Agamemnon (Seneca's Eighth Tragedy) · chunk 24 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 · 492 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T7: hector, troy, achilles, greeks, aeneas, priam, ulysses, troilus, trojan, trojans.
the sword drew from her side, Nor to the utmost of her might it in his f●esh she thrust, But in the giving of the stroke she stayed all aghast, He as it were a bristled Boar entangled in the net Among the brears in bushy woods yet trieth out to get. wt strugling much the shrinking bands more straightly he doth bind. He strives in vain, and would slip of the snare that doth him blind. Which catcheth hold on every side. but yet then tangled wretch Doth grope about, his subtle foes with groping hand to catch. But furious Tyndaris prepared the pole-axe in her hand, And as the priest to sacrifice at Thaltar side doth stand, And views with eye the bullock's neck, ear that with axe he smite, So to and fro she heaves her hand to strike and level right. He hath the stroke: dispatched it is: not quite chopped of the head It hangeth by a little crop: here from the carcase dead The spouting blood came gushing out: and there the head doth lie, With wallowing bobling mumbling tongue: nor they do by and bye Forsake him so: the breathless coors Aegisthus doth all to coil: And mangled hath the gashed corpses: while thus he doth him spoil, She putteth to her helping hand: by detestable deed They both accord unto the kind, whereof they do proceed. Dame Helen's sister right she is, and he Thyestes son: Lo doubtful Titan standeth still the day now being done, Not knowing whether best to keep still on his wont way Or turn his wheels unto the path of dire Thyestes' day. O Thou whom of our father's death the only help we have, Fly, fly, from force of furious foes, make hast myself to save: Our house is topsey turuey tost, our stocke● is cast away, Our ruthful realms to ruin run, our kingdoms do decay. Who cometh here in Chariot swift this galloping a main? Brother, disguised in thy weed let me thy person fain. O buzzard blind what dost thou mean from foreign folk to fly? Whom dost thou shun? it doth behove to fear this family. Orestes now be bold, and set all shivering fear a side, The certain succour of a trusty friend I h●ue espied. WIth solemn pomp I Strophilus forsaking Phocis' land, Bearing a branch of palm, that grows at Elis in my hand, Returned back I am, the cause that wild me hither wend, Is with these gifts to gratify and welcome home my freynd, Whose valiyent army scaled, & shook the tattryd Trojan walls, Who wearied with the ten years' war now flat on floor she falls. What woeful wight is this that stains her mourning face with tears, And drowned deep in drowsy dumps oppressed is with fears? I know full well thys damsell i of princes lineage borne. What cause Electra hath this joyful family to mourn?
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T11 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
the swerde drew from her syde, Nor to the vtmost of her myght it in hys fesh she thrast, But in the giuing of the stroke she stayed all agast, He as it were a brystled Bore entangled in the net Among the brears in busshy woods yet tryeth out to get. wt strugling much the shrinking bands more streyghtly he doth bynd. He stryues in vayne, and wold slip of the snare that doth hym blynd. Which catcheth hold on euery syde. but yet then tangled wreatch Doth grope aboute, hys subtle foes with grypyng hand to catche. But furious Tyndaris prepard the pollax in her hande, And as the preyst to sacryfyce at Thalter syde doth stande, And vewes with eie the bullocks neck, ear that with axe he smyte, So to and fro she heaues her hand to stryke and leuell right. He hath the stroke: dispatcht it is: not quyte chopt of the hed It hangeth by a lytle crop: here from the carkas ded The spoutyng blood cam gusshing out: and there the head doth lye, With waloing bobling mūbling tong: nor they do by and bye Forsake him so: the breathles coors Aegist doth all to coyle: And mangled hath the gasshed corpes: whyle thus he doth him spoyle, She putteth to her helpyng hand: by detestable dede They both accord vnto the kynd, whereof they do proceade. Dame Helens syster ryght shee is, and he Thyestes sonne: Lo doutfull Titan standeth styll the day now being don, Not knowyng whether best to kepe styll on his wonted waye Or turne his wheles vnto the path of dyre Thiestes daye. O Thou whom of our fathers death the onely helpe we haue, Fly, fly, frō force of furious foes, make hast my selfe to saue: Our house is topsey turuey tost, our stocke is cast away, Our ruthfull realmes to ruin ronne, our kyngdomes do decaye. Who cometh here in Chariot swyft this gallopyng a mayne? Brother, dysguysed in thy wede let me thy person fayne. O bussard blynde what dost thou mean from forayn folke to flye? Whom dost thou shun? it doth behoue to feare thys famylie. Orestes now be bould, and set all shiuering fear a syde, The certayne succour of a trustye freinde I hue espyde. WIth solemne pompe I Strophilus forsakyng Phocis lande, Bearing a braūche of palme, yt growes at Elis in my hand, Returned back I am, the cause that wyld me hether wend, Is with these gyftes to gratefie and welcome home my freynd, Whose valiyent armie skalde, & shooke the tattryd Troyan walles, Who weryed with the ten years war now flat on floore she falles. What woful wight is this that staines her mourning face with teares, And drouned depe in drousy dumpes oppressed is with feares? I know full well thys damsell i of prynces lynage borne. What cause Electra hath thys ioyfull familie to mourne?