Peele, George / Shakespeare, William · published 1594 · first performed or written 1594 [Jan 23 (24); poss. written 1590-1592] (Annals) tragedy · Pembroke's Men (?) unassigned nearest T34 Thebes and royal catastrophe: siege, sla · 501 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T34: thebes, antigone, polynices, creon, eteocles, war, theban, gods, dear, country.
Ascend fair Queen: Panthean Lords accompany Your Noble Emperor and his lovely Bride, Sent by the Heavens for Prince Saturnine, Whose wisdom hath her Fortune conquered, There shall we consummate our spousal rites. I am not bid to wait upon this bride, Titus when wert thou wont to walk alone, Dishonoured thus and challenged of wrongs. O Titus see: O see what thou hast done In a bad quarrel slain a virtuous son. No foolish Tribune, no: No son of mine, Nor thou, nor these, confederates in the deed, That hath dishonoured all our Family, Unworthy brother, and unworthy sons. But let us give him burial as becomes, Give Mucius burial with our brethren. Traitors away, he rests not in this tomb: This monument five hundredth years hath stood, Which I have sumptuously re-edified: Here none but soldiers and Rome's servitors Repose in fame: None basely slain in brawls: Bury him where you can he comes not here. My Lord this is impiety in you, My Nephew Mutius deeds do plead for him, He must be buried with his brethren. And shall or him we will accompany. And shall; what villain was it spoke that word? He that would vouch it in any place but here. What would you bury him in my despite? No Noble Titus, but entreat of thee. To pardon Mutius and to bury him. Marcus: Even thou hast stroke upon my Crest. And with these boys mine honour thou hast wounded, My foes I do repute you every one, So trouble me no more, but get you gone. He is not with himself, let us withdraw. Not I till Mutius bones be buried. Brother, for in that name doth nature plead. Father, and in that name doth nature speak. Speak thou no more, if all the rest will speed. Renowned Titus, more than half my soul, Dear father, soul and substance of us all. Suffer thy brother Marcus to inter, His Noble Nephew here in virtues nest, That died in honour and Lauinias cause. Thou art a Roman, be not barbarous: The Greeks upon advise did bury Ajax That slew himself: and wise Laertes son, Did graciously plead for his Funerals: Let not young Mutius than that was thy joy, Be bar his entrance here. Rise Marcus, rise, The dismal'st day is this that ere I saw, To be dishonoured by my sons in Rome: Well bury him, and bury me the next. There lie thy bones sweet Mutius with thy friends, Till we with Trophies do adorn thy tomb: No man shed tears for Noble Mutius, He lives in fame, that died in virtues cause. My Lord to step out of these dreary dumps, How comes it that the subtle Queen of Goths, Is of a sudden thus advanced in Rome. I know not Marcus, but I know it is. (Whether by device or no, the heavens can tell.) Is she not then beholding to the man, That brought herefore this high good turn so fair.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Ascend faire Queene: Panthean Lords accompany Your Noble Emperour and his louelie Bride, Sent by the Heauens for Prince Saturnine, VVhose wisdome hath her Fortune conquered, There sall wee consummate our spousall rites. I am not bid to wait vpon this bride, Titus when wert thou wont to walke alone, Dishonoured thus and challenged of wrongs. O Titus see: O see what thou hast done In a bad quarrell slaine a vertuous sonne. No foolish Tribune, no: No sonne of mine, Nor thou, nor these, confederates in the deede, That hath dishonoured all our Familie, Vnworthy brother, and vnworthy sonnes. But let vs giue him buriall as becomes, Giue Mucius buriall with our bretheren. Traitors away, he rests not in this toombe This monument fiue hundreth yeares hath stood, VVhich I haue sumptuouslie reedified: Here noe but souldiers and Romes seruitors Repose in fame: None basely slaine in braule s Burie him where you can he comes not here. My Lord this is impietie in you, My Nephew Mutius deedes doo plead for him, He must be buried with his brethren. And shall or him wee will accompanie. And shall what villaine was it spake that word? He that would vouch it n any place but here. VVhat would you burie him in my despight? No Noble Titus, but intreat of thee. To pardon Mutius and to bury him. Marcus: Euen thou hast stroke vpon my Crest. And with these boyes mine honour thou hast wounded, My foes I doe repute you euerie one, So trouble me no more, but get you gone. He is not with himselfe, let vs withdraw. Not I till Mutius bones be buried. Brother, for in that name doth nature pleade. Father, and in that name doth nature speake. Speake thou no more, if all the rest will speede. Renowmed Titus, more than halfe my soule, Deare father, soule and substance of vs all. Suffer thy brother Marcus to interre, His Noble Nephew here in vertues nest, That died in honour and Lauinias cause. Thou art a Romane, be not barbarous: The Greeks vpon aduise did burie Aax That slew himselfe: and wise Laertes sonne, Did gratiouslie plead for his Funeralls: Let not young Mutius then that was thy ioy, Be bard his entrance here. Rise Marcus, rise, The dismalst day is this that ere I saw, To be dishonoured by my sonnes in Rome: Well burie him, and burie me the next. There lie thy bones sweete Mutius with thy friends, Till wee with Trophees doo adorne thy tombe: No man shed teares for Noble Mutius, He liues in fame, that dide in vertues cause. My Lord to sep out of these dririe dumps, How comes it that the subtile Queene of Gothes, Is of a sodaine thus aduaunc'd in Rome. I know not Marcus, but I know it is. (VVhether by deuise or no, the heauens can tell.) Is shee not then beholding to the man, That brought herfor this igh good turne so faire.