Agamemnon (Seneca's Eighth Tragedy) · chunk 19 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 0.77 · 492 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.
For to revenge his father's fault, she did not spare to kill: And gave his flesh and blood for food the father's Maw to fill. Nor Progne who in Swallows shape: upon the ridge's high, Of houses sits in Biston town bewailing piteously, With chattering throat, of Tereus her spouse the cruel act, (Who did by strength and force of arms a shameful brutish fact. Defile the sister of his wife, fair Philomel by name, And eke cut out her tongue, lest she should blab it to his shame) Though Progne this her husbands rape lamenting very sore Do wail, and weep with piteous plaint, yet can she not deplore Sufficiently, though that she would, our countries piteous plight: Though he himself among the Swans sir Cygnus lily white. Who dwells in stream of Ister flood, and Tanais channel could, His weeping voice most earnestly though utter out her would: Although the morning haltions with doleful sighs do wail, At such time as the fighting floods their Cyex did assail, Or rashly waxing bold attempt the Seas now laid at rest, Or being very fearful feed their brood in tottering nest, Although as squeamish hearted men those priests in bedlam rage, Whom mother Cyble being borne on high in lofty stage, Doth move, to play on shawms, Atys the Phrygian to lament, Yet can not they this lot bewail, though brawn from arms they rent. Cassandra, in our tears there is no measure to refrain, Those miseries all measure pass, that plunged us in pain. The sacred fillets from thy heads, why dost thou hale and pull? They chiefly aught to worship God, whose hearts with grief be dull. My fear by this affliction is clean abated all, Nor praying to the heavenly Ghosts for mercy will I call. Although they were disposed to chafe and fret in fustian fumes, They nothing have me to displease, Fortune her force consumes. Her spite is worn unto the stumps, what country have I left? Where is my Sire? am I of all my sisters quite bereft. The sacred tombs and alter stones our blood have drunk & swilled, Where are my brethren blessed knor? destroyed in the field. All widow Wives of Priam's sons may easily now behold, The Palace void and cast of court of silly Priam old. And by so many marriages so many Widows are, But only Helen coming from the coast of Lacon far. That Hecuba the mother of so many a princely wight, Whose fruitful Womb did breed the brand, of fire blazing bright: Who also bore the swinge in Troy, by practice now doth learn, New laws and guise of destiny in bondage to discern. On her she taketh heart of grace with looks so stern and wild, And barketh as a bedlam bitch about her strangled child Dear Polidor, the remnant left, and only hope of Troy, Hector, and Priam to revenge, and to restore her joy.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 867–912 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 19 of 28 in this edition
Length
492 words · 667 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T7 — The Trojan war: conflict and its aftermathcross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.767 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
Other seeds
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)
For to reueng his fathers fault, ſhe did not ſpare to kill: And gaue his fleſh and bloude for foode the fathers Maw to fill. Nor Progne who in Swallowes ſhape: vpon the rydges hye, Of houſes ſits in Biſton towne bewayling piteouſly, With chattering throate, of Tereus her ſpouſe the cruell act, (Who did by ſtrength and force of armes a ſhamefull brutiſhe fact. Defile the ſyſter of his wyfe, fayre Philomel by name, And eke cut out her tonge, leaſt ſhee ſhould blab it to his ſhame) Though Progne this her huſbandes rape lamenting very ſore Doe wayle, and weepe with piteous plaint, yet can ſhee not deplore Sufficiently, though that ſhee woulde, our countreyes piteous plight: Though he himſelfe among the Swans ſyr Cygnus lilly whight. Who dwelles in ſtreame of Iſter floud, and Tanais channell coulde, His weeping voyce moſt erneſtly though vtter out her woulde: Although the morning Halcyons with dolefull ſighes doe wayle, At ſuch time as the fighting floudes their Cyex did aſſayle, Or raſhly wexing boulde attempt the Seas now layde at reſt, Or being very fearefull feede their broode in tottring neſt, Although as ſquemiſhe hearted men thoſe prieſtes in bedlem rage, Whom mother Cyble being borne on high in lofty ſtage, Doth mooue, to play on ſhalmes, Atys the Phrygian to lament, Yet can not they this lot bewayle, though brawn frō armes they rent. Caſſandra, in our teares there is no meaſure to refrayne, Thoſe miſeryes all meaſure paſſe, that plunged vs in payne. The ſacred fillets from thy heads, why doſt thou hale and pull? They chiefly ought to worſhip God, whoſe hearts with griefe be dull. My feare by this affliction is cleane abaled all, Nor praying to the heauenly Ghoſtes for mercy will I call. Although they were diſpoſde to chae and fret in fuſten fumes, They nothing haue me to diſpleaſe, Fortune her force conſumes. Her ſpyte is worne vnto the ſtumpes, what countrey haue I left? Where is my Syre? am I of all my ſyſters quite bereft. The ſacred tombes and alter ſtones our bloud haue drunke & ſwylde, Where are my brethren bleſſed knor? deſtroyed in the fylde. All widdow Wyues of Priams ſonnes may eaſly now beholde, The Pallace voyde and caſt of court of ſilly Priam olde. And by ſo many marriages ſo many Wyddowes are, But onely Hellen comming from the coaſt of Lacon farre. That Hecuba the mother of ſo many a pryncely wyght, Whoſe fruitfull Wombe did breede the brand, of fyer blaſing bryght: Who alſo bare the ſwinge in Troy, by practiſe now doth learne, New lawes and guiſe of deſteny in bondage to diſcerne. On her ſhee takath heart of grace with lookes ſo ſterne and wylde, And barketh as a bedlem bitch about her ſtrangled chylde Deare Polidor, the remnaunt left, and onely hope of Troy, Hector, and Priam to reuenge, and to reſtore her ioy.