Seneca, Lucius Annaeus / Nuce, ThomasPseudo-Seneca · published 1566 · first performed or written 1566 (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T36 Hell, Furies and the language of punishm · 532 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T36: hell, earth, gods, death, ghosts, blood, bloody, heaven, night, ghost.
And now that mighty heavenly goddess great, No more adred of mortal strumpet's feat, Aloft alone in cloudy bower contents The thundering Lord which now to her relents. Nor now with earthly ladies beauty bright in fired, leaves his starry specked right. Now Madam, sith on earth your power is pight, And have on earth queen Juno's princely place, And sister are, and wife to Nero's grace, Your wondrous restless dolours great appease. Nay, sooner shall the roaring frothy seas, And mounting, flashing flaws match the sky, And smoking, stifling parching fire dry, With danckish pools agree, and watery fen. And griefly Pluto's filthy filtered den, With starbright heaven shall sooner coupled be, And shining light, with gloomy shades agree, And with the clear dry day, the dewy night, Than unto servile lore of husband wight, That brutishwise in blood takes his delight, My heavy woeful mind can I address, While brother's death my heart doth still possess. O that of heavenly powers the prince, and sire, That shogs & shakes the earth, with thundering fire And, with his wondrous fearful, cursed cracks, And strange misseshapen monsters which he makes, Our fearful musing minds doth sore amaze, Would coin some cureless burning wyldefyre blaze, To pelt, and pash with thumpping fire bright, That devilish pate, that cruel cursed wight. We saw from heaven, with beams forthshooting far, Doubtless a dreadful hairy, blazing star: That spouted forth a mortal fiery flake, Whose force a prince's blood can only slake: Even where that hating carman slow Boot With chilling cold all stark, of frozen pole, Doth guide aright Charles whirling running rote, In stead of night that never away doth role. Lo, now the open air in every street, With doggish tyrants breath, is poisoned quite, And dreadful stars soon sudden death doth threat. To people, ruled by wicked Nero's spirit. So stern a freak, or mankind tyrant stout, Not Tellus with the Gods displeased brought out, When mighty Ioue neglected, she uphurled, Huge, ugly, monstrous Typhon to the world. A sorer plague, a cleaner scouring scourge, With bloody paws that cities bounds doth purge, Is Nero dire, this cruel, cursed wight, That doth himself 'gainst God, and man ydight: And thrusts from sacred shrines, their quiet port, And goodly temples gay, the sancted sort: That cities dwellers puts from country's fort: That hath bereft his brother of his life, And launched his mother's sides with gory knife: Yet doth this present lightsome day enjoy, And leads his life, that doth us sore annoy. O father of heaven, in vain why dost thou throw Thy great unvanquished rattling thunder blow Upon the whistling woods, and ample seas, With force of princely power thy wrath t'appease? On such an hurtful, and pernicious freak, Thy due and just conceived ire to wreak. Why stay thy mighty puissant brawns so long, Ere thou fling down, thy rattling cracking throng? O Lord that Nero once might pay the price, Of all his devilish deeds, and every vice, Th'whole wide world's tyrant stern, where he a stroke Doth bear: which he ouerlades with burdenous yoke: Of princely sire yborn, but doth defame, With beastly manners vile his princely name:
seed 43: T32 · seed 44: T26 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
And nowe that mighty heauenly goddesse great, No more adred of mortall strumpets feat, Aloft alone in clowdy bowre contents The thundering Lorde which now to hir relents. Nor now with earthly ladyes beawtie bright Y fired, leaues his starry specked right. Now Madame, sith on earth your powre is pight, And haue on earth quéene Iunos princely place, And sister are, and wife to Neros grace, Your wondrous restlesse dolours great appease. Nay, sooner shall the roaring frothy seas, And mounting, flashing flawes ymatch the skie, And smoking, stiffling parching fyer drye, With danckish pooles agrée, and watrie fenne. And griefly Plutos filthie feltred denne, With starbright heauen shall sooner coupled bée, And shining light, with glomie shades agrée, And with the cleare drye daye, the dewy night, Than vnto seruile lore of husband wyght, That brutishwise in bloud takes his delight, My heauy wofull mynd can I addresse, Whyle brothers death my heart doth still possesse. O that of heauenly powers the prince, and syre, That shogges & shakes the earth, with thundering fyre And, with his wondrous fearefull, curssed crackes, And straunge misseshapen monsters which he makes, Our fearefull musing mindes doth sore amase, Would coyne some curelesse burning wyldefyre blase, To pelt, and pashe with thumpping fyer bright, That diuelish pate, that cruel curssed wyght. We saw frō heauen, with beames forthshooting farre, Doubtlesse a dreadfull hearie, blasing starre: That spouted forth a mortall fyerie flake, Whose force a princes bloude can onely slake: Euen where that hayting carman sloe Boote With chilling colde all starck, of frosen pole, Doth guide aright Charles whirling running rote, In steade of nyght that neuer away doth role. Loe, now the open ayre in euery streate, With doggish tyrantes breath, is poysoned quite, And dreadfull starres soone sodayne death doth threate. To people, rulde by wicked Neros sprite. So sterne a freake, or mankinde tyrant stout, Not Tellus with the Gods displeasde brought out, When mightie Ioue neglected, she vp horlde, Huge, vgly, monstrous Typhon to the worlde. A sorer plague, a cleaner scouring scourge, With bloudye pawes that cities bounds doth purge, Is Nero dyre, this cruell, curssed wyght, That doth him selfe gainst God, and man ydyght: And thrusts from sacred shrynes, their quiet port, And goodly temples gaye, the sancted sort: That cities dwellers puts from countries fort: That hath hereft his brother of his lyfe, And launcht his mothers sides with goarie knyfe: Yet doth this present lightsome day enioy, And leades his lyfe, that doth vs sore anoy. O father of heauen, in vain why doest thou throwe Thy great vnvanquisht ratling thunder blowe Upon the whistling woods, and ample seas, With force of princely power thy wrath t'appease? On such an hurtfull, and pernicious freake, Thy due and iust conceaued yre to wreake. Why stay thy mightie puissaunt braunes so long, Ere thou fling downe, thy ratling cracking throng? O Lorde that Nero once might paye the pryce, Of all his diuelish déedes, and euery vyce, Th'whole wide worlds tirant stern, where he a stroke Doth beare: which he ouer lades with burdnous yoke: Of princely syre yborne, but doth defame, With beastely manners vyle his princely name: