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.
That Tyrant dire doth rage at mother's name. And seeketh ways my deeds for to defame. Who threating death to them that do withstand, My shapes he dingeth down in every land: My princely titles large he scrapeth out In every place, the whole wide world about, Which my unlucky parents love did give, too much unto my pain while I did live, Unto a boy to guide, which now I rue. My poisoned make, my Ghost doth oft pursue: And in my face with burning brands doth fly. He stays a space with earnest talk hard by, And threateneth sore, and doth impute his death And tomb he should have had to me beneath. And now desires to have some factious wight, That dare despoil my son of breathing sprite. Let be you shall have one to work this crime, I do require no long delayed time. Revenging sprite Erin, a death doth coin, Of life, that wicked tyrant to purloin. Sore smarting leaden stripes and shameful flight, And pining pangs with thirst and hunger dight: That Tantalus spungelike thirsty mouth befured, And Sisyphus' toil shall pass, and Tityus' bird, And Ixion's painful wombling wheel about, That teareth all his bodies parts throughout. Although that Tyrant proud and scornful wight, His court with marble stone do strongly dight, And princelike garnish it with glistering gold: Though troops of soldiers shielded sure, uphold Their chieftains princely porch: and though yet still The world drawn dry with tasks even to his will, Great heaps of riches yield themselves to save, Although his bloody help the Parthians crave, And Kingdoms bring, and goods all that they have, The time and day shall come, whenas he shall Forlorn, and quite undone, and wanting all. Unto his cursed deeds his life and more, Unto his foes his bared throat restore. Alas, unto what end is all my pain? Or in what case do now my vows remain? Whereto doth now thy rage and destinies spite? Draw thee O Son, with brain benumbed quite? That to such monstrous heaps of ills thy dame (Whom thou with cursed mischief overcame) Her wrath should yield? O that ere to the light A sucking babe I brought thee forth in sight, And fed thee fine with pap as princely borne, The fierce, wild, savage beasts had rent and torn My womb and bloody entrails all before. Without all crime, and wanting reasons pride, Mine own dear dandling child thou shouldst have died. And fastened sure to me shouldst aye behold, The quiet place, where Ghostly souls be rolled: And see thy grandsires great of worthy fame, And sire Domitius eke of princely name, Whom now both shame and wailing doth abide, That while they dure, from them shall never slide. For which both thee, O cursed barn, they may, And me, that thee have borne give thanks for aye. But why cease I, with hell to hide my face, Wife, stepdame, mother dire, in my life space?
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)
That Tyrant dyre doth rage at mothers name. And ſeeketh wayes my deedes for to defame. Who threating death to them that doe withſtand, My ſhapes he dingeth downe in euery land: My princely tytles large hee ſcrapeth out In euery place, the whole wydeworld aboute, Which my vnlucky parentes loue did geue, To much vnto my paine whyle I did liue, Vnto a boy to guyde, which now I rue. My poyſoned make, my Ghoſt doth oft purſue: And in my face with burning brondes doth flye. He ſtayes a ſpace with earneſt talke hard by, And threatneth ſore, and doth impute his death And tombe he ſhould haue had to mee beneath. And now deſyres to haue ſome factious wight, That dare deſpayle my ſonne of breathing ſpright. Let be you ſhall haue one to worke this cryme, I do require no long delayed tyme. Reuenging ſpright Erin, a death doth coine, Of life, that wicked tyrant to purloyne. Sore ſmarting leaden ſtrypes and ſhameful flight, And pyning panges with thurſt and hunger dight: That Tantalus ſpungelike thurſty mouth befurde, And Siſyphus toyle ſhal paſſe, and Tityus burde, And Ixions paynful wombling wheele aboute, That teareth all his bodyes partes throughout. Although that Tyrant proude and ſcornful wight, His court with marble ſtone do ſtrongly dyght, And princelike garniſh it with gliſtring golde: Though troupes of ſouldiours ſhielded ſure, vpholde Their chieftaynes princely porch: and though yet ſtill The world drawne drye with taſkes euen to his will, Great heapes of riches yeeld themſelues to ſaue, Although his bloudy helpe the Parthians craue, And Kingdomes bring, and goods al that they haue, The tyme and day ſhall come, when as he ſhall Forlorne, and quite vndone, and wanting all. Vnto his curſed deedes his life and more, Vnto his foes his bared throate reſtore. Alas, vnto what ende is all my payne? Or in what caſe do now my vowes remayne? Wherto doth now thy rage and deſtnies ſpyte? Draw thee O Sonne, with brayne benummed quite? That to ſuch monſtruous heapes of ylles thy dame (Whom thou with curſed miſchiefe ouercame) Hir wrath ſhould yeeld? O that ere to the light A ſucking babe I brought thee foorth in ſight, And fedd thee fyne with pappe as princely borne, The fierce, wild, ſauage beaſtes had rent and torne My wombe and bloudy entrails all beforne. Without all cryme, and wanting reaſons pride, Mine own deere dādling child thou ſhouldſt haue dide. And faſtned ſure to me ſhouldſt aye beholde, The quiet place, where Ghoſtly ſoules be rolde: And ſee thy graundſyres great of worthy fame, And ſyre Domitius eake of princely name, Whom now both ſhame and wayling doth abyde, That whyle they dure, from them ſhal neuer ſlyde. For which both thee, O curſed Barne, they may, And mee, that thee haue borne geeue thankes for aye. But why ceaſſe I, with hel to hyde my face, Wyfe, ſtepdame, mother dire, in my life ſpace?