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 0.88 · 489 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T54: antony, caesar, anthony, cleopatra, antonius, love, death, die, heart, breast.
Which yet for tents to warlike Mars did serve, Locked up in lids (as fair days cheerful light Which darkness flies) do winking hide in night. Antony by our true loves I thee beseech, And by our hearts sweet sparks have set on fire, Our holy marriage, and the tender ruth Of our dear babes, knot of our amity: My doleful voice thy ear let entertain, And take me with thee to the hellish plain, Thy wife, thy friend: hear Antony, o hear My sobbing sighs, if here thou be, or there. Lived thus long, the winged race of years Ended I have as Destiny decreed. Flourished and reigned, and taken just revenge Of him who me both hated and despised. Happy, alas too happy: if of Rome Only the fleet had hither never come. And now of me an Image great shall go Under the earth to bury there my woe. What say I? where am I? o Cleopatra, Poor Cleopatra, grief thy reason reaves. No, no, most happy in this hapless case, To die with thee, and dying thee embrace: My body joined with thine, my mouth with thine, my mouth, whose moisture burning sighs have dried To be in one self tumble, and one self chest, And wrapped with thee in one self sheet to rest. The sharpest torment in my heart I feel Is that I stay from thee, my heart, this while. Die will I straight now, now straight will I die, And straight with thee a wandering shade will be, Under the Cypress trees thou hauntest alone, Where brooks of hell do falling seem to moan. But yet I stay, and yet thee overlive, That ere I die due rites I may thee give. A thousand sobs I from my breast will tear, With thousand plaints thy funerals adorn: My hair shall serve for thy oblations, My boiling tears for thy effusions, Mine eyes thy fire: for out of them the flame (Which burned thy heart on me enamoured) came. Weep my companions, weep, and from your eyes Rain down on him of tears a brinish stream. Mine can no more, consumed by the coals Which from my breast, as from a furnace rise. martyr your breasts with multiplied blows, With violent hands tear of your hanging hair, Outrage your face: alas! why should we seek (Since now we die) our beauties more to keep? I spent in tears, not able more to spend, But kiss him now, what rests me more to do? Then let me kiss you, you fair eyes, my light, Front seat of honour, face most fierce, most fair! O neck, o arms, o hands, o breast where death (O mischief) comes to choke up vital breath. A thousand kisses, thousand thousand more Let you my mouth for honours farewell give: That in this office weak my limbs may grow, Fainting on you, and fourth my soul may flow.
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)
Which yet for tents to warlike Mars did serue, Lock'd vp in lidds (as faire daies cherefull light Which darkenese flies) do winking hide in night. Antony by our true loues I thee beseeche, And by our hearts sweete sparks haue set on fire, Our holy mariage, and the tender ruthe Of our deare babes, knot of our amitie: My dolefull voice thy eare let entertaine, And take me with thee to the hellish plaine, Thy wife, thy frend: heare Antony, ô heare My sobbing sighes, if here thou be, or there. Liued thus long, the winged race of yeares Ended I haue as Destinie decreed. Flourish'd and raign'd, and taken iust reuenge Of him who me both hated and despisde. Happie, alas too happie: if of Rome Only the fleete had hither neuer come. And now of me an Image great shall goe Vnder the earth to bury there my woe. What say I? where am I? ô Cleopatra, Poore Cleopatra, griefe thy reason reaues. No, no, most happie in this happles case, To die with thee, and dieng thee embrace: My bodie ioynde with thine, my mouth with thine, my mouth, whose moisture burning sighes haue dried To be in one selfe tomble, and one selfe chest, And wrapt with thee in one selfe sheete to rest. The sharpest torment in my heart I feele Is that I stay from thee, my heart, this while. Die will I straight now, now streight will I die, And streight with thee a wandring shade will be, Vnder the Cypres trees thou haunt'st alone, Where brookes of hell do falling seeme to mone. But yet I stay, and yet thee ouerliue, That ere I die due rites I may thee giue. A thousand sobbes I from my brest will teare, With thousand plaints thy funeralls adorne: My haire shall serue for thy oblations, My boiling teares for thy effusions, Mine eies thy fire: for out of them the flame (Which burnt thy heart on me enamour'd) came. Wepe my companions, weepe, and from your eies Raine downe on him of teares a brinish streame. Mine can no more, consumed by the coales Which from my brest, as from a furnace rise. Martir your breasts with multiplied blowes, With violent hands teare of your hanging haire, Outrage your face: alas! why should we seeke (Since now we die) our beauties more to keepe? I spent in teares, not able more to spende, But kisse him now, what rests me more to doe? Then let me kisse you, you faire eites, my light, Front seat of honor, face most firce, most faire! O neck, ô armes, ô hands, ô breast where death (O mischiefe) comes to choake vp vitall breath. A thousand kisses, thousand thousand more Let you my mouth for honors farewell giue: That in this office weake my limmes may growe, Fainting on you, and fourth my soule may flow.