Peele, George / Shakespeare, William · published 1594 · first performed or written 1594 [Jan 23 (24); poss. written 1590-1592] (Annals) tragedy · Pembroke's Men (?) T2 Roman politics: senate, consuls and civi typicality 0.77 · 514 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T2: rome, caesar, senate, sulla, roman, consul, brutus, romans, men, marius.
Tribunes and me a poor Competitor. Romans' make way, the good Andronicus, Patron of virtue, Rome's best Champion: Successful in the battles that he fights, With honour and with fortune is returned, From where he circumscribed with his sword, And brought to yoke the enemies of Rome. Hail Rome, victorious in thy mourning weeds, Lo as the Bark that hath discharged his fraught, Returns with precious lading to the bay, From whence at first she weighed her anchorage; Commeth Andronicus, bound with Laurel bows, To resalute his Country with his tears, Tears of true joy for his return to Rome, Thou great defender of this Capitol, Stand gracious to the rights that we intend. Romans', of five and twenty valiant sons, Half of the number that king Priam had, Behold the poor remains alive and dead: These that survive, let Rome reward with love: These that I bring unto their latest home, With burial amongst their ancestors. Here Goths have given me leave to sheathe my sword, Titus unkind, and careless of thine own, Why sufferest thou thy sons unburied yet, To hover on the dreadful shore of stix, Make way to lay them by their brethren. There greet in silence as the dead are wont, And sleep in peace, slain in your Country's wars: O sacred Receptacle of my joys, Sweet Cell of virtue and Nobility, How many sons hast thou of mine in store, That thou wilt never render to me more. Give us the proudest prisoner of the Goths. That we may hue his limbs and on a pile, Ad manus fratrum, sacrifice his flesh: Before this earthy prison of their bones, That so the shadows be not vnappeazde, Nor we disturbed with prodigies on earth. I give him you the Noblest that survives, The eldest son of this distressed Queen. Stay Roman brethren, gracious Conqueror, Victorious Titus, rue the tears I shed, A mother's tears in passion for her son: And if thy sons were ever dear to thee, Oh think my son to be as dear to me. Sufficeth not that we are brought to Rome To beautify thy triumphs, and return Captive to thee, and to thy Roman yoke: But must my sons be slaughtered in the streets For valiant doings in their Country's cause? O if to fight for king and commonweal, Were piety in thine, it is in these: Andronicus, stain not thy tomb with blood. Will't thou draw near the nature of the Gods? Draw near them then in being merciful, Sweet mercy is Nobilities true badge, Thrice Noble Titus, spare my first borne son. Patiented yourself Madam, and pardon me, These are their brethren, whom your Goths beheld Alive and dead, and for their brethren slain, Religiously they ask a sacrifice: To this your son is marked, and die he must, T'appease their groaning shadows that are gone. Away with him, and make a fire strait, And with our swords upon a pile of wood, Let's hue his limbs till they be clean consumed. O cruel irreligious piety. Was never Sythia half so barbarous.
seed 43: T1 · seed 44: T2 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Tribunes and me a poore Competitor. Romaines make way, the good Andronicus, Patron of vertue, Romes best Champion: Succesfull in the battailes that he fights, VVith honour and with fortune is returnd, From where he circumscribed with his sword, And brought to yoake the enemies of Rome. Haile Rome, victorious in thy mourning weeds, Lo as the Barke that hath dischargd his fraught, Returnes with pretious lading to the bay, From whence at first shee wayd her anchorage; Commeth Andronicus, bound with Lawrell bowes, To resalute his Countrie with his teares, Teares of true ioy for his returne to Rome, Thou great defender of this Capitoll, Stand gratious to the rights that we entend. Romaines, of fiue and twenty valiant sonnes, Halfe of the number that king Priam had, Behold the poore remaines aliue and dead: These that suriue, let Rome reward with loue: These that I bring vnto their latest home, VVith buial amongst their auncestors. Here Gothes haue giuen me leaue to sheath my sword, Titus vnkinde, and careles of thine owne, VVhy sufferst thou thy sonnes vnburied yet, To houer on the dreadfull hre of stix, Make way to lay them by their brethren. There greete in silence as the dead are wont, And sleepe in peace, slaine in your Countries warres: O sacred Receptacle of my ioyes, Sweete Cell of vertue and Nobilitie, How many sonnes hast thou of mine in store, That thou wilt neuer render to me more. Giue vs the prowdest prisoner of the Gothes. That we may hew his limbs and on a pile, Ad manus fratrum, sacrifice his flesh: Before this earthy prison of their boanes, That so the shadows be not vnappeazde, Nor we disturbde with prodegies on earth. I giue him you the Noblest that suruiues, The eldest sonne of this distressed Queene. Stay Romaine brethren, gratious Conquerour, Victorious Titus, rue the teares I shed, A mothers teares in passion for her sonne: And if thy sonnes were euer deare to thee, Oh thinke my sonne to be as deare to mee. Sufficeth not that we are brought to Rome To beautifie thy triumphs, and returne Captiue to thee, and to thy Romaine yoake: But must my sonnes be slaughtered in the streets For valiant dooings in their Countries cause? O if to fight for king and common-weale, VVere pietie in thine, it is in these: Andronicus, staine not thy tombe with bloud. VVilt thou draw neere the nature of the Gods? Draw neere them then in being merciull, Sweete mercie is Nobilities true badge, Thrice Noble Titus, spare my first borne sonne. Patient your selfe Madam, and pardon me, These are their brethren, whom your Gothes beheld Aliue and dead, and for their brethren slaine, Religiously they aske a sacrifice: To this your sonne is mark, and die he must, T'appease their groning shadowes that are gone. Away with him, and make a fire straight, And with our swords vpon a pile of wood, Lets hew his limbs till they be cleane consumde. O cruell irreligeous pietie. VVas neuer Sythia halfe so barbarous.