Seneca, Lucius Annaeus / Studley, John · published 1566 · first performed or written 1566 (Annals) tragedy T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.69 · 532 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
●●erte out with jerking sound. whom bumping with thy rapping post Megeta wilt thou crush? whose ghost doth here misshaped from hell with scattered members rush? My slautred brother's ghost it is that vengeance comes to crave: According to his dire request due vengeance shall he have. But flap thou fierce the firebrands full dashed in mine eyes, Dig, rent, scrape, burn, & squea● them out lo ope my breast it lies, To fighting furies bobbing strokes O brother, brother bid These roils, the press to worry me, themselves away to rid. Down to the silent souls allow Not taking any care: Let me be left hear by myself alone, and do not spare. To baste, and capperclaw these arms that drew the bloody blade: To quench the furies of thy spirit, that thus do me invade, With this right hand the sacrifice on th'altar shallbe made. What means this sudden trampling noise? a band of men in Arms Come bustling toward us, that m● will cloy with deadly harms. To end this slaughter set vppon I will myself convey Up to the garrets of our house, come Nurse with me away, Bestow thy body hence with me from danger of our foes. Now thus my mind on mischief set thou must thyself dispose, Let not the flyckering fame & praise in darkness be exiled Of stomach stouter that you did use in murdering of thy child. Proclaim in people's ears the praise of cruel bloody hand. If any faithful man here be, whom ruin of his land, And slaughter of his prince do cause in pensive heart to bleed, step forth that ye may take the wretch that wrought this deadly deed. Hear, hear, ye jolly champions lay load with weapons hear, Have now, hoist up this house, from low foundation up it rear. Now, now my sceptre guilt I have recovered once again: My father's wrongs revenged are, and eke my brother slain: The goldens cattles Fleece returned is to my native land, possession of my realm I have reclaimed to my hand: Come home is my vi●gynitie, that whilom went a stray. O Gods as good as I could wish, o joyful wedding day, Go shroud thyself in darkness dim dyspacht I have this feat: Yet vengeance is not done enough, to cool our thrystye heat. O soul why dost thou make delay? why dost thou doubting stand? Go forward with it yet thou mayst, while doing is thy hand: The wrath that might should minister doth qualify his flame: The pricks of sorrow twitch my heart attaint with blushing shame: Through rigour of thy heinous gore o wreatche what hast thou done? Though I repent a caitiff vile I am, to slay my son: Alas I have committed it, importunate delight, Still egged on my froward mind that did against it fight: And lo the vain conject of this delight increaseth still, This only is the thing, that wants unto my wicked will, That Iasons eyes should see this sight as yet I do suppose Nothing it is that I have done, my travel all I lose, That I employed in dyry deeds, unless he see the same.
nodes 2536–2632 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 29 of 30 in this edition
Length
532 words · 699 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.693 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T7 · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
erte out wyth yerkyng sound. whom bumping with thy rapping post Megeta wilt thou crush? whose ghost doth here mishapt frō hell with scattered members rush? My slautred brothers ghost it is that vengeaunce coms to craue: Accordyng to his dire request due vengeaunce shall he haue. But flap thou fearce the fierbrandes full dasshed in myne eyes, Dig, rent, scrape, burne, & squea thē out loe ope my brest it lies, To fightyng furyes bobbyng strokes O brother, brother bid These royles, y• prease to worrey mee, them selues away to rid. Down to the silent soules alowe Not takynge any care: Let me be left heare by my selfe alone, and do not spare. To bast, and capperclaw these armes that drewe the blody blade: To quenche the furyes of thy sprite, that thus do me inuade, With this rigt hand the sacrifyce on thalter shalbe made. What meanes this sudden tramplyng noyse? a bande of men in Armes Come bustlyng towarde vs, that m wyll cloy wyth eadly harmes. To ende thys slaughter set ppon I wyll my selfe conuaye Up to the garrets of our house, come Nurce wyth me awaye, Bestowe thy bodye hence wyth me from daunger of our foes. Now thus my mynde on myscheife set thou must thy selfe dyspose, Let not the flyckeryng fame & prayse in darkenesse be exilde Of stomack stoute that you dyd vse in murtherynge of thy chyld. Proclayme in peoples eares the prayse of cruell blodye hande. ¶If any faythfull man here be, whom ruyne of hys lande, And slaughter of hys prynce do cause in pensyue harte to bleede, step furth that ye may take the wretch that wrought thys deadly dede. Heare, heare, ye iolye champyons lay lode wyth weapons heare, Haue now, hoyst vp this house, frō low foundacyon vp it reare. ¶Now, now my scepter guilt I haue recouered once agayne: My fathers wronges reuenged are, and eke my brother slayne: The gouldens cattels Fleece returnd is to my natyue lande, Possessyon of my realme I haue reclaymed to my hande: Come home is my vigynitie, that whilom went a straye. O Gods as good as I could wysshe, o ioyfull weddyng daye, Go shrowde thy selfe in darkenesse dim dyspacht I haue thys feate: Yet vengeance is not done inough, to coole our thrystye heate. O soule why dost thou make delaye? why dost thou doubtyng stande? Go foreward with it yet thou mayst, whyle doinge is thy hande: The wrath that might should mynister doth qualefye hys flame: The pryckes of sorow twitch my harte attaynt wyth blusshyng shame: Through rygour of thy haynous gore o wreatche what hast thou done? Though I repent a caytyfe vyle I am, to slea my sonne: Alas I haue commytted it, importunate delyght, Styll egged on my froward mynde that dyd agaynst it fyght: And loe the vayne coniecte of thys delyght increaseth styll, Thys onely is the thyng, that wantes vnto my wycked wyll, That Iasons eyes should see this syght as yet I do suppose Nothyng it is that I haue done, my trauell all I lose, That I employde in dyry deedes, vnlesse he see the same.