Seneca, Lucius Annaeus / Studley, John · published 1566 · first performed or written 1566 (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T36 Hell, Furies and the language of punishm · 511 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T36: hell, earth, gods, death, ghosts, blood, bloody, heaven, night, ghost.
whom irketh not the scold with barking still? To her● the Mermaids di●e who doth not quail, T●at lure the ears with pleasant singing paryll Of such as on ●nsonius sea do sail? when Orpheus on his twangling Harp did play, That earst the Muse Calliope gave to him Almost those Nymphs that wont was to stay The shyppes, he caused fast following him to swim. How ●earely was that wicked journey bought? Medea accursed, and eke the golden Flecce, That greater harm than storm of s●as hath wrought Rewarded well that voyage ●●rst of Gre●ce. Now seas controlled do suffer passage free, The ●rgo proud erected by the hand Of Pallas first, doth not complain that she, Conueyd hath backe t●e kings unto their land, Each whirty ●o●t now scuds about the deep, All stints and waares are taken clean away, The cities frame new walls themselves to keep, The open world lets nought res● where it lay: The ●oyes of Ind Arexes luckwarme leak, The Pers●ans stout in Rhine and Albis' stream Do bathe their barks, ●yme ●●all in fine out break when Ocean wave shall open every realm. The wand'ring world at w●ll shall open lie. And Typhis will some new found land survey. Some travelers shall the Contreyes far escry, Beyond small Thule, known furthest at this day●. WHy tro●st thou frisking in & out so rash from place to place? Stand still, and of thyne eager wrath suppress the ruthful race, The rigour rough of ramping rage from burning breast out cast, As Bacchus' bedlam priests that of his sprite have felt the blast, Run frantic hoyting up and down with scytysh wayward wits, Not knowing any place of rest, so prycte with froward fits, On cloudy top of Pindus' mount all hid with snow so chill: Or else upon the lofty ridge of branched Nisa hill: Thus starting still with frounced mind she welters to and fro, the signs pronouncing proof of pangs her frenzy face doth show. with glowing cheeks, & blood red face with short and gasping breath, She fetcheth deep ascending sighs from sobbing heart beneath. Now blithe she smiles, each tumbled thought in pondering brain she beats, Now stands she in a mammeryng● now mischief sore she threats. w ● chaufing fume she burns in wrath, and now she doth complain, With blubbering tears a fresh bilive she weeps and wails again. Where will this lumpish load of cares with headlong sway allighte? On whom entendethe she to work the threats of her despite? Where will this huge tempestuous surge slake down itself again? Enkindled fury new in breast begins to boil a main. She secretly intends no misschife small nor mean of size To pass herself in wickedness her busy brains devise. The token old of pinching ire full well ere this know I: Sum heinous huge, outrageous great and dreadful storm is nigh: Her fiery, scowling, steaming eyes, her hanging groin I see, Her pouting, puffed, frowning face, that signs of fretting be. O mighty Ione beguile my fear:
seed 43: T53 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
whom erketh not the scoulde wyth barkyng styll? To her the Mermaydes die who doh not quayle, Tat lure the eares wyth pleasant syngyng ryll Of such as on nsonius sea doe sayle? when Orpheus on his twancklyng Harpe did playe, That carst the Muse Calliop gaue to hym Almost those Nimphes that wonted was to staye The shypps, he causd fast folowyng hym to swym. How earely was that wyckd iourney bought? Medea accurst, and eke the golden Flecce, That greater harme thē storme of sas hath wrought Rewarded well that voage rst of Grece. Now seas controulde doe suffer passage free, The rgo proude erected by the hand Of Pallas fyrste, doth not comlayne that she, Conued hath back te kynges vnto theyr land, Eche whirty ot now scuddes aboute the deepe, All stynts and waares are taken cleane awaye, The Cytyes frame new walles them selues to keepe, The open worlde lettes nought res where it laye: The oyes of Ind Arexes luckwarme leake, The Persans stoute in Rhene and Albis streame Do bathe heyr barkes, yme all in fyne out breake when Ocean waue shall open euery realme. The wandrynge worlde at wll shall open lye. And Typhis will some new found land suruaye. Some trauelers shall the Cotrees far escry, Beyonde small Thule, knowen furthest at this day. WHy trost thou fysking in & out so rash from place to place? Stand styll, and of hyne eger wrath suppresse the ruthull race, The rigour rough of rampyng rage from burnyng brest out cast, As Bacchus bedlem preystes that of his spryte haue felt the blast, Run frantyck hoytyng vp and downe wyth scytysh wayward wyttes, Not knowyng any place of rest, so prycte wyth frowarde fyttes, On cloudye top of Pindus mounte all hyd wyth snow so chyll: Or els vpon the loftye ridge of braunched Nisa hyll: Thus startyng still with froūced mind she walters to and froe, the sygnes pronoūcyng profe of pangs her frensie face doth showe. with glowing cheekes, & blood red face wyth shorte and gaspyng breath, She fetcheth depe ascendyng syghes from sobbynge harte beneath. Now blithe she smiles, ech ōbled thought in pondring braine she beats, Now standes she in a mammeryng now myscheyfe sore she threats. w• chaufing fume she burnes in wrath, and now she doth complayne, With blubbering teares a fresh biliue she weepes and wayles agayne. Wher will this lumpish loade of cares with hedlong swaye allighte? On whome entendethe she to worke the threates of her dispite? Wher will this huge tēpestious surge slake downe it selfe agayne? Enkindled furye newe in brest beginnes to boyle a mayne. She secretly entendes no misschife small nor meane of syse To passe her selfe in wickednes her busye braynes deuise. The token old of pinchyng ire full well er this know I: Sum hainous houge, outragious great and dredfull storme is nie: Her firie, scowling, steaming eyes, her hangynge groyne I se, Her powting, puffed, frownyng face, that sygnes of freating be. O myghtie Ione begyle my feare: