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 · 498 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T36: hell, earth, gods, death, ghosts, blood, bloody, heaven, night, ghost.
At length on troubled seas displayed, She giving over working vain, And tired with streams is weary laid, Not able toiling strength to strain. In close, and secret silent breasts Of mates with hirto sea that yode, In whom no fear of death there rests, True faith unto their queen abode. Their lady's weather heaten limbs To help some freely venture dare, Some in the coombrous waters swims, And desperate danger do not spare. With cheerful voice they comfort her, Though drawling draggling limbs she drew, To life her up with help they stir, And numbed corpse to strength renew. What boots it thee the death to shun Of roaring raging ravening waves, From deadly sword of wicked son, Alas poor wretch thee nothing saves? Whose huge and heinous cursed rage, Against all course of nature's lore, Our after slow believing age, Will scarce believe it done before. The devilish man repined with grief When he his mother saved saw, From swallowing seas have safe relief And that she vital breath did draw, He grudged with grief: and in his heat, He huger mischief heaps to this: He doth not once delay his feat, But headlong rashly carried is Upon her death. A soldier sent, Dispatcheth that he had in charge, His lady's breast his blade doth rend: She yielding up her soul at large, From wretched corpse for to entomb Her slaughter man, she then besought, That bloody blade within her womb, That first this woe to her had brought, This, this accursed breast (ꝙ she) Which this unkindly monster bare, From pinching pain may not be free: Dig, slash the same, no mischief spare. When this with faltering tongue was said, At last her sad and trembling ghost, With latter sobbing sighs, unstaid, Through gored wounds leaves vital coast. IN me with like consent, why didst thou smile, With glossed looks deluding me a while, O fortune much of might & princely power? To lift aloft to noble royal bower? To th'end that I to honours court extolleth From stately seat might have the greater fall, And round about in every place behold, Such dreadful, threating dangers to us all? I safer lay aloof from envies knocks, Removed among the craggy corsic rocks: Where as my mind there free at proper sway, With leisure did repeat my studies aye. A gladsome joy alone it was to view, And earnestly to mark the heavens so blue: And sacred Phoebus' double whéeled wain: And eke the worlds swift whirling motion main. The Sun so even his second course to keep: And Phebes gliding globe so swiftly sweep: Whom wondrous starting stars encompass round. And to behold, that shines in every stound, The glistering beauty bright of welkin wide: Than which in all the world, nothing beside, Of all this huge and endless work, the guide, More wondrous, nature, framed that I espied. For all the bumping bigness it doth bear, Yet waxing old is like again to wear,
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)
At length on troubled seas displayde, Shée giuing ouer working vaine, And tyrde with streames is weary layde, Not able toyling strength to straine. In close, and secret silent brestes Of mates with hirto sea that yode, In whome no feare of death there restes, True faith vnto their quéene abode. Their ladies weather heaten lyms To helpe some fréely venter dare, Some in the coombrous waters swyms, And desperate daunger do not spare. With cheerfull voyce they comfort hir, Though drawlyng draggling lims she drewe, To lyft hir vp with helpe they stirre, And nummed corps to strength renewe. What bootes it thée the death to shonne Of roaring raging rauening waues, From deadly sworde of wycked sonne, Alas poore wretch thée nothing saues? Whose huge and heinous curssed rage, Against all course of natures lore, Our after slow beléeuing age, Will scarce beléeue it done before. The diuelish man repynde with griefe When he his mother saued sawe, From swallowing seas haue safe reléefe And that she vitall breath did drawe, He grudgde with griefe: and in his heate, He huger mischiefe heapes to thys: He doth not once delay his feate, But hedlong rashly caried is Upon her death. A souldiour sent, Dispatchesh that he had in charge, His ladies brest his blade doth rent: Shée yéelding vp hir soule at large, From wretched corps for to entomb Hir slaughter man, she then besought, That bloudy blade within her womb, That first this woe to hir had brought, This, this accurssed breast (ꝙ shée) Which this vnkindly monster bare, From pinching paine may not be frée: Digge, slash the same, no mischief spare. When this with foultring tong was saide, At last hir sad and trembling goast, With latter sobbing sighes, vnstayde, Through goryd woundes leaues vitall coast. IN me with like cōsent, why didst thou smyle, With glosed lookes deluding mee a whyle, O fortune much of might & princely powre? To lift alofte to noble royall bowre? To th'ende that I to honours court extolde From stately seate might haue the greater fall, And rownde about in euery place beholde, Such dreadfull, threating daungers to vs all? I safer lay aloofe from enuies knockes, Remou'd among the craggy corsick rockes: Where as my minde there frée at propre swaye, With leysure did repeate my studies aye. A gladsome ioy alone it was to viewe, And earnestly to marke the heuens so blewe: And sacred Phoebus double whéeled wayne: And eke the worldes swift whyrling motion mayne. The Sunne so euen his second course to kéepe: And Phebes glyding globe so swiftly swéepe: Whom wondrous starting starres encompasse round. And to beholde, that shines in euery stound, The glystring beawtie bright of welkin wyde: Than which in all the worlde, nothing besyde, Of all this huge and endlesse worke, the guyde, More wondrous, nature, framde that I espyde. For all the bumping bygnesse it doth beare, Yet waxing olde is like againe to weare,