Seneca, Lucius Annaeus / Studley, John · published 1581 · first performed or written 1566 (Annals) tragedy T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.72 · 526 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Whom bumping with thy rapping post Megaera wilt thou crush? Whose ghost doth hear misshaped from hell with scattered members rush? My slaughtered 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, and squeeze them out, lo ope my breast it lies, To fighting furies bobbing strokes, O brother, brother bid These roils, that press to worry me, themselves away to rid. dawn 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 sprite, 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 me will cloy with deadly harms. To end this slaughter set upon 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 flickering fame and praise in darkness be exiled Of stomach stout, 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. Here, here, ye jolly champions lay load with weapons here, 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 cattle's Fleece returned is to my native land, Possession of my realm I have reclaimed to my hand: Come home is my virginity, that whilom went astray. O Gods as good as I could wish, O joyful wedding day, Go shroud thyself in darkness him, dispatched I have this feat: Yet vengeance is not done enough, to cool our thirsty 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 wretch, 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.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 1410–1457 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 29 of 30 in this edition
Length
526 words · 682 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.720 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
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)
Whom bumping with thy rapping poſt Megaera wilt thou cruſh? Whoſe ghoſt doth heare miſhapt from hell with ſcatered members ruſh? My ſlaughtred brothers ghoſt it is that vengeaunce coms to craue: According to his dyre requeſt due vengeaunce ſhall hee haue. But flap thou fearce the fierbrandes full daſſahed in myne Eyes, Dig, rent, ſcrape, burne, and ſqueas them out, loe ope my breaſt it lyes, To fighting furies bobbing ſtrokes, O brother, brother bid Theſe royles, that preaſſe to worrey mee, them ſelues away to rid. Dawne to the ſlent ſoules alowe not taking any care: Let mee be left heare by my ſelfe alone, and doe not ſpare, To baſt, and capperclaw theſe armes that drewe the bloudy blade: To quench the furies of thy ſprite, that thus doe mee inuade, With this right hand the ſacrifice on thaulter ſhalbe made. What meanes this ſudden trampling noyſe? a band of men in Armes Come buſtling towarde vs, that mee will cloy with deadly harmes. To ende this ſlaughter ſet vpon I will my ſelfe conuay Vp to the garrets of our houſe, come Nurce with me away, Beſtow thy body hence with mee from daunger of our foes. Now thus my mynde on miſchiefe ſet thou muſt thy ſelfe diſpoſe, Let not the flickering fame and prayſe in darkeneſſe bee exilde Of ſtomack ſtout, that you did vſe in murthering of thy childe. Proclaime in peoples eares the prayſe of cruell bloudy hand. If any faythfull man here bee, whom ruine of his land, And ſlaughter of his Prynce doe cauſe in penſue heart to bleede, Step forth that yee may take the wretch that wrought this deadly deede. Heere, heere, yee ioly champions lay loade with weapons heere, Haue now, hoyſt vp this houſe, from low Foundacion 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 returnde is to my natiue land, Poſſeſſion of my realme I haue reclaymed to my hand: Come home is my virginity, that whilom went aſtray. O Gods as good as I coulde wiſſhe, O ioyfull wedding day, Goe ſhrowde thy ſelfe in darkneſſe him, diſpacht I haue this feate: Yet vengeaunce is not done inough, to coole our thriſty heate. O ſoule why doſt thou make delay? Why doſt thou doubting ſtade? Goe foreward with it yet thou mayſt, whyle doing is thy hande: The wrath that might ſhould myniſter doth qualefy his flame: The pryckes of ſorrow twitch my heart attaynt with bluſſhing ſhame: Through rygour of thy heynous gore, O wretch, what haſt thou done? Though I repent a caityfe vile I am, to ſle a my ſonne: Alas I haue committed it, importunate delight, Still egged on my frowarde mynde that did againſt it fight: And loe the vayne coniect of this delight increaſeth ſtill, This onely is the thing, that wants vnto my wicked will, That Iaſons eyes ſhoulde ſee this ſight as yet I doe ſuppoſe, Nothing it is that I haue done, my trauell all I loſe, That I employde in dyry deedes, vnleſſe hee ſee the ſame.