Seneca, Lucius Annaeus / Studley, John · published 1581 · first performed or written 1566 (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T24 Apollo, Phoebus and the Muses · 511 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T24: apollo, phoebus, midas, muses, ears, play, hedone, gods, siren, time.
Whom irketh not the scold with barking still? To here the Mermaids dire who doth not quail, That lure the Ears with pleasant singing shrill Of such as on Ausonius' Sea do sail: When ORPHEUS on his twankling Harp did play, That erst the Muse Calliop gave to him Almost those Nymphs that wonted was to stay The ships, he caused fast following him to swim. How dearly was that wicked journey bought? MEDEA accursed, and eke the golden Fleece, That greater harm than storm of seas hath wrought Rewarded well that voyage first of Greece. Now seas controlled do suffer passage free, The Argo proud erected by the hand Of PALLAS first, doth not complain that she, conveyed hath back, the kings unto their land Each whirry boat now scuds about the deep, All stints and wars are taken clean away, The City's frame new walls themselves to keep, The open world lets nought rest where it lay: The Hoys of Ind Arexis lukewarm leak, The Persians stout in Rhine and Albis' stream Doth bathe their Barks, time shall in fine out break When Ocean wave shall open every Realm. The wandering World at will shall open lie. And TYPHIS will some new found Land survey Some travelers shall the countries far escry, Beyond small Thule, known furthest at this day. WHy trot'st thou fisking in and out so rash from place to place? Stand still, and of thine 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 skittish wayward wits, Not knowing any place of rest, so pricked 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, and blood red Face with short & gasping breath, She fetcheth deep ascending sighs from sobbing heart beneath, Now blithe she smiles, each rumbled thought in pondering brain she beats, Now stands she in a mammering, now mischief sore she threats. With chafing fume she burns in wrath, and now she doth complain, With blubbering tears a fresh belive she weeps & wails again. Where will this lumpish load of cares with headlong sway alight? On whom intendeth 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 mischief 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: Some heinous, huge, outrageous great, and dreadful storm is nigh: Her fiery, scowling, steaming Eyes, her hanging Groin I see, Her powling, puffed, frowning Face, that signs of fretting be. O mighty Ioue be guile my fear.
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)
Whom erketh not the ſcoulde with barking ſtill? To here the Mermaydes dyre who doth not quayle, That lure the Eares with pleaſaunt ſinging ſhrill Of ſuch as on Auſonius Sea doe ſayle: When ORPHEVS on his tanckling Harpe did play, That earſt the Muſe Callio gaue to him Almoſt thoſe Nymphes that wonted was to ſtay The ſhyps, he cauſd faſt following him to ſwim. How deerely was that wicked iourney bought? MEDEA accurſt, and eke the golden Feece, That greater harme then ſtorme of ſeas hath wrought Rewarded well that voyage firſt of Greece. Now ſeas controulde doe ſuffer paſſage free, The Argo proude erected by the hand Of PALLA firſt, doth not complayne that ſhee, Conueyde hath back, the kynges vnto theyr land Eche whirry boate now ſcuddes aboute the deepe, All ſtynts and warres are taken cleane away, The Cities frame new walles themſelues to keepe, The open worlde lettes nought reſt where it lay: The Hoyes of Ind Arexis lukewarme leake, The Perſeans ſtout in Rhene and Albis ſtreame Doth bath their Barkes, time ſhall in fine out breake When Ocean waue ſhall open euery Realme. The wandring World at will ſhall open lye. And TYPHIS vvill ſome nevve founde Land ſuruay Some trauelers ſhall the Countreys farre eſcrye, Beyonde ſmall Thule, knovven furtheſt at this day. WHy trotſt thou fiſking in and out ſo raſh from place to place? Stand ſtyll, and of thyne eger wrath ſuppreſſe the ruthfull race, The rigour rough of ramping rage from burning breaſt out caſt, As Bacchus bedlem prieſtes that of his ſpryte haue felt the blaſt, Run franticke, hoyting vp and downe with ſcitiſh wayward wits, Not knowing any place of reſt, ſo prickt with frowarde fits, On cloudy top of Pindus Mounte all hyd with Snow ſo chyll: Or els vpon the lofty riddge of braunched Niſa hyll: Thus ſtarting ſtill with frounced mynde ſhe walters to and froe, The ſignes pronouncing proofe of pangues her frenſy Face doth ſhow With glowing cheekes, and bloud red Face with ſhort & gaſping breath, Shee fetcheth deepe aſcending ſighes from ſobbing heart beneath, Now blyth ſhe ſmiles, ech rūbled thought in pondring braine ſhe beats, Now ſtandes ſhe in a mammering, now myſchiefe ſore ſhe threats. With chafing fume ſhe burnes in wrath, and nowe ſhe doth cōplayne, With blubbering teares a freſh byliue ſhee weepes & wayles agayne. Where will this lumpiſh loade of cares with headlong ſway allight? On whom entendeth ſhee to worke the threates of her deſpight? Where will this huge tempeſtious ſurge ſlake downe it ſelfe agayne? Enkindled fury new in breaſt begins to boyle a mayne. Shee ſecretly entendes no miſchiefe ſmall nor meane of ſſe To paſſe her ſelfe in wickednes her buſy braynes deuiſe. The token olde of pinching ire full well ere this know I: Some haynous, huge, outragious great, and dredfull ſtorme is nye: Her firy, ſcowling, ſteaming Eyes, her hanging Groyne I ſee, Her powling, puffed, frowning Face, that ſignes of freatting bee. O myghty Ioue be guile my feare.