Seneca, Lucius Annaeus / Studley, John · published 1581 · first performed or written 1566 (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T34 Thebes and royal catastrophe: siege, sla · 518 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T34: thebes, antigone, polynices, creon, eteocles, war, theban, gods, dear, country.
Thou, and thy Babes, are like to beg and starve. In Nation strange, (O miserable life) While Iason from his promises do swerve, And takes delight in his new wedded Wife, O Ground ungrate; that when the husband man Hath tilled it, to recompense his toil No Corn, but Weeds, and thistles render can, To sting his hands, that Fruit seeks of his Soil. Such venom grows of pleasant coloured flower: Lo, princes lo, what deadly poison sup Of Bane, erst sweet, now turned into sour, Medea drank out of a golden Cup, AYe me, (alas) I am undone, For at the bridal cheer, The warble note of wedding song resounded in mine ear. Yet for all this scant I myself, yet scant believe I can, That Iason would play such a prank, as most unthankful man, Both of my Country, and my Sire, and kingdom me to spoil, And yet forsake me wretch forlorn, to stray in foreign soil. O hath he such a stony heart, that doth no more esteem, The great good turns, and benefits that I employed on him? Who knows, that I have lewdly used enchantments for his sake, The rigour rough, and stormy rage, of swelling Seas to slake. The grunting fiery foaming Bulls, whose smoking guts were stuffed, With smouldering fumes, that from their jaws, & nostrils out they puffed. I stopped their gnashing munching mouths, I quenched their burning breath, And vapours hot of stewing paunch, that else had wrought his death, Or feeds he thus his fancy, fond, to think my skill of charm, Abated is, and that I have no power to do him harm? Brstract of wits, with wavering mind perplexed on every part, I tossed, and turmoiled am, with wayward crazy heart. Now this, now that, and neither now, but now another way, By divers means I toil, that so my wrong revenge I may, I would the wretch a brother had: but what? he hath a Wife. Go cut her throat, with ghastly wounds bereave her of her life. On her I'll work my deadly spite: her, her alone I crave, To quit such bitter sousing storms, as I sustained have. If any grand notorious guilt in all Pelasga Land Be put in practice, yet unknown unto thy harming hand, Thereof to get experience the time doth now begin: Thy former feats do bid thee take good hope, to thrive herein: Let all thy guilts with thronging thick assemble thee to aid, The golden Fleece (the chief Novel) of Colchis I'll betrayed. My tender Brother eke, that with my sire did me pursue, Whom with his secret parts cut of, I wicked Virgin slew, Whose shreaded and dismembered corpse, with sword in gobbets hewed, (A woeful corpse toth' Father's heart) on Pontus' ground I strewed. How hoary headed Pelias his withered age to shift To greener years, for longer life: his daughters by my drift His members all and mangled flesh with liquor scalding hot Ysodden, and parboiled have, in seething brazen pot. How oft in heinous blood have these my cruel hands been died?
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Thou, and thy Babes, are like to begge and ſtarue. In Nation ſtraunge, (O myſerable lyfe) Whyle Iaſon from his promyſes doe ſwarue, And takes delight in his new wedded Wyfe, O Ground vngrate; that when the huſband man Hath tilled it, to recompence his toyle No Corne, but Weedes, and Thyſtles render can, To ſtinge his handes, that Fruict ſeekes of his Soyle. Such venome growes of pleaſaunt coloured flower: Loe, Prynces loe, what deadly poyſon ſup Of Bane, erſt ſweete, now turned into ſower, Medea dranke out of a goulden Cup, AYe mee, (alas) I am vndone, For at the Brydall cheare, The warble note of wedding ſonge reſounded in mine eare. Yet for all this ſcant I my ſelfe, yet ſcant beleue I can, That Iaſon would play ſuch a prancke, as moſt vnthāckfull man, Both of my Countrey, and my Syre, and kingdome me to ſpoyle, And yet forſake mee wretch forlorne, to ſtray in forrein ſoyle. O hath he ſuch a ſtony heart, that doth no more eſteeme, The great good turnes, and benefits that I imployde on him? Who knowes, that I haue lewdly vſed enchauntments for his ſake, The rigour rough, and ſtormy rage, of ſwelling Seas to ſlake. The grunting firy foming Bulles, whoſe ſmoking guts were ſtuft, With ſmoltring fumes, that frō theyr Iawes, & noſthrils out they puft. I ſtopt their gnaſhīg moūching mouths, I quēcht their burning breath, And vapors hot of ſtewing paunch, that els had wrought his death, Or feedes hee thus his ſanſy, fond, to thinke my ſkill of charme, Abated is, and that I haue no power to doe him harme? Brſtract of wits, with wauering minde perplext on euery part, I toſſed, and turmoyled am, wyth wayward craſy hart. Now this, now that, and neyther now, but now another way, By diuers meanes I toyle, that ſo my wrong reueng I may, I would the wretch a brother had: but what? he hath a Wyfe. Goe cut her throate, with gaſtly wounds bereue her of her lyfe. On her ile worke my deadly ſpight: her, her alone I craue, To quit ſuch bitter ſowſing ſtormes, as I ſuſtayned haue. If any graund noorious guilt in all Pelaſga Land Be put in practiſe, yet vnknowne vnto thy harming hand, Thereof to get experience the time doth now begin: Thy former feates doe byd thee take good hope, to thryue herein: Let all thy guilts with thronging thick aſſemble thee to ayde, The golden Fleece (the chiefe Nouell) of Colchis Ile betrayde. My tender Brother eke, that with my Syer did mee purſue, Whom with his ſecret partes cut of, I wicked Virgin ſlewe, Whoſe ſhreaded and diſmembred corps, with ſword in gobbits hewd, (A wofull Coarſe toth' Fathers heart) on Pontus ground I ſtrewd. How hory headded Pelias his wythred age to ſhyft To greener yeares, for longer lyfe: his daughters by my dryft His members all and mangled fleſh with licour ſcalding hot Yſodden, and perboyled haue, in ſeething braſen pot. How oft in haynous bloud haue theſe my cruell handes bene dyed?