Agamemnon (Seneca's Eighth Tragedy) · chunk 4 of 28
Seneca, Lucius Annaeus / Studley, John · published 1581 · first performed or written 1566 (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T36 Hell, Furies and the language of punishm · 530 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T36: hell, earth, gods, death, ghosts, blood, bloody, heaven, night, ghost.
O Drowsy dreaming doting soul, what cometh in thy brain To seek about for thy defence what way thou mayst attain? What ails thy skittish wayward wits, to waver up and down? The fittest shift prevented is, the best path overgrown Thou mightest once maintained have thy wedlock chamber chaste, And eke have ruled with majesty, by faith conjoined fast: Now nurture's lore neglected is, all right doth clean decay Religion and dignity with faith are worn away: And ruddy shame with blushing cheeks so far god wot is past, That when it would it cannot now come home again at last. O let me now at random run with bridle at my will: The safest path to mischief is by mischief open still Now put in practice, seek about, search out and learn to find The wily trains, and crafty guiles of wicked womankind: What any devilish traitorous dame durst do in working woe, Or any wounded in her wits by shot of Cupid's bow. whatever rigorous stepdame could commit with desperate hand, Or as the wench who flaming fast by Venus poisoning brand, Was driven by lewd incestuous love in ship of Thessail land, To flit away from Colchos isle, where Phasis channel deep. With silver stream down from the hills of Armenie doth sweep. Get weapons good, get bill-bow-blades or temper poison strong, Or with some younker trudge from Greece by theft the seas along: Why dost thou faint to talk of theft, exile or privy flight? These came by hap, thou therefore must on greater mischief light. O worthy Queen among the Greeks that bears the swinging sway. And borne of Leda's royal blood, what muttering dost thou say? What fury fell enforceth thee, bereaved of thy wits. To rage and rave with bedlam brains, to fret with frantic fits? Though madam thou do counsel keep, and not complain thy case, Thine anguish plain appeareth in thy pale and wanny face. Reveal therefore what is thy grief, take leisure good and stay, What reason could not remedy, oft cured hath delay. So grievous is my careful case which plungeth me so sore, That deal I cannot with delay, nor linger any more. The flashing flames and furious force of fiery fervent heat, Outraging in my boiling breast, my burning bones doth beat: It sucks the sappy marrow out the juice it doth convey, It frets, it tears, it rents, it gnaws, my guts and gall away. Now feeble fear still eggs me on (with dolour being priest) And cankered hate with thwacking thumps doth bounce upon my breast The blinded boy that lovers hearts doth reave with deadly stroke, Entangled hath my linked mind with lewd and wanton yoke: Refusing still to take a foil, or clean to be confound: Among these broils, and agonies my mind besieging round, Lo feeble, weary, battered down, and under trodden shame, That wrestleth, striveth, struggleth hard, and fighteth with the same. Thus am I driven to divers shores and beat from bank to bank, And tossed in the foamy floods that strives with courage crank. As when here wind, and their the stream when both their force will try,
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)
O Drowſie oreaming doting ſoule, what commeth in thy brayne To ſeeke about for thy defence what way thou mayſt attayne? What ayels thy ſkittiſh waiward wits, to wauer vp and downe? The fitteſt ſhift preuented is, the beſt path ouergrowne Thou mighteſt once mayntayned haue thy wedlocke chamber chaſt, And eake haue ruld with maieſty, by fayth conioyned faſt: Now nurtures lore neglected is, all ryght doth clean decay Religion and dignity with faith are worne away: And ruddy ſhame with bluſhing cheekes ſo farre god wot is paſt, That when it would it cannot now come home againe at laſt. O let me now at randon runne with bridle at my will: The ſafeſt path to miſchiefe is by miſchiefe open ſtill Now put in practiſe, ſeeke aboute, ſearch out and learne to find The wylie traynes, and crafty guyles of wicked womankind: What any diueliſh trayterous dame durſt do in working woe, Or any wounded in her wits by ſhot of Cupids bowe. What euer rigorous ſtepdame could commit with deſperat hand, Or as the wench who flaming faſt by Venus poyſoning brand, Was driuen by leud inceſtuous loue in ſhip of Theſſail land, To ft away from Colchos yle, where Phaſis channel deepe. With ſtiuer ſtreame downe from the hylles of Armenie doth ſweepe. Get weapons good, get bylbowblades or temper poyſon ſtrong, Or with ſome yonker trudge from Grece by theft the ſeas along: Why doſt thou faynt to talke of theft, exile or prute flight? Theſe came by hap, thou therfore muſt on greater miſchiefe light. O worthy Oueene amonge the Greekes that beares the ſwinging ſway. And borne of Ledas royall bloud, what muttring doſt thou ſay? What fury fel inforceth thee, bereaued of thy wits. To rage and raue with bedlam braynes, to fret withfranticke fittes? Though madam thou do counſayle keepe, and not complayne thy caſe, Thyne anguiſh playn appeareth in thy pale and wanny face. Reueale therfore what is thy griefe, take leaſure good and ſtay, What reaſon could not remedy, oft cured hath delay. So grieuous is my careful caſe which plungeth me ſo ſore, That deale I cannot with delay, nor linger any more. The flaſhing flames▪ and furious force of fiery feruent heate, Outraging in my boyling breſt, my burning bones doth beate: It ſuckes the ſappy marow out the iuice it doth conuay, It frets, it teares, it reuts, it gnaws, my guttes and gall away. Now feble feare ſtil egges mee on (with dolor beyng preſt) And cankred hate with thwacking thumpes doth bounce vpon my breſt The blynded boy that louers hartes doth reaue with deadly ſtroake, Entangled hath my linked mynd with leawd and wanton yoke: Refuſing ſtil to take a foyle, or cleane to be confound: Among theſe broyles, aud agonies my mynd beſeging round, Loe feble, weary, batred downe, and vnder trode ſhame, That wreſtleth, ſtriueth, ſtrugleth hard, and fighteth with the ſame. Thus am I driuen to diuers ſhores and beat frow banke to banke, And toſſed in the fomy floods that ſtriues with corage cranke. As when here wynd, and their the ſtreame when both their force wil try,