Agamemnon (Seneca's Eighth Tragedy) · chunk 24 of 28
Seneca, Lucius Annaeus / Studley, John · published 1581 · first performed or written 1566 (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T7 The Trojan war: conflict and its afterma · 495 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T7: hector, troy, achilles, greeks, aeneas, priam, ulysses, troilus, trojan, trojans.
The mankind dame with trembling hand the sword drew from her side, Nor to the utmost of her might it in his flesh she thrust, But in the giving of the stroke she stayed all aghast, He as it were a bristled Boar entangled in the net Among the briars in bushy woods yet trieth out to get. With struggling much the shrinking bands more straightly he doth bind. He strives in vain, and would fly of the snare that doth him blind. Which catcheth hold on every side. But yet th'entangled wretch Doth grope about, his subtle foes with griping hand to catch. But furious Tyndaris prepared the Pole-axe in her hand, And as the priest to sacrifice at Th'altar side doth stand, And views with eye the bullocks neck, ere that with Axe he smite, So to and fro she heaves her hand to strike and level right. He hath the stroke: dispatched it is: not quite chopped of the head It hangeth by a little crop: here from the Carcase dead The spouting blood came gushing out: and there the head doth lie, With wallowing, bobling, mumbling tongue: nor they do by and bye Forsake him so: the breathless corpse Aegist doth all to coil: And mangled hath the gashed corpses: while thus he doth him spoil, She putteth to her helping hand: by detestable deed They both accord unto the kind, whereof they do proceed. Dame Helen's sister right she is, and he Thyestes son: Lo doubtful Titan standeth still the day now being done, Not knowing whether best to keep still on his wonted way, Or turn his wheels unto the path of dire Thyestes day. O Thou whom of our Father's death the only help we have, Fly, fly, from force of furious foes, make haste thyself to save: Our house is topsy-turvy tossed, our Stock is cast away, Our ruthful realms to ruin run, our kingdoms do decay. Who cometh here in Chariot swift thus galloping a main? Brother, disguised in thy weed let me thy person fain. O Buzzard blind, what dost thou mean from foreign folk to fly? Whom dost thou shun? it doth behove to fear this family. Orestes now be bold, and set all shivering fear aside, The certain succour of a trusty friend I have espied. WIth solemn Pomp I Strophilus forsaking Phocis' land, Bearing a branch of palm, that grows at Elis, in my hand, Returned back I am, the cause that willed me hither wend, Is with these gifts to gratify and welcome home my friend, Whose valiant army scaled, and shook the tattered Trojan walls, Who wearied with the ten years war, now flat on floor she falls. What woeful wight is this that stains her mourning face with tears, And drowned deep in drousp dumps oppressed is with fears? I know full well this damsel is of princes lineage borne. What cause Electra hath this joyful family to morn?
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)
The mankinde dame with trembling hand the ſwed drew from her ſide, Nor to the vtmoſt of her might it in his fleſh ſhee thraſt, But in the gieuing of the ſtroke ſhee ſtayed all agaſt, Hee as it were a briſtled Bore entangled in the net Among the bryars in buſſhy woodes yet tryeth out to get. With ſtrugling much the ſhrinking bands more ſtreightly he doth bind. He ſtryues in vayne, and would ſly of the ſnare that doth him blind. Which catcheth holde on euery ſyde. But yet th'entangled wreatch Doth grope about, his ſubtle foes with griping hand to catch. But furious Tyndaris preparde the Pollaxe in her hande, And as the prieſt to ſacrifice at Th'alter ſide doth ſtande, And vewes with eye the Bullockes necke, eare that with Axe he ſmite, So to and fro ſhee heaues her hand to ſtryke and leauell right. He hath the ſtroke: diſpatcht it is: not quite fhopt of the head It hangeth by a litle crop: heere from the Carkaſſe dead The ſpouting bloude came guſſhing out: and there the head doth lye, With wallowing, bobling, mumbling tongue: nor they do by and bye Forſake him ſo: the breathleſſe coarſe Aegiſt doth all to coyle: And mangled hath the gaſſhed corpes: whyle thus hee doth him ſpoyle, She putteth to her helping hand: by deteſtable deede They both accorde vnto the kynde, whereof they doe proceede. Dame Helens ſyſter right ſhee is, and hee Thyeſtes ſonne: Loe doubtfull Titan ſtandeth ſtill the day now being donne, Not knowing whether beſt to keepe ſtill on his wonted way, Or turne his wheeles vnto the path of dyre Thyeſtes day. O Thou whom of our Fathers death the onely helpe wee haue, Fly, fly, from force of furious foes, make haſt thy ſelfe to ſaue: Our houſe is opſey turuey toſt, our Stocke is caſt away, Our ruthfull realmes to ruin ronne, our kingdomes doe decay. Who cometh heere in Chariot ſwift thus galloping a mayne? Brother, diſguiſed in thy weede let mee thy perſon fayne. O Buſſard blynde, what doſt thou meane from forrayne folke to fly? Whom doſt thou ſhun? it doth behoue to feare this family. Oreſtes now bee boulde, and ſet all ſhiuering feare a ſide, The certayne ſuccour of a truſty friende I haue eſpide. WIth ſolemne Pompe I Strophilus forſaking Phocis lande, Bearing a braunch of Paulme, that growes at Eli, in my hand, Returned backe I am, the cauſe that wild mee heather wend, Is with theſe gyftes to gratefie and welcome home my frend, Whoſe valiaunt army ſhale, and ſhooke the tattred Troyan walles, Who wearied with the ten yeares warre, now flat on floore ſhee falles. What wofull wight is this that ſtaynes her mourning face with teares, And drowned deepe in drouſp dumpes oppreſſed is with eares? I know full well this damſell is of Prynces lynage borne. What cauſe Electra hath this ioyfull family to morne?