Seneca, Lucius Annaeus / Studley, John · published 1566 · first performed or written 1566 (Annals) tragedy T20 Hercules: labours, suffering and virtue typicality 0.67 · 550 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T20: hercules, hercles, ioue, deianeira, alcides, hand, lo, death, skies, hell.
Mine arm, that for the bubbling blood an issue may be made, with trilling streams my purple blood let drop on Thaltar stones: My tender children's crushed flesh and broken bruised bones Learn how to brook with hardened hartes in practise put the trade To flourish fierce, and keep a coil, with naked glittering blade: I spryncled holy water have, the lance once being made, If tired thou complainest that my cries thee overlade, give pardon to my earnest suit, o Perceus sister dear, Still Iason is the only cause that urgeth me to rear wt squeking voice thy noisome beames, that sting like shot of bow. So season thou those sauced robes to work Creusa's woe, wherewith when she shall prank she the poison by and by To rot her in ward marye out, within her bones may fry, The secret fire blears their eyes with gloss of yellow gold, The which Prometheus gave to me that fire filcher bold. On whom for robbery that he did in heavens above commit, With massy poise great Caucasus thunweldye hill doth sit, Where under with unwasted womb he lies, and pays his pain, To feed the cramming foul with gobs of guts that grows again. He taught me with a pretty sleight of cunning, how to hide The strength of fire close kept in, that may not be espied, This lively tinder Mulciber hath forged for my sake, That tempered is with brimstone quick at first touch and take. Eke of my cozen Phaeton a wild fire flake I have His flames the monstrous stagharde rough● Chimaera to me gave, In head and breast a Lion grim, and from the rump behind He sweeps the flower with lagging tail of Serpent force by kind. In rib & loins along his paunch yshaped like a Goat. these fumes that out the bull parbraked from fiery spewing throat, I gotten have and brayed it with Medusa's bitter gall Commanding it in secret sort to dusk and cover all: Breath on these venom's Hecate with deadly might inspire, Preserve the touching powder of my secret covert fire, O grant that these my cloaked crafts so may bewytch their eyes, That likelihood of treason none that may herein surmise: So work that they in handling it may feel no kind of heat: Her stewing breast, her seething veins, let fervent fire fret And force her roasted pynyg limbs, to drop and melt away, Let smoke her rotten broiling bones: inflame this bride to day To cast a light with greater gleed on frizzle blazing hear Then is the shining flame that doth the wedding torches bear. My suit is hard, thrice Hecate a dreadful barking gave From doleful cloud a sacred flash of flamye sparks she drove. Each poisons pride fulfilled is: Call forth my children dear, By whom unto the cursed Bride these presents you may bear: Go forth, go forth my little babes, your mother's cursed fruit, Go, go, employ your pains with bribe and earnest humble suit To purchase grace, and eke to earn you favour in her sight. That both a mother is to you, and rules with Ladies might. Go on, apply your charge apace and high you home again, That with embracing you I may my last farewell attain.
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)
Myne arme, that for the bubling blood an issue maye be made, with trilling streams my purple blood let droppe on Thalter stones: My tender chyldrens crusshed flesh and broken broosed bones Lerne how to brooke wt hardned harte in practyse put the rade To florysh fearce, and kepe a coyle, wyth naked glyttrynge blade: I spryncld holye water haue, the launce once being made, If tyred thou complaynest that my cryes thee ouerlade, Gyue pardon to my ernest sute, o Perceus syster deare, Styll Iason is the onelye cause that vrgeth me to reare wt squeking voice thy noisome beames, that stynge lyke shot of bowe. So season thou those sawced robes to worke Creusas woe, Wherwt when she shal pranke her self the poyson by and by To rotte her in warde marye oute, wythin her bones may fry, The secret fyer bleares their eyes wyth glosse of yealow golde, The whych Prometheus gaue to me that fyer fylcher bolde. On whom for robbery that he dyd in heauens aboue commyt, Wyth massy payse great Caucasus thunweldye hyll doth syt, Where vnder wyth vnwasted wombe he lyes, and payes his paine, To feede the crāmyng foule wt gubbes of guttes that growes agayne. He taught me wyth a pretye sleyght of connyng, how to hyde The strengthe of fyer close kept in, that may not be espyed, Thys lyuely tinder Mulciber hath forged for my sake, That tempred is wyth brymston quick at fyrste touche and take. Eke of my cosen Phacton a wyld fyer flake I haue Hys flames the monstrous stagharde rough Chimera to me gaue, In head and breste a Lyon grymme, and from the rump behynde He swepes the flower wt laggyng taile of Serpent force by kynde. In rybbes & loynes along his paunche yshaped lyke a Gote. these fumes that out the bull perbrakt from fyrye spewing throte, I gotten haue and brayd it wyth Medusas bytter gall Cōmaundyng it in secret sorte to duske and couer all: Breath on these venoms Hecate wyth deadly myght inspyre, Preserue the touchyng poulder of my secret couert fyre, O graunt that these my cloked craftes so may bewytch theyr eyes, That lykelyhood of treason none that may herein surmyse: So worke that they in handlyng it may fele no kynde of heate: Her stewing brest, her sethyng vaines, let feruent fyer freate And force her rosted pynyg lymmes, to droppe and melte awaye, Let smoke her rotten broylyng bones: enflame thys bryde to daye To caste a lyght wyth greater glede on fryseled blasynge heare Then is the shynyng flame that dothe the weddyng torches beare. My sute is harde, thryse Hecate a dreadfull barkyng gaue From dolefull clowde a sacred flash of flamye sparkes she draue. Eache poysons pryde fulfylled is: Call furthe my chyldren deare, By whom vnto the cursed Bryde these presentes you may beare: Goe furthe, goe furthe my lytle babes, your mothers cursed fruite, Goe, goe, employ your paines wt brybe and earnest humble sute To purchase grace, and eke to earne you fauour in her syght. That both a mother is to you, and rules wyth Ladyes myght. Go on, applye your charge apace and hye you home agayne, That wyth embracyng you I maye my last farewell attayne.