ill with ill, Tryumphyng in thy fylthy feats, encreasyng lewdnes styll. By blood we win ye wauering windes, By death we purchase warr.