Herbert, Mary Sidney / Garnier, RobertSidney Herbert, Mary · published 1595 · first performed or written 1590 (Annals) tragedy T54 Antony and Cleopatra: love, death and mo typicality 0.82 · 482 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T54: antony, caesar, anthony, cleopatra, antonius, love, death, die, heart, breast.
In sacked towns can hardly ever be. Not if the fire had scaled the highest towers: That all things were of force and murder full; That in the streets the blood in rivers streamed; The son his sire saw in his bosom slain, The sire his son: the husband and rest of breath In his wives arms, who furious runs to death. Now my breast wounded with their piteous plaints I left their town, and took with me this sword, Which I took up at what time Antony Was from his chamber carried to the tomb: And brought it you, to make his death more plain, And that thereby my words may credit gain. Ah Gods what cruel hap! poor Antony, Alas hast thou this sword so long time borne Against thy foe, that in the end it should Of thee his Lord the cursed murderer be? O Death how I bewail thee! we (alas!) So many wars have ended, brothers, friends, Companions, cozens, equals in estate: And must it now to kill thee be my fate? Why trouble you yourself with bootless grief? For Antony why spend you tears in vain? Why darken you with dole your victory? Me seems yourself your glory do envy. Enter the town, give thanks unto the Gods. I cannot but his tearful chance lament, Although not I, but his own pride the cause, And unchaste love of this Egyptian. But best we sought into the tomb to get, Lest she consume in this amazed case So much rich treasure, with which happily Despair in death may make her feed the fire: Suffering the flames her jewels to deface, You to defraud, her funeral to grace. Send then to her, and let some mean be used With some device so hold her still alive, Some fair large promises: and let them mark Whither they may by some fine cunning slight Enter the tombs. Caesar. Let Proculeius go, And feed with hope her soul disconsolate. Assure her so, that we may wholly get Into our hands her treasure and herself. For this of all things most I do desire To keep her safe until our going hence: That by her presence beautified may be The glorious triumph Rome prepares for me. Shall ever civil bate gnaw and devour our state? shall never we this blade, our blood hath bloody made, lay down? these arms down lay as robes we wear always? but as from age to age. so pass from rage to rage? Our hands shall we not rest to bathe in our own breast? and shall thick in each land our wretched trophies stand, to tell posterity, what mad Impiety our stony stomachs led against the place us bred? Then still must heaven view the plagues that us pursue. and everywhere descry Heaps of us scattered lie, making the stranger plains fat with our bleeding rains,
seed 43: T51 · seed 44: T48 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
In sacked townes can hardlie euer be. Not if the fire had scal'de the highest towers: That all things were of force and murther full; That in the streets the bloud in riuers stream'd; The sonne his sire saw in his bosome slaine, The sire his sonne: the husband and rest of breath In his wiues armes, who furious runnes to death. Now my brest wounded with their piteouse plaints I left their towne, and tooke with me this sworde, Which I tooke vp at what time Antony Was from his chamber caried to the tombe: And brought it you, to make his death more plaine, And that thereby my words may credite gaine. Ah Gods what cruell hap! poore Antony, Alas hast thou this sword so long time borne Against thy foe, that in the end it should Of thee his Lord the cursed murth'rer be? O Death how I bewaile thee! we (alas!) So many warres haue ended, brothers, frends, Companions, coozens, equalls in estate: And must it now to kill thee be my fate? Why trouble you your selfe with bootles griefe? For Antony why spend you teares in vaine? Why darken you with dole your victory? Me seemes your selfe your glory do enuie. Enter the towne, giue thanks vnto the Gods. I cannot but his tearefull chaunce lament, Although not I, but his owne pride the cause, And vnchast loue of this Aegiptian. But best we sought into the tombe to get, Lest she consume in this amazed case So much rich treasure, with which happely Despaire in death may make hir feede the fire: Suffring the flames hir Iewells to deface, You to defraud, hir funerall to grace. Sende then to hir, and let some meane be vs'd With some deuise so hold her still aliue, Some faire large promises: and let them marke Whither they may by some fine cunning slight Enter the tombes. Caesar. Let Proculeius goe, And feede with hope hir soule disconsolate. Assure hir soe, that we may wholy get Into our hands hir treasure and her selfe. For this of all things most I do desire To keepe her safe vntill our going hence: That by hir presence beautified may be The glorious triumph Rome prepares for me. Shall euer ciuile bate gnaw and deuour our state? shall neuer we this blade, our bloud hath bloudy made, lay downe? these armes downe lay as robes we weare alway? but as from age to age. so passe from rage to rage? Our hands shall we not rest to bath in our owne brest? and shall thick in each land our wretched trophees stand, to tell posteritie, what madd Impietie our stonie stomacks led against the place vs bred? Then still must heauen view the plagues that vs pursue. and euery wher descrie Heaps of vs scattred lie, making the stranger plaines fat with our bleeding raines,