Agamemnon (Seneca's Eighth Tragedy) · chunk 18 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 · 491 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.
By being stoutly overcome, and hardly pulled down. Years five & five did Troy resist, that yet hereafter must, In one night's space by destiny he laid in the dust. Their feigned gifts well have we tried that huge and fatal gin, We light of credit, with our own right hand have haled in, That fatal gift of Greeks: what time at entry of the gap The hugy horse did shivering stand, where in the in selves did wrap The captains close, in hollow vaults with bloody war yfreight. When lawfully we might have tried, and searched their deceit: So by their own contrived snares the grekes had been confound: The brazen bucklers being shook did give a clattering sound. A privy whispering often times came tickling in our ear. And Pyrrhus (in a murrain's name so ready for to hear. The crafty council picked out of false Ulysses' brain,) Did tangle in the hallow vaults that range thereof again. But fearing and suspecting nought the heady youth of Troy Laid hands upon the sacred ropes, to hale and pull with joy, On this side young Astyanax came guarded with his train, On th'other part Polyxena disponed to be slain Upon Achilles' tomb, she comes with maids, and he with men, A jolly flock with equal years as young as they were then. Their vowed oblations to the gods in holy day attire, The matrons bring and so to church repaireth every sire. And all the city did alike, yea Hecuba our queen (That since the woeful Hector's death or now was never sene) She merry is: O grief accursed, of all thy sorrows deep For which that first, or last befell intendest thou to weep? Our battered walls which heavenly hands erected have and framed? Or else the burning temples which upon their Idols flamed? Lamenting these calamities we have not time and space, O mighty parent Priam we poor Trojans wail thy case. The old man's thrattling throat I saw, (alas) I saw aboard With cruel Pyrrhus' blade, that scant with any blood was gored: Refrain your tears that down your cheeks should trickle evermore With woeful wailings piteously your private friends deplore My miseries refuse a mate, so much accursed as I: To rue my careful case, refrain your lamentable cry. As for mine own distress to mourn, I shall suffice alone. To mingle tears with other tears it doth us good to moan: In those the burning teary streams more ardently do boil, Whom secret thoughts of lurking cares in privy breast turmoil: Though that thou were a gossip stout, that brook much sorrow may I warrant thee, thou mightest well, lament this sore decay, Not sad and solemn Aedon that in the woods doth sing Her sugared Ditties finely tuned on sweet and pleasant string: Recording Iris' woeful hap in divers kind of note, Whom Progne though he were her child and of her womb begot,
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 820–866 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 18 of 28 in this edition
Length
491 words · 666 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T7 — The Trojan war: conflict and its aftermathcross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.835 (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)
By being ſtoutly ouercome, and hardly pulled downe. Yeares fyue & fyue did Troy reſiſe, that yet muſt, In one nyghts ſpace by deſtenie he layed in the duſt. Theyr fained giftes well haue we tried that huge and fatall gin, We lyght of credit, with our owne ryght hand haue haled in, That fatall gyft of Greeckes: what yme at entry of the gap The hugye hors did ſhyueryng ſtand, where in the in ſelues did wrap The captaynes cloſe, in holow vautes with bloudy war yreight. When lawfully we might haue tryde, and ſerched their deceit: So by theyr owne contryued ſnares the grekes had bin confound: The braſen bucklers being ſhooke did gyue a clattring ſound. A priuy whyſpering often tymes came tyckling in our ear. And Pyrrhus (in a murreynes name ſo ready for to heare. The crafty councell picked out of falſa Vlifſſes brayne,) Did angle in the halow Vaut that range thereof agayne. But fearing and ſuſpecting nought the heady youth of Troy Layde handes vpon the ſacred ropes, to hale and pull with ioy, On this ſyde younge Aſtyanax came garded with his trayne, On th'other part Pollixena diſponſed to bee ſlayne Vpon Achilles tombe, ſhe coms with maydes, and hee with men, A ioly flocke with equall yeares as younge as they were then. Theyr vowd oblations to the gods in holy day attyre, The matrons bryng and ſo to church repayreth euecry ſyre. And all the city did alyke, yea Hecuba our queene (That ſynce the woful Hectors death or now was neuer fene) She mery is: O griefe accurſt, of all thy ſorowes depe For whych that firſt, or laſt befell entendeſt thou to wepe? Our battred walles which heauenly hands cected haue and framde? Or els the burning temples which vpon their Idols flamde? Lamenting theſe calamyties wee haue not time and ſpace, O mighty parent Pryam we poore Troyans wayle thy caſe. The olde mans thratling throate I ſawe, (alas) I ſaw yborde With cruell Pyrrhus blade, that ſcante with any bloud was gorde: Refraine your teares yt down your cheekes ſhould tricle euermore With woefull waylings piteouſly your pryuate friendes deplore My myſeries refuſe a mate, ſo much accurſt as I: To rewe my carefull caſe, refrayne your lamentable cry. As for myne owne diſtreſſe to moorne, I ſhall ſuffice alone. To mingle teares with other teares it doth vs good to mone: In thoſe the burning teary ſtreames more ardently doe boyle, Whom ſecret thoughts of lurking cares in priuy breaſt turmoyle: Though that thou were a Goſſop ſtout, that brooke much ſorrow may I warraunt thee, thou myghteſt well, lament this ſore decay, Not ſad and ſolemne Aedon that in the woodes doth ſinge Her ſugred Ditties finely tunde on ſweete and pleaſaunt ſtringe: Recording Irys woefull hap in diuers kynde of note, Whom Progne though he were her chylde and of her wombe begot,