Agamemnon (Seneca's Eighth Tragedy) · chunk 15 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 · 478 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.
The mariners letting duty slip stand staring all aghast, Their scoping oars suddenly out of their hands are wrest. To prayer then apace we fall, when other hope is none, The Greeks and Trojans to the Gods alike do make their moan. Alack what succour of the fates may we poor wretches find? Against his father Pyrrhus bears a spiteful cankered mind, At Ajax's grudge Ulysses doth, king Menela doth hate Great Hector: Agamemnon is with Priam at debate. O happy man is he that doth lie slain in Trojan ground, And hath deserved by handy stroke to take his fatal wound, Whom fame preserveth, taking up his tomb in conquered land Those momes whose melting cowards heart durst never take in hand Or enterprise no noble act, those force of floods shall drown But fate forbearing long, will take stout Brutes of high renown, Full well we may ashamed be, in such a sort to die, If any man his spiteful mind yet can not satisfy, With these outrageous plunging plagues that down from Gods are sent, Appease at length thy wrathful God again and take relent. even Troy for pity would have wept, to see our woeful case, But if that in thy boiling breast black rancour still have place, And that the Greeks to ruin run, it be thy purpose bent, Why do these Trojans go to wrack? for whom thus are we spent? Assuage the rigour of the sea that threatening hills up rears: This drenched Fleet the Trojan folk and Greeks together bears. Then from their prayers are they put, their faltering tongues do stay, The roaring seas doth drown their voice and caries their cries away. Then mighty Pallas armed with the leaping lightning sire, That tasty Ioue doth use to hurl provoked to swelling ire, With threatening javelin in her hand, her prowess means to try. And eke her force whose boiling breast with Gorgon fits doth fry, Or what with Target she can do, and with her Father's fire. Then from the Skies another storm begins abroad to spire, But Ajax nothing yet dismayed all force withstandeth stout, Whom when he spread his swelling sails with Cable stretched out, She lighting down did wring him hard, and wrapped him in her flame, And flung another flashing dint of lightning on the same, With all her force and violence her hand brought back again, She tossed him out, as late that feat her father taught her plain. Both over Ajax and his Pup she flieth overthwart, And renting man and ship, of both she bears away a part, His courage nought abated yet he all to singed doth seem, Even like a stubborn ragged Rock amid the striving stream, He trains along the roaring seas and eke the waltering wave By shoving on his burly breast in sunder quite he drove,
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 680–723 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 15 of 28 in this edition
Length
478 words · 628 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T7 — The Trojan war: conflict and its aftermathcross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.831 (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)
The mareners letting duty ſlip ſtand ſtaring all agaſt, Their ſcoping ores ſodaynly out of their handes are wraſt. To prayer then apace we fall, when other hope is none, The Greekes and Troyans to the Gods alyke do make their mone. Alacke what ſuccour of the fates may wee poore wretches fynd? Agaynſt his father Pyrhus beares a ſpyteful cankred mynd, At Ayax grudge Vliſſes doth, king Menela doth hate Great Hector: Agamemnon is with Priam at debate. O happy man is he that doth lye ſlayne in Troyan ground, And hath deſerude by handy ſtroake to take his fatall wound, Whom ſame preſerueth, taking vp his tombe in conquerd land Thoſe momes whoſe melting cowardes hart durſt neuer take in hand Or enterpriſe no noble acte, thoſe force of foods ſhall drowne But fate forbearing long, wil take ſtoute Brutes of high renoume, Ful wel we may aſhamed be, in ſuch a ſort to dye, If any man his ſpyteful mynd yet can not ſatiſfye, With theſe outragious plunging plagues that downe frō Gods are ſēt, Appeaſe at length thy wrathful God agayne and take relent. Euen Troy for pity would haue wept, to ſee our woefull caſe, But if that in thy boyling breaſt black rancour ſtill haue place, And that the Greekes to ruin run, it bee thy purpoſe bent, Why doe theſe Troyans goe to wrack? for whom thus are wee ſpent? Aſſwage the rygaur of the ſea that threarning hilles vp reares: This drenched Fleete the Troyan folke and Greekes together beares. Then from theyr prayers are they put, theyr foultring tonges doe ſtay, The roring ſeas doth drowne their voyce and caryes their cries away. Then mighty Pallas armed with the lepping lightning ſyre, That teaſty Ioue doth vſe to hurle prouokt to ſwelling yre, With threatning Iaueling in her hand, her proweſſe meanes to try. And eke her force whoſe boyling breaſt with Gorgon fits doth fry, Or what with Target ſhe can doe, and with her Fathers fyre. Then from the Skyes another ſtorme begins abroade to ſpyre, But Aiax nothing yet diſmaide all force withſtandeth ſtout, Whom when hee ſpred his ſwelling ſayles with Cable ſtretched out, She lighting downe did wryng him hard, and wrapt him in her flame, And ſlang another flaſſhing dint of lightning on the ſame, With all her force and violence her hand brought back agayne, She toſt him out, as late that feate her father tought her playne. Both ouer Aiax and his Pup ſhe flyeth ouerthwart, And renting man and ſhyp, of both ſhee beares away a part, His corage nought abated yet hee all to ſingde doth ſeeme, Euen like a ſlubberne ragged Rocke amid the ſtriuing ſtreame, Hee traynes along the roaring ſeas and eke the waltering waue By ſhouing on his bourly breaſt in ſunder quite he draue,