Seneca, Lucius Annaeus / Studley, John · published 1566 · first performed or written 1566 (Annals) tragedy T20 Hercules: labours, suffering and virtue typicality 0.79 · 548 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T20: hercules, hercles, ioue, deianeira, alcides, hand, lo, death, skies, hell.
king Ioues assaulted throne. This is the Centaurs poisoned blood which Nessus vylia●ne vile Who made a rape of Deianeira intending her to file, Bequeathed her when newly wound he gasping lay for breath, While Hercles' shaft stack in his ribs, whose lawnce did work his death: Behold the funeral cinders hear which up the poison dried Of Hercul●s who in his fire on Oeta mountain died: Lo here the fatal brand, which late the fatal sisters three Conspired at Meleagers birth, such should his destnye be, To save alive his breathing corpses, while that might hold remain, Which safe his mother Alte kept, till he his uncles twain, (That from Atlanta would have had the head of Conquered Boar,) Had reft of life whose spiteful death Althaea took so sore, That both she showed her ferventness in sisters godly lous, When to revenge her brother's death mere nature did her move, But yet as mother most unkind of nature most unmild, To hasten the untimely grave of her beloved child, While Mel●ages fatal brand she wasted in the flame, Whose swelting guts & bowels moult consumed as the same, These plumes the Harpies ravening fowls for haste did leave behind, In hidden hole whose close access no mortal wight can find. When fast from Zethes chasing them with speedy flight they fled. Put unto these the feathers which the Stymphal bird did shed, Whom dusking Phoebus' dimmed light sir Hercules did sting, And galled with the shaft, that he in Hydra's hide did fling. You Airs have yield a clattering noise I know, I know of old, How unto me my Oracles are wont to be could, That when the trembling flower doth shake then hath my Goddess great, Uouchfafe to grant me my request as I did her entreat. I see Diana's waggyn swyfe, not that whereon she glides When all the night in darkened sky with face full ope she rides: with countenance bright & blandishing but when with heavy cheer, With dusky shimmering wannie globe, her lamp doth pale appear. Or when she trots about the heavens' with horsehead rained strait, When Thessaly wytches with the threats of charming her do bait. So with thy dumpysh dulled blaze, thy cloudy fainting light, Send out, amid the lowering sky, the heart of people smite With agonies of sudden dread, in strange and fearful wise, Compel the precious brazen pans with jarring noise to rise Through Corinth country every where, to shield the from this harm, lest headlong drawn thou be from heaven to earth by force of charm. An holy solemn sacrifice to worship the we make, embrewed with a bloody turf the kindled torch doth take Thy sacred burning night fire at the dampish morie grave. Sore charged with thy trowbled ghost my head I shaken have, And duskyng down my neck allow with shrieking loud have shright, And groveling flat on floor in trance have lain in dead man's plight. My tuffled locks about mine ears down dangling have been bownde Tucked up about my temples twain with gladsome garland ●rownd: A drerye branch is offered thee from filthy stigis flood. As is the guise of Bacchus' priests the Corybant's wood, With naked breast and dugs laid out I'll prick with sacred blade
seed 43: T17 · seed 44: T19 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
kynge Ioues assalted trone. This is the Centaures poysened blood whiche Nessus vyliane vyle Who made a rape of Dianire entendynge her to fyle, Bequethed her when newlye woūde he gaspynge lay for breth, While Hercles shaft stack in his ribbs, whose lawnce did worke his death: Bholde the funerall cinders hear whyche vp the poyson dryed Of Herculs who in hys fyre on Oeta mountayne dyed: Lo here the fatall brande, which late the fatall systers three Conspyred at Melagers byrthe, such shulde hys destnye be, To saue alyue hys brethyng corpes, whyle tha myght hole remayne, Whche safe hys mother Alte kept, tyll he his vncles twayne, (That from Atlanta wolde haue had the head of Conquered Bore,) Had reft of lyfe whose spytefull death Althea toke so sore, That both she shewed her feruentnes in systers godlye lous, When to reuenge her brothers death mere nature dyd her moue, But yet as mother most vnkynde of nature moste vnmylde, To hasten the vntymely graue of her beloued chylde, Whyle Melages atall brande she wasted in the flame, Whose swelting guts & bowels moult consumed as the same, These plumes the Harpyes raueninge fowles for hast did leue behind, In hidden hole whose cloase accesse no mortall wight can fynd. When fast from Zethes chasyng them wyth spedye flyght they fled. Put vnto these the fethers whyche the Stymphall byrde dyd shed, Whom duskyng Phaebus dymned lyght syr Hercules dyd stynge, And galled wyth the shafte, that he in Hydraes hyde dyd flynge. You Aares haue yeld a clattryng noyse I knowe, I knowe of olde, How vnto me my Oracles are wonted to be coulde, That when the tremblyng flowre doth shake then hath my Goddesse greate, Uouchfafe to graunt me my requeste as I dyd her intreate. I see Dianas waggyn swyfe, not that wheron she glydes When all the nyght in darkened skye wyth face full ope she rydes: with coūtenaūce bryght & blandishyng but when with heauie cheare, With duskie shīmering wannie globe, her lampe doth pale appeare. Or when she trots aboute the heauens wyth horsehead rayned straite, When Thessayle wytches wt the threates of carmynge her doe bayte. So wyth thy dumpysh dulled blase, thy clowdye faynting lyghte, Sende out, amyd the lowryng skye, the harte of people smyte Wyth agonyes of suddeine dread, in straunge and fearefull wyse, Compell the precyous brasen pannes with iarryng noyse to ryse Through Corinth contrye euerye wher, to shylde the from this harme, lest hedlong drawne thou be frō hauen to earth by force of charme. An holye solempne sacryfyce to worship the we make, Imbrewed with a blooddye turphe the kindled torche doth take Thy sacred burning night fyre at the dampishe morie graue. Sore charged with thy trowbled ghost my hed I shaken haue, And dukyng downe my necke alowe with shrykyng lowde haue shright, And groueling flat on floore in traūce haue lyen in dead mans plight. My tuffled lockes about myne eares downe daglyng haue ben bownde Tuckt vp about my temples twayne wyth gladsome garland rownd: A drerye branche is offred the from fylthye stigis flood. As is the guise of Bacchus prestes the Coribanthes wood, With naked brest and dugges layd out Ile prycke with sacred blade