Seneca, Lucius Annaeus / Studley, John · published 1581 · first performed or written 1566 (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T36 Hell, Furies and the language of punishm · 527 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T36: hell, earth, gods, death, ghosts, blood, bloody, heaven, night, ghost.
Can I find in my heart To shun this land? if hence I had first fallen away by flight, I would have traveled back again, to gaze at such a sight. To stand and see this wedding new, why stay'st thou doting mind? Apply, apply, thy sore attempt, that good success doth find. What great exploit is this, that thou of vengeance dost enjoy? Still art thou blinded witless wench with vale of Venus' boy? Is this suffisance for the grief? is root of rancour dead, If Iason lead a single life in solitary bed? Some nettling, thorny, stinging plagues unpractised device: Prepare thyself in readiness and fall to on this wise: Let all be fish that comes to Net, have no respect of right, From mind on mischief fixed fast let shame be vanished quite: The vengeance they received at my little children's hand, Is nothing worth: in earnest ire intentive must thou stand. When heat of wrath begins to cool, cheer up thyself again: Raise up those touches old that wonted were in thee to reign, That buried deep in breast do lie: and as for all the same That yet is wrought: Of godliness let it usurp the name: Do this, and I shall teach them learn, what trifling cast it was, And common practised flim-flam trick that erst I brought to pass. By this my raging malady a preamble hath made, To show what howgier heaps of harms shall shortly them invade What durst my rude unskilful hand assay that was of weight? What could the malice of a Girl invent her foes to bait? Still conversant with wicked feats Medea am I made. My blunt and dulled brains hath so been beat about this trade. O so I joy, I joy, that I smote of my brother's head, And slashed his members of: eke that from parents had I fled: And filched have the privy fleece, lo Mars that sacred was. It glads my heart that I to bring old Pelias death to pass: Have set his daughters all on work: O grief pick out a way Not any guilt thou shalt with unacquainted hand assay Against whom wrath intendest thou to bend thine Ireful might? Or with what weapon dost thou mean thy traitorous foes to smite? I know not what my wrathful mind consulted hath within, And to be it to himself, I dare not yet begin. O rash and unadvised fool, I make to hasty speed: O that my Foe had gotten of his harlot's body Seed: But whatsoever thou by him enjoyest, suppose the same To be Creusa's Babes, of them let her enjoy the name. This vengeance, this doth like me well good reason is there, why, The last attempt of 'tis, thou must with stomach stout apply. Alas ye little silly fools that erst my children were, The plaguing price of Father's fault submit yourselves to bear. O, horror huge with sudden stroke my heart doth overcome: With icy dulling cold congealed my Members all benumb. My shivering limbs appalled sore for ghastly fear do quake, And banished rage of malice hot begins itself to slake:
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)
Can I finde in my hart To ſhun this lande? if hence I had firſt falne away by flight, I would haue traueled backe agayne, to gaſe at ſuch a ſight. To ſtande and ſee this weddiug new, why ſtayſt thou doting mynde? Apply, apply, thy ſore attempt, that good ſucceſſe doth finde. What great exployt is this, that thou of vengeaunce doſt enioy? Still art thou blynded witleſſe wench with vale of Venus boy? Is this ſuffiſaunce for the griefe? is roote of rancour ded, If Iaſon leade a ſingle lyfe in ſolitary bed? Some netling, thorny, ſtinging plagues vnpractiſed deuiſe: Prepare thy ſelfe in redines and fall to on this wyſe: Let all bee fiſhe that commes to Net, haue no reſpect of ryghte, From mynde on miſchiefe fixed faſt let ſhame be vaniſht quyte: The vengeaunce they receaued at my lytle chyldrens hand, Is nothing worth: in earneſt ire ententiue muſt thou ſtand. When heate of wrath begins to coole, cheere vp thy ſelfe agayne: Rayſe vp thoſe touches olde that wonted were in thee to raygne, That buried deepe in breaſt doe lye: and as for all the ſame That yet is wrought: Of godlineſſe let it vſurpe the name: Doe this, and I ſhall teach them learne, what tryfling caſt it was, And common practiſde flimflam trick that erſt I brought to paſſe. By this my raging malady a preamble hath made, To ſhew what howgier heapes of harmes ſhall ſhortly them inuade What durſt my rude vnſkilfull hand aſſay that was of wayght? Wha could the mallice of a Gyrle inuent her foes to bayte? Still conuerſaunt with wicked feates Medea am I made. My blunt and dulled braynes hath ſo ben beate about this trade. O ſo I ioy, I ioy, that I ſmote of my brothers head, And ſlaſht his members of: eake that from parents had I fled: And filched haue the priuy fleece, loe Mars that ſacred was. It glads my heart that I to bring olde Pelias death to paſſe: Haue ſet his daughters all on worke: O griefe picke out a way Not any guilt thou ſhalt with vnacquainted hand aſſay Againſt whom wrath entendeſt thou to bend thyne Irefull might? Or with what weapon doſt thou meane thy trayterous foes to ſmight? I know not what my wrathfull minde conſulted hath within, And to be wray it to himſelfe, I dare not yet begin. O raſh and vnaduiſed foole, I make to haſty ſpeede: O that my Foe had gotten of his Harlots body Seede: But what ſo euer thou by him enioyeſt, ſuppoſe the ſame To bee Creuſas Babes, of them let her enioy the name. This vengeaunce, this doth like mee well good reaſon is there, why, The laſt attempt of is, thou muſt with ſtomacke ſtout apply. Aas yee litle ſeely fooles that erſt my children were, The plaguing price of Fathers fault ſubmit your ſelues to beare. O, horrour huge with ſodayne ſtroke my heart doth ouercom: With ycie dulling colde congealde my Members all benun. My ſhiuering lims appauled ſore for gaſtly feare doe quake, And baniſht rage of malice hoate begins it ſelfe to ſlake: