Agamemnon (Seneca's Eighth Tragedy) · chunk 20 of 28
Seneca, Lucius Annaeus / Studley, John · published 1566 · first performed or written 1566 (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T36 Hell, Furies and the language of punishm · 499 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T36: hell, earth, gods, death, ghosts, blood, bloody, heaven, night, ghost.
The sacred Phoebus' prophet is with sudden silence hushed: A quaking trembling shivering fear throughout her limbs hath rushed: Her face as pale as ashes is, her fillets stand upright, The soft and gentle goldilocks start up of her affrigyt. Her panting breathing breast stuffed up within doth grunt and groan. Her glaring bright and steaming eyes are hither and thither throwne● Now glancing up & down they roll: now standing stiff they stare. she stretcheth up her head more straight then commonly she bore, Bolt up she goes, her wrestling jaws that fast together cling, She doth attempt by divers means, on sunder how to wring. Her mombling words in gambling mouth shut up she doth assuage, As Menas mad that Bacchus' ears doth serve in furious rage. How doth it hap (o sacred tops of high Parnassus' hill) That me be rapt of since, with pricks of fury fresh ye fill? Why do you me with ghost inspire, that am beside my wits? O Phoebus none of thine I am, release me from the fits: Infixed in my burning breasts the flames extinguish out, Who forceth me with fury fell to gad and trot about? Or for whose sake inspired with sprite mad mombling make must I? Why play I now the prophet cold, sith Troy in dust doth lie? The day doth shrink for dread of war, the night doth dim mine eyes. With mantel black of darkness deep clean covered is the skies: But lo two shining Suns at one● in heaven appeareth bright, Two Grecian houses muster do their armies twain to fight. Among the mighty Goddesses in Ida woods I see, The fatal shepherd in his throne as umpire placed to be: I do advise you to beware, beware (I say) of kings, (A kindred in whose cankered hearts old privy grudges springs) That country clown Aegisthus he this stock shall overthrow, What doth this foolish desperate dame her naked weapons show? Whose crown intendeth she to crack in weed of Lacon land, With hatchet (by the Amazons invented first) in hand? What face of mighty majesty bewitched hath mine eyes? The conqueror of salvage beasts Marmarick Lion lies, Whose noble neck is worried with currysh fang and tooth The churlish snaps of eager Lioness abide he doth. Alac ye ghosts of all my friends why should ye say that I, Among the rest am only safe, from perils far to lie? Fain father follow thee I would, Troy being laid in dust. O brother terror of the Greeks, O Trojans aid and trust. Our ancient pomp I do not see, nor yet thy warmed hands, (That fierce on greekish flaming fleet did fling the fiery brands) But mangled members, scorched corpse, and eke thy valiant arms, Hard pinioned and bound in bands sustaining grievous harms: O Troilus, a match unfit encountering with Achilles (That mighty man of arms) to soon come unto the I will. I do delight, to sail with them
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)
¶ The sacred Phaebus prophet is with sodaine sylence husht: A quakyng tremblyng shiueryng fear throughout her lymbs hath rusht: Her face as pale as asshes is, her fillits stand vpryght, The soft and gentle goldilocks starte vp of her affrigyt. Her panting breathing brest stuft vp within doth grunt and grone. Her glaring bryght and steaming eies are hether and thyther throwne Now glaūcyng vp & downe they roll: now standyng styffe they stare. she stretcheth vp her head more streight then commenly she bare, Bolt vp she goes, her wrastling iawes that fast together clinge, She doth attempt by dyuers meanes, on sonder how to wringe. Her mōbling words in gabling mouth shut vp she doth asswage, As Menas mad that Bacchus ares doth serue in furious rage. ¶How doth it hap (o sacred tops of hyghe Parnassus hyll) That me be rapt of sens, with pricks of fury fresh ye fill? Why do you me with ghost inspyre, that am besyde my wits? O Phaebus none of thyne I am, releas me from the fyts: Infixed in my burnyng brestes the flames extinguysh out, Who forceth me with fury fell to gad and trot about? Or for whose sake inspird with spryte mad momblyng make must I? Why play I now the prophet cold, syth Troy in dust doth lye? The day doth shrinke for dread of war, the nyght doth dym myne eyes. With mantell black of darknes depe cleane couerd is the skyes: But loe two shynyng Sunnes at one in heauen appereth bryght, Two Grecian howses muster do their armies twaine to fyght. Amonge the myghty Goddesis in Ida woods I see, The fatall shepherd in hys throne as vmpier plast to bee: I do aduise you to beware, beware (I say) of kynges, (A kyndred in whose cancred hartes olde pryuy grudges sprynges) That cuntrey clowne Aegisthus he this stock shall ouerthrowe, What doth this folish despret dame her naked wepons showe? Whose crowne entendeh she to crack in weede of Lacon lande, With hatchet (by the Amazons inuented fyrst) in hand? What face of myghty maiestie bewitched hath myne eyes? The conquerour of saluage beastes Marmarick Lyon lyes, Whose noble necke is wurried with currysh fange and tooth The churlysh snappes of eger Lionesse abyde he dooth. Alac ye gostes of all my frendes why should ye say that I, Among the rest am onle safe, from perils far to lye? Fayne father folow thee I wold, Troy beyng layd in dust. O brother terrour of the Grekes, O Troyans ayd and trust. Our auncient pomp I do not see, nor yet thy warmed handes, (That ferce on grekish flaminge flete dyd flyng the fyry brandes) But māgled mēbers, schorched corps, and eake thy valyant armes, Harde piniond and bound in bandes sustaynyng greuous harmes: O Troylus, a match vnfit encounteryng with Achill (That myghtye man of armes) to sone com vnto the I wyll. I do delyght, to sayle with them