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 0.75 · 517 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T2: rome, caesar, senate, sulla, roman, consul, brutus, romans, men, marius.
Oppose not Sythia to ambitious Rome, Alarbus goes to rest and we survive, To tremble under Titus' threatening look, Then Madam stand resolved, but hope withal, The self same Gods that armed the Queen of Troy With opportunity of sharp revenge Upon the Thracian Tyrant in his Tent, May favour Tamora the Queen of Goths, (When Goths were Goths, and Tamora was Queen,) To quit the bloody wrongs upon her foes. See Lord and father how we have performed Our Roman rights, Alarbus limbs are lopped, And entrails feed the sacrificing fire, Whose smoke like incense doth perfume the sky, Remaineth nought but to inter our brethren, And with loud larums welcome them to Rome. Let it be so, and let Andronicus, Make this his latest farewell to their souls. In peace and honour rest you here my sons, Rooms readiest Champions, repose you here in rest, Secure from worldly chances and mishaps: Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells, Here grow no damned drugs, here are no storms, No noise, but silence and eternal sleep, In peace and honour rest you here my sons. In peace and honour, live Lord Titus long, My Noble Lord and father live in fame: Lo at this Tomb my tributary tears, I render for my brethren's obsequies: And at thy feet I kneel, with tears of joy Shed on this earth, for thy return to Rome, O bless me here with thy victorious hand, Whose fortunes Rooms best Citizens applaud. Kind Rome that hast thus lovingly reserved, The Cordial of mine age to glad my heart, Lavinia live, outlive thy father's days, And fames eternal date for virtues praise. Long live Lord Titus my beloved brother, Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome. Thanks gentle Tribune, Noble brother Marcus. And welcome Nephews from successful wars You that survive, and you that sleep in fame: Fair Lords, your fortunes are alike in all, That in your Country's service drew your swords, But safer triumph is this funeral pomp, That hath aspired to Solon's happiness, And triumphs over chance in honour's bed. Titus Andronicus, the people of Rome, Whose friend in justice thou hast ever been, Send thee by me their Tribune and their trust, This Palliament of white and spotless hue, And name thee in election for the Empire, With these our late deceased Emperors sons: Be Candidatus then and put it on, And help to set a head on headless Room. A better head her glorious body fits, Than his that shakes for age and feebleness: What should I done this Robe and trouble you? Be chosen with Proclamations to day, To morrow yield up rule, resign my life, And set abroad new business for you all. Room I have been thy soldier forty years, And led my Country's strength successfully, And buried one and twenty valiant sons Knighted in Field, slain manfully in Arms, In right and service of their Noble Country: Give me a staff of Honour for mine age, But not a sceptre to control the world, Upright he held it Lords that held it last.
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)
Oppose not Sythia to ambitious Rome, Alarbus goes to rest and we suruiue, To tremble vnder Titus threatning looke, Then Madam stand resolud, but hope withall, The selfe same Gods that armde the Queene of Troy VVith opportunitie of sharpe reuenge Vpon the Thracian Tyrant in his Tent, May auour Tamora the Queene of Gothes, (VVhen Gothes were Gothes, and Tamora was Queene,) To quit the bloodie wrongs vpon her foes. See Lord and father how we haue performd Our Romane rights, Alarbus limbs are lopt, And intrals feede the sacrifising fire, VVhose smoke like incense doth perfume the skie, Remaineth nought but to interre our brethren, And with lowd larums welcome them to Rome. Let it be so, and let Andronicus, Make this his latest farewell to their soules. In peace and honour rest you here my sonnes, Roomes readiest Champions, repose you here in rest, Secure from worldly chaunces and mishaps: Here lurks no treason, here no enuie swels, Here grow no damned drugges, here are no stormes, No noyse, but silence and eternall sleepe, In peace and honour rest you here my sonnes. In peace and honour, liue Lord Titus long, My Noble Lord and father liue in fame: Lo at this Tombe my tributarie teares, I render for my brethrens obsequies: And at thy feete I kneele, with teares of ioy Shed on this earth, for thy returne to Rome, O blesse me here with thy victorious hand, VVhose fortunes Roomes best Citizens applaud. Kinde Rome that hast thus louingly reserude, The Cordiall of mine age to glad my hart, Lauinia liue, outliue thy fathers daies, And fames eternall date for vertues praise. Long liue Lord Titus my beloued brother, Gratious triumpher in the eies of Rome. Thanks gentle Tribune, Noble brother Marcus. And welcome Nephews from succesfull wars You that suruiue, and you that sleepe in fame: Faire Lords, your fortunes are alike in all, That in your Countries seruice drew your swords, But safer triumph is this funerall pompe, That hath aspirde to Solons happines, And triumphs ouer chaunce in honours bed. Titus Andronicus, the people of Rome, VVhose friend in iustice thou hast euer beene, Send thee by mee their Tribune and their trust, This Palliament of white and spotles hue, And name thee in election for the Empire, VVith these our late deceased Emperours sonnes: Be Candidatus then and put it on, And helpe to set a head on headles Roome. A better head her glorious bodie fits, Than his that shakes for age and feeblenes: VVhat should I don this Roabe and trouble you? Be chosen with Proclamations to daie, To morrow yeeld vp rule, resigne my life, And set abroad new busines for you all. Roome I haue beene thy souldier fortie yeares, And led my Countries strength succesfullie, And buried one and twentie valiant sonnes Knighted in Field, slaine manfullie in Armes, In right and seruice of their Noble Countrie: Giue me a staffe of Honour for mine age, But not a scepter to controwle the world, Vpright he held it Lords that held it last