Seneca, Lucius Annaeus / Nuce, ThomasPseudo-Seneca · published 1581 · first performed or written 1566 (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T36 Hell, Furies and the language of punishm · 499 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.
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 her to sea that yode, In whom no fear of death there rests True faith unto their Queen abode. Their ladies weather beaten limbs To help, some freely venture dare, Some in the cumbrous waters swims And desperate danger do not spare. With cheerful voice they comfort her, Though drawling draggling limbs she drew, To lift her up with help they stir, And numbed corpses 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 is 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 rent: She yielding up her sold at large, From wretched corpses 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 (quoth she) Which this unkindly monster bore, 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. ON me with like consent why didst thou smile, With glossed looks deluding me a while, O fortune much of might and princely power? To lift aloft to noble royal bower? To th'end that I to honour's court extolled, 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 wheeled wain: And eke the worlds swift whirling motion main. The Sun so even his second course to keep: And Phoebe's 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 Shee geuing ouer working vayne And tyrd with streames is weary layd, Not able toyling ſtrength to strayne In cloſe and ſecrete ſilent breaſtes, Of mates with her to ſea that yode, In whom no feare of death there restes True fayth vnto theyr Queene abode. Theyr Ladyes weather beaten limmes To helpe, ſome freely venter dare, Some in the combrous waters ſwymmes And deſperate daunger do not ſpare. VVith cheereful voyce they comfort her, Though drawling dragling limmes ſhee drew, To lift her vp with helpe they ſtirre, And nummed corpes to ſtrength renew. VVhat bootesit thee the death to shonne Of roaring raging rauening waues. From deadly ſword of wicked ſonne, Alas pore wretch thee nothing ſaues? VVhoſe huge and heinous curſed rage, Agaynſt all courſe of natures lore, Our after ſlow beleeuing age, VVil ſcarce beleene it done before, The deuilliſh man repynde with griefe VVhen he is mother ſaued ſawe, From ſwallowing ſeas haue ſafe releefe, And that she vitall breath did draw, He grudgde with griefe and in his heate, He huger miſchiefe heapes to this: He doth not once delay his feate, But headlong raſhly caryed is Vpon her death. A ſouldiour ſent, Diſpatcheth that he had in charge, His Ladies breaſt his blade doth rent: Shee yeelding vp her ſoulde at large, From wretched corpes for to entombe Her ſlaughter man ſhe then beſought, That bloudy blade within her wombe, That fyrſt this woe to her had brought, This, this accurſed breast (quoth ſhee) VVhich this vnkindly monſter bare, From pinching payne may not be free: Digge, ſlaſh the ſame, no miſchiefe ſpare. VVhen this with foltring tounge was ſayde, At laſt her ſad and trembling ghoſt, VVith latter ſobbing ſighes vnſtayd, Through goryd woundes leaues vitall coaſt. ON me with like conſent why didſt thou ſmile, With gloſed lookes deluding mee a whyle, O fortune much of might and princely powre? To lift aloft to noble royall bowre? To the'nde that I to honours court extold, From ſtately ſeate might haue the greater fall, And round aboute in euery place beholde, Such dreadful, threating daungers to vs all, I ſafer lay aloofe from enuyes knockes, Remou'd among the craggy corſicke rockes: Where as my mynd there free at proper ſway, With leyſure did repeate my ſtudies aye. A gladſome ioy alone it was to viewe, And earneſtly to marke the heauens ſo blew: And ſacred Phoebus double wheeled wayne: And eake the worldes ſwift whirling motion mayne. The Sunne ſo euen his ſecond courſe to keepe: And Phoebes glyding globe ſo ſwiftly ſweepe: Whom wondrous ſtarting ſtarres encompaſſe round. And to behold that ſhynes in euery ſtound, The gliſtring beauty bright of welkin wyde: Than which in al the world nothing beſyde. Of all this huge and endles worke the guyde, More wondrous nature fram'de that Ieſpyde, For all the bumping bignes it doth beare; Yet waxing old is like agayne to weare,