Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T54: antony, caesar, anthony, cleopatra, antonius, love, death, die, heart, breast.
Give them their lots, Mardio; the shortest lot Is to die first. That lot is mine. The Asp shall be thy fate: now Asp confirm What fame reports of thee; stay thou thy draught Till he be dead: feel'st thou no pain? A faintness seizes me, and I would sleep. How gently he lies down? and scarcely strives Against his death at all. I think he's dead Already. Sure he feels but little pain. I am confirmed. He's dead and stiff already. we'll try no more, as for thy draught of poison Thus we discharge thee of it, and from death Doomed by the law our royal pardon frees thee. Publish it Mardio. The Gods preserve Royal and gracious Cleoptrae's life. I am resolved; nought but the Libyan Asp Shall be renowned for Cleopatra's death. Thou precious worm, that canst redeem alone The loss of honour at a rate so easy, That killest as gently as the hand of age, And art miscalled a plague of Africa, Since thou alone mak'st barren Afrique envied, By other lands, though fruitful, wanting thee. Who cross the Seas, and hence at highest price Transport the Asp as choicest Merchandise. On thee I trust, one gentle touch of thine Can free this life from loathed servitude, From Caesar's triumph, the base people's mocks, Proud Livia's scorn, and mad Octavia's spite. But why are all my thoughts turned to despair? Why think I now of death? methinks my Genius Checks this cold fear, and Fortune chiding tells me I am ungrateful to distrust, her now. My race of life and glory is not run, Nor Cleopatra's fortunes yet arrived At that great height that must eternize her, And fix her glorious name above the stars. I long to hear what answer Caesar sends. I do not know his temper, but he's young; And why should I despair? are Cupid's fires Extinguished quite? are all his arrows spent? Or is this beauty, that can boast the conquest Of Julius Caesar; and great Antony, So waned now, it cannot move the temper Of one, whom youth makes fit for Cupid's conquest? Madam, your gifts were more graciously received, And Caesar with a smiling brow returned All seeming love and friendship; he has sent His freedman Thyreus to attend your highness, And to impart his counsels to your ear. He's welcome to us. What's great Caesar's will. Caesar's best wishes, royal Cleopatra, None but your fairest self can ratify. No power on earth can give what Caesar wants But you, great Queen. For let your Majesty Give credit to poor Thyreus though the meanest Of all the servants that attend on Caesar, there's none about him is more near in trust To whom he's pleased to impart his thoughts, And secret wishes: nothing but your love Can crown his happiness. We are no subject For Caesar's mocks though in our worst of fortune
seed 43: T30 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Give them their lots, Mardio; the ſhorteſt lot Is to die firſt. That lot is mine. The Aſpe ſhall be thy fate: now Aſpe confirme What fame reports of thee; ſtay thou thy draught Till he be dead: feel'ſt thou no pain? A faintneſſe ſeizes me, and I would ſleep. How gently he lies down? and ſcarcely ſtrives Againſt his death at all. I think he's dead Already. Sure he feels but little pain. I am confirm'd. He's dead and ſtiffe already. Wee'll try no more, as for thy draught of poyſon Thus we diſcharge thee of it, and from death Doom'd by the law our royall pardon frees thee. Publiſh it Mardio. The Gods preſerve Royall and gracious Cleoptrae's life. I am reſolvd'; nought but the Libyan Aſpe Shall be renown'd for Cleopatraes death. Thou precious worme, that canſt redeem alone The loſſe of honour at a rate ſo eaſie, That kill'ſt as gently as the hand of age, And art miſcall'd a plague of Africa, Since thou alone mak'ſt barren Afrike envy'd, By other lands, though fruitfull, wanting thee. Who croſſe the Seas, and hence at higheſt price Tranſporr the Aſpe as choiſeſt Merchandiſe. On thee I truſt, one gentle touch of thine Can free this life from lothed ſervitude, From Caeſar's triumph, the baſe peoples mocks, Proud Liviaes ſcorn, and mad Octaviaes ſpight. But why are all my thoughts turn'd to deſpair? Why think I now of death? me thinks my Genius Checks this cold fear, and Fortune chiding tels me I am ungratefull to diſtruſt, her now. My race of life and glory is not run, Nor Clepatraes fortunes yet arriv'd At that great height that muſt eternize her, And fix her glorious name aboue the ſtars. I long to hear what anſwer Caeſar ſends. I do not know his temper, but he's young; And why ſhould I deſpir? are Cupid's fires Extinguiſh'd quite? are all his arrows ſpent? Or is this beauty, that can boaſt the conqueſt Of Julius Caeſar; and great Antony, So waned now, it cannot move the temper Of one, whom youth makes fit for Cupid's conqueſt? Madam, your gifts were more graciouſly receiv'd, And Caeſar with a ſmiling brow return'd All ſeeming love and friendſhip; he has ſent His free'dman Thyreus to attend your highneſſe, And to impart his counſels to your eae. He's welcome to us. What's great Caeſar's will. Caeſar's beſt wiſhes, royall Cleopatra, None but your faireſt ſelf can ratifie. No power on earth can give what Caeſar wants But you, great Queen. For let your Majeſty Give credit to poor Thyreus though the meaneſt Of all the ſervants that attend on Caeſar, Ther's none about him is more neer in truſt To whom he's pleaſed to impart his thoughts▪ And ſecret wiſhes: nothing but your love Can crown his happineſſe. We are no ſubject For Caeſar's mocks though in our worſt of fortune