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 · 507 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T34: thebes, antigone, polynices, creon, eteocles, war, theban, gods, dear, country.
Andronicus I will entreat the King, Fear not thy sons, they shall do well enough. Come Lucius come, stay not to talk with them. So now go tell and if thy tongue can speak, Who ttwas that cut thy tongue and ravished thee. Writ down thy mind bewray thy meaning so, And if thy stumps will let thee play the scribe. See how with signs and tokens she can scroll. Go home, call for sweet water wash thy hands. She hath no tongue to call, nor hands to wash ' And so let's leave her to her silent walks. Chi. And ttwere my cause, I should go hang myself. If thou hadst hands to help thee knit the cordes Who is this, my Niece that flies away so fast, cozen a word, where is your husband: If I do dream would all my wealth would wake me. If I do wake some Planet strike me down, That I may slumber an eternal sleep. Speak gentle Niece, what stern ungentle hands, Hath lopped, and hewed, and made thy body bare, Of her two branches those sweet Ornaments, Whose circling shadows, Kings have sought to sleep in, And might not gain so great a happiness As half thy love: Why dost not speak to me? Alas, a crimson River of warm blood, Like to a bubbling Fountain stirred with wind, Doth rise and fall between thy Rosed lips, Coming and going with thy honey breath. But sure some Tereus hath deflowered thee, And lest thou shouldst detect them cut thy tongue. Ah now thou turnst away thy face for shame, And notwithstanding all this loss of blood, As from a Conduit with their issuing spouts, Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan's face, Blushing to be encountered with a cloud. Shall I speak for thee, shall I say 'tis so. Oh that I knew thy heart, and knew the beast, That I might rail at him to ease my mind. Sorrow concealed like an Oven stoppt, Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is. Fair Philomela, why she but lost her tongue, And in a tedious sampler sowed her mind. But lovely Niece, that mean is cut from thee, A craftier Tereus, cozen hast thou met, And he hath cut those pretty fingers off, That could have better sowed than Philomela. Oh had the monster seen those Lily hands, Tremble like aspen leaves upon a Lute, And make the silken strings delight to kiss them, He would not then have touched them for his life. Or had he heard the heavenly Harmony, Which that sweet tongue hath made, He would have dropped his knife and fell a sleep, As Cerberus at the Thracian Poets feet. Come let us go, and make thy father blind, For such a sight will blind a father's eye. One hours storm will drown the fragrant meads, What will whole months of tears thy father's eyes? Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee, Oh could our mourning ease thy misery.
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)
Andronicus I will intreat the King, Feare not thy sonnes, they shall doe well enough. Come Lucius come, stay not to talke with them So now go tell and if thy tongue can speake, VVho twas that ut thy tongue and rauisht thee. VVrite downe thy minde bewray thy meaning so, And if thy stumpes will let thee play the scribe. See how with signes and tokens she can scrowle Goe home, call for sweet water wash thy hands. She hath no tongue to call, nor hands to wash' And so lets leaue her to her silent walkes. Chi. And twere my cause, I should goe hang my selfe. If thou hadst hands to helpe thee knit the corde VVho is this, my Neece that flies away so fast, Cosen a word, where is your husband: If I doe dreame would all my wealth would wake me. If I doe wake some Plannet strike me downe, That I may slumber an eternall sleepe. Speake gentle Neece, what sterne vngentle hands, Hath lopt, and hewde, and made thy body bare, Of her two branches those sweet Ornaments, VVhose cyrcling shadowes, Kings haue sought to sleepe in, And might not gaine so great a happines As halfe thy loue: VVhy dost not speake to me? Alas, a crimson Riuer of warme blood, Like to a bubling Fountaine stirde with winde, Doth rise and fall betweene thy Rosed lips, Comming and going with thy honie breath. But sure some Tereus hath deflowred thee, And lest thou shouldst detect them cut thy tongue. Ah now thou turnst awaie thy face for shame, And notwithstanding all this losse of blood, As from a Conduit with their issuing spouts, Ye doe thy cheekes looke red as Titans face, Bushing to be encountred with a Clowde Shall I speake for thee, shall I say tis so. Oh that I knew thy hart, and knew the beast, That I might raile at him to ease my minde. Sorrow concealed like an Ouen stoppt, Doth burne the hart to cinders where it is. Faire Philomela, why she but lost her tongue, And in a tedious sampler sowed her minde. But louely Neece, that meane is cut from thee, A crafier Tereus, Cosen hast thou met, And he hath cut those prettie fingers off, That could haue better sowed than Philomel. Oh had the mnster seene those Lillie hands, Tremble like aspen leaues vpon a Lute, And make the silken strings delight to kisse them, He would not then haue tucht them for his life. Or had he heard the heauenly Harmonie, VVhich that sweete tongue hath made He would haue dropt his knife and fell a sleepe, As Cerberus at the Thracian Poets feete. Come le vs goe, and make thy fther blind, For such a sight will blind a fathers eie. One houres storme will drowne the fragrant meades, VVhat will whole moths of teares thy fathers eies? Doe not drawe backe, for we will mourne with thee, Oh could our mourning ease thy miserie.