Agamemnon (Seneca's Eighth Tragedy) · chunk 28 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 0.70 · 500 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 lusty pomp of royal court is dead: (O doleful day) The people moan their princes death with woe and weal away: With howling crying, wringing hands, with sobs, with sighs, & tears, And with their fists they beat their breasts, they pull & hale their hears. And as the sheep amazed run, and ramp about the field, whenas their shepherd to the Wolf his gory throat doth yield Even so as mad they rage and rave throughout Mycenae's land, Deprived of their Prince, they fear the bloody tyrants hand. While thus were woeful wailings heard in every place about, The good Cassandra (come from Troy) to death is haled out. Like as the Swan, who when the time of death approacheth nigh, By nature warned is thereof, and pleased well to die, Doth celebrate her funeral with dirge and solemn song: Even so the noble virgin who in woe hath lived long, Most joyful goes she to her death with mild and pleasant face, Stout bovistring out her burly breast with princely port and grace. Nothing dismayed with courage bold, and cheerful countenance, On stage ordained for her death she 'gan herself advance: As though she had not thither come, to leave her loathsome life, As though she had not come, to taste the stroke of fatal knife. But even as it in bridal bed her journey were to meet Corebus dear, not having mind of death, nor winding sheet, When looking round on every side she took her leave of all, From vapoured eyes of young and old the trickling tears do fall. The Greeks themselves to grief are moved to see this heavy sight, So pity pierced the hdadman's heart, that thrice about to smite He stayed the smote: with shivering hand yet once again he tried. And from her shoulders stroke her head. And thus the virgin died. But now the Greeks another cause of mourning have in hand: Orestes, Agamemnon's some, is forced to fly the land. Among old rotten ragged Rocks there lies an ugly place. A Dungeon deep, as dark as hell, unknown to Phoebus face. An hollow huge wide gaping hole, with way still bending down, Whose mouth with venomous withered weeds is hid and overgrown, Where stinking smells come belching out from filthy dirty dyke. Where vermin vile do creep and crawl, in hell is not the like. Ill-favoured, foul misshapen bugs, do luck about this cave, With dreadful sounds, and roaring noise within the pit they rave. Even heather is Electra sent, in darkness deep to lie, In poverty, and comfortless without the light of sky, Fast clogged with Iron bolts and Chains, thus by her mother laid In torments, till by her to death Orestes be betrayed: Who (as Cassandra telleth) shall reuenge his fathers death, Deprive with sword th'adulteror, and Mother both of breath. So after all these bloody broil, Greece never shall be free: But blood for blood, and death by turns, the after age shall see.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 1322–1367 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 28 of 28 in this edition
Length
500 words · 675 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T7 — The Trojan war: conflict and its aftermathcross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.698 (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 luſty pompe of royall courte is deade: (O dolefull day) The people mone theyr prynces death with woe and weale away: With howling crying, wringing hands, with ſobs, wt ſighes, & teares, And wt their fiſts they beate their breaſts, they pull & hale their heares. And as the ſheepe amaſed run, and rampe aboute the fielde, When as theyr ſhepherd to the Wolfe his goary throate doth yeelde Euen ſo as mad they rage and raue throughout Micoenas land, Depriued of theyr Prynce, they feare the bloudy Tyrauntes hand. While thus were woefull waylings hard in euery place about, The good Caſſandra (come from Troy) to death is haled out. Like as the Swan, who when the time of death approcheth nye, By nature warned is thereof, and pleaſed well to dye, Doth celebrate her funerall with dirge and ſolemne ſonge: Euen ſo the noble vyrgin who in woe hath liued longe, Moſt ioyfull goes ſhe to her death with milde and pleaſaunt face, Stout bouiſtring out her burly breaſt with pryncely porte and grace. Nothing diſmayde with courage bolde, and chearefull countenaunce, On ſtage ordeyned for her death ſhee gan her ſelfe aduaunce: As though ſhe had not thyther come, to leaue her lothſome lyfe, As though ſhe had not come, to taſte the ſtroke of fatall knyfe. But euen as it in brydale bed her iourney were to meete Corebus deare, not hauing mynde of death, nor winding ſheete, When looking rounde on euery ſide ſhe tooke her leaue of all, From vapourde eyes of younge and olde the trickling teares doe fall. The Greekes them ſelues to griefe are moude to ſee this heauy ſight, So pity pearſt the headmans heart, that thriſe aboute to ſmite He ſtayde the ſmot: with ſhiuering hand yet once agayne he tryed. And from her ſhoulders ſtroke her heade. And thus the vyrgin dyed. But now the Greekes another cauſe of mourning haue in hand: Oreſters, Agamemnon ſome, is forſt to fly the land. Amonge olde rotten ragged Rockes there lies an vgly place. A Dungeon deepe, as darke as hell, vnknowne to Phoebus face. An holow huge wyde gaping hole, with way ſtill bending downe, Whoſe mouth with venonous wythred weedes is hid and ouergrowne, Where ſtinking ſmels come belching out from filthy durty dyke. Where Verment vyle doe creepe and craule, in hell is not the lyke. Ilfauourde, foule miſſhapen bugges, doe lucke about this caue, With dreadfull ſounds, and roaring noyſe withing the pit they raue. Euen heather is Electra ſent, in darckeneſſe deepe to lye, In pouerty, and comfortleſſe without the lyght of ſkye, Faſt clogde with Yron boults and Chaynes, thus by her mother layde In torments, till by her to death Oreſtes be betrayde: Who (as Caſſandra telleth) ſhall reuenge his fathers death, Depryue with ſwerd th'adulterour, and Mother both of breath. So after all theſe bloudy broyle, Greece neuer ſhall bee free: But bloud for bloud, and death by turnes, the after age ſhall ſee.