Agamemnon (Seneca's Eighth Tragedy) · chunk 6 of 28
Seneca, Lucius Annaeus / Studley, John · published 1581 · first performed or written 1566 (Annals) tragedy T7 The Trojan war: conflict and its afterma typicality 0.83 · 480 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T7: hector, troy, achilles, greeks, aeneas, priam, ulysses, troilus, trojan, trojans.
But by this means a thousand ships at once released are: With lucky fate attempt the seas did not the losed rout? For Aulis I'll, th'ungracious fleet from port did tumble out: As with a lewd unlucky hand the war he did begin, So Fortune favoured his success to thrive no more therein. Her love as captive holdeth him whom captive he did take Not moved with the earnest suit that could Achilles make, Of Phoebus prelate sminthical he did retain the spoil: When for the sacred virgins love his furious dreast doth boil: Achilles rough and thundering threats could not him qualify. Nor he that doth direct the fates above the starry sky. To us he is an Augur just, and keeps his promise due, But while he threats his captive trulls of word he is not true. The savage people fierce in wrath once might not move his sprite, Who did purloin the kindled tents with fire blazing bright: When slaughter great on Greeks was made in most extremest fight Without a foe he conquered, with leans pines away, In lewd and wanton chamber tricks he spends the idle day, And freshly still he feeds his lust, lest that some other while His chamber chaste should want a stews, that might the same defile. On Lady Brise's love again his fancy fond doth stand, Whom he hath got, that wrested was out of Achilles' hand. And carnal copulation to have he doth. not shame, Though from her husband's bosom he hath snatched the wicked dame, Tush, he that doth at Paris grudge, with wound but newly stroke inflamed with Phrygian Prophets love, his boiling breast doth smoke. Now after Trojan booties brave, and Troy o'erwhelmed he saw, Returned he is a prisoners spouse, and Priam's son in law. Now heart be bold, take courage good, of stomach now be stout, A field that easily is not fought, to pitch thou goest about. In practice mischief thou must put, why hopest thou for a day, While Priam's daughter come from Troy in Greece do bear the sway. But as for the poor silly wretch, a waiteth at thy place Thy widow, virgins, and Orest his fatherlike in face, Consider their calamities, to come, and cake their cares, Whom all the peril of the broil doth threat in thy affairs. O cursed captive, woeful wretch why dost thou loiter so? Thy little brats a stepdame have whose wrath will work their woe. With gashing sword (and if thou can none other way provide), Nor thrust it through another's ribs then launch thy gory side, So murder twain with brewed blood, let blood immixed be, And by destroying of thyself destroy thy spouse with thee. Death is not sawst with sops of Sorrow if some man else I have, Whose breathless corpse I wish to pass with me to deadly grave.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 246–289 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 6 of 28 in this edition
Length
480 words · 639 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T7 — The Trojan war: conflict and its aftermathcross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.832 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
Other seeds
seed 43: T12 · seed 44: T11 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
But by this meanes a thouſand ſhips at once releaſed are: With lucky fate attempt the ſeas did not the loſed rout? For Aulis Ile, th'ungracious fleete from port did tumble out: As with a lewde vnlucky hand the warre he did beginne, So Fortune fauored his ſucceſſe to thriue no more therin. Her loue as captiue holdeth him whom captiue he did take Not moued with the earneſt ſuite that could Achilles make, Of Phoebus prelat Sminthicall he did retayne the ſpoyle: When for the ſacred virgins loue his furious dreaſt doth boyle: Achilles rough and thundring threats could not him qualify. Nor he that doth direct the fates aboue the ſtarry ſkye. To vs he is an Augur iuſte, and keepes his promiſe due, But while he threats his captiue truls of word he is not true. The ſauage people fierce in wrath once might not moue his ſpright, Who did purloyne the kindled tentes with fyer blaſing bryght: When ſlaughter great on Greekes was made in moſt extreameſt fyght Without a foe he conquered, with leanes pines awaye, In lewd and wantōn chamber trickes he ſpends the idle day, And freſhly ſtill he fedes his luſt, leaſt that ſome other while His chamber chaſt ſhould want a ſtewes, that might the ſame defile. On Lady Briſes loue ag aine his fancy fonde doth ſtand, Whom he hath got, that wreſted was out of Achilles hand. And carnal copulation to haue he doth. not ſhame, Though from her huſbands boſome he hath ſnacht the wicked dame, Tuſhe, he that doth at Paris grudge, with wound but newly ſtroke Eflamd with Phrygian Prophets loue, his boyling breſt doth ſmoke. Now after Troyan boties braue, and Troy orewhelm'd he ſaw, Retourned he is a pryſoners ſpouſe, and Pryams ſonne in law. Now heart be bold, take corage good, of ſtomacke now be ſtowt, A field that eaſely is not fought, to pitch thou goeſt about. In practiſe miſchiefe thou muſt put, why hopſt thou for a day, While Priams daughter come from Troy in Grece do beare the ſway. But as for the poore ſely wreth, a wayteth at thy place Thy wyddow, virgyns, and Oreſt his fatherlyke in face, Conſyder theyr calamityes, to come, and cake their cares, Whom all the peril of the broyle doth threat in thy affayres. O curſed captiue, woful wretch why doſt thou loyter ſo? Thy little brats a ſtepdame haue whoſe wrath wil worke their wo. With gaſhing ſword (and if thou can none other way prouide), Nor thruſt it through anothers ribbes then launch thy gory ſyde, So murther twayne with brewed bloud, let bloud immixed be, And by deſtroying of thy ſelfe deſtroy thy ſpouſe with thee. Death is not ſawſt with ſoppes of Sorrow if ſome man els I haue, Whoſe breathleſſe corſe I wiſh to paſſe with me to deadly graue.