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 T51 Parents and children: blessing, birthrig · 511 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T51: esau, iacob, father, son, isaac, god, love, birthright, parents, thing.
Hear me grave Fathers, Noble Tribunes stay, For pity of mine age, whose youth was spent In dangerous wars, whilst you securely slept. For all my blood in Rooms great quarrel shed, For all the frosty nights that I have watched, And for these bitter tears which now you see, Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks, Be pitiful to my condemned sons, Whose souls is not corrupted as 'tis thought. For two and twenty sons I never wept, Because they died in honours lofty bed, For these, Tribunes, in the dust I writ My hearts deep languor, and my souls sad tears: Let my tears staunch the earth's dry appetite, My sons sweet blood will make it shame and blush: O earth I will be friend thee more with rain, That shall distill from these two ancient ruins, Than youthful April shall with all his showers. In summer's drought, I'll drop upon thee still, In winter with warm tears I'll melt the snow, And keep eternal spring time out hy face, So thou refuse to drink my dear sons blood. Oh reverent Tribunes, Oh gentle aged men Unbind my sons, reverse the doom of death, And let me say, (that never wept before) My tears are now prevailing Orators. Oh Noble Father you lament in vain, The Tribunes hear you not, no man is by, And you recount your sorrows to a stone. Ah Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead, grave Tribunes, once more I entreat of you. My gracious Lord, no Tribune hears you speak. Why 'tis no matter man, if they did hear They would not mark me, if they did mark, They would not pity me, yet plead I must, And bootless unto them. Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones, who though they cannot answer my distress, Yet in some sort they are better than the Tribunes. For that they will not intercept my tale: when I do weep, they humbly at my feet Receive my tears, and seem to weep with me, And were they but attired in grave weeds, Rome could afford no Tribunes like to these: A stone is soft as wax, Tribunes more hard than stones: A stone is silent, and offendeth not, And Tribunes with their tongue's doom men to death. But wherefore stand'st thou with thy weapon drawn? To rescue my two brothers from their death, For which attempt the judges have prononuncst, My everlasting doom of banishment. O happy man, they have befriended thee: why foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceive That Rome is but a wilderness of tigers? tigers must pray, and Rome affords no prey But me and mine, how happy art thou then, From these devourers to be banished. But who comes with our brother Marcus here? Titus, prepare thy aged eyes to weep, Or if not so, thy Noble heart to break: I bring consuming sorrow to thine age. will it consume me? Let me see it then. This was thy Daughter. why Marcus so she is. Ay me, this Object kills me.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Heare me graue Fathers, Noble Tribunes stay, For pittie of mine age, whose youth was spent In dangerous warres, whist you securelie slept. For all my blood in Roomes great quarrell shed, For all the frostie nights that I haue watcht, And for these bitter teares which now you see, Filling the aged wrincles in my cheeks, Be pittifull to my condemned sonnes, VVhose soules is not corrupted as tis thought. For two and twentie sonnes I neuer wept, Because they died in honours loftie bed, For these, Tribunes, in the dust I write My harts deepe languor, and my soules sad teares: Let my teares staunch the earths drie appetite, My sonnes sweete blood will make it shame and blush: O earth I will be friend thee more with raine, That shall distill from these two auntient ruines, Than youthfull Aprill shall with all his showres. In summes drought, Ile drop vpon thee still, In winer with warme teares Ile melt the snow, And keepe eternall pring time out hy face, So thou refuse to drinke my deare sonnes blood. Oh reuerent Tribunes, Oh gentle aged men Vnbinde my sonnes, reuerse the doome of death, And let me say, (that neuer wept before) My teares are now preuailing Oratours. Oh Noble Father you lament in vaine, The Tribunes heare you not, no man is by, And you recount your sorrowes to a stone. Ah Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead, rae Tribunes, once more I intreat of you. My gratious Lord, no Tribune heares you speak. VVhy tis no matter man, if they did heare They would not marke me, if they did marke, They would not pittie me, yet pleade I must, And bootlesse vnto them. Therefore I tell my sorrowes to the stones, who though they cannot answere my distresse, Yet in some sort they are better than the Tribunes For that they will not intercept my tale: when I doe weepe, they humblie at my feete Receiue my teares, and seeme to weepe with me, And were they but attired in graue weeds, Rome could afford no Tribunes like to these: A stone is soft as waxe, Tribunes more hard than stones: A stone is silent, and offendeth not, And Tribunes with their tongues doome men to death. But wherefore standst thou with thy weapon drawne? To rescue my two brothers from their death, For which attempt the Iudges aue pronounst, My euerlasting doome of banishment. O happie man, they haue befriended the: why foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceiue That Rome is but a wildernes of tygers? Tygers mut pray, and Rome affords no pray But me and mine, how happie art thou then, From these deuourers to be banished. But who comes with our brother Marcus here? Titus, prepare thy aged eies to weepe, Or if not so, thy Noble hart to breake: I bring consuming sorrow to thine age. will it consume mee? Let me see it then. This was thy Daughter. why Marcus so shee is. Ay mee, this Obiect kils mee.