Peele, George / Shakespeare, William · published 1594 · first performed or written 1594 [Jan 23 (24); poss. written 1590-1592] (Annals) tragedy · Pembroke's Men (?) T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.68 · 505 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Kinsmen his sorrows are past remedy join with the Goths, and with revengeful war, Take wreak on Rome for this ingratitude, And vengeance on the traitor Saturnine. Publius' how now, how now my Masters, What have you met with her? No my good Lord, but Pluto sends you word, If you will have revenge from hell you shall, Marry for justice she is so employed, He thinks with Ioue in heaven, or some where else, So that perforce you must needs stay a time. He doth me wrong to feed me with delays, I'll dive into the burning lake below, And pull her out of Acaron by the heels. Marcus we are but shrubs, no Cedars we, No big-boand-men framed of the Cyclops size, But metal Marcus, steel to the very back, Yet wrung with wrongs more than our backs can bear: And sith there's no justice in earth nor hell, We will solicit heaven and move the Gods, To send down justice for to wreak our wrongs: Come to this gear, you are a good Archer Marcus, Ad iovem, that's for you, here ad Apollonem, Ad Martem, that's for myself, Here boy to Pallas, here to Mercury, To Saturnine, to Caius, not to Saturnine, You were as good to shoot against the wind. Too it boy, Marcus lose when I bid, Of my word I have written to effect, there's not a God left unsollicited. Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into the Court, We will afflict the Emperor in his pride. Now Masters draw, Oh well said Lucius, Good boy in Virgoes lap, give it Pallas. My Lord, I aim a mile beyond the Moon, Your letter is with Iubiter by this. Ha, ha, Publius, Publius, what hast thou done? See, see, thou hast shot off one of Taurus horns. This was the sport my Lord, when Publius shot The Bull being galled, gave Aries such a knock, That down fell both the Rams horns in the Court, And who should find them but the empress villain: She laughed, and told the Moor he should not choose, But give them to his Master for a present. Why there it goes, God give his Lordship joy. News, news from heaven, Marcus the Post is come. Sirrah what tidings, have you any letters, Shall I have justice, what says Iubiter? Ho the Gibbetmaker? He says that he hath taken them down again, for the man must not be hanged till the next week. But what says Iubiter I ask thee? Alas sir, I know not Iubiter, I never drank with him in all my life. Why villain art not thou the Carrier. I of my pidgeons sir, nothing else. Why didst thou not come from heaven? From heaven, alas sir, I never came there, God forbidden I should be so bold, to press to heaven in my young days: Why I am going with my pigeons to the tribunal Plebs, to take up a matter of brawl betwixt my Uncle, and one of the Emperals' men.
nodes 1672–1730 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 27 of 38 in this edition
Length
505 words · 687 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.679 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
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)
Kinsmen his sorrowes are past remedie Ioine with the Gothes, and with reuengefull warre, Take wreake on Rome for this ingratitude, And vengeance on the traitour Saturnine. Publius how now, how now my Masters, VVhat haue you met with her? No my good Lord, but Pluto sends you word, If you will haue reuenge from hell you shall, Marrie for Iustice shee is so imploid, He thinks with Ioue in heauen, or some where else, So that perforce you must needs staie a time. He doth me wrong to feede me with delaies, Ile diue into the burning lake belowe, And pull her out of Acaron by the heeles. Marcus we are but hrubs, no Cedars wee, No big-boand-men framde of the Cyclops size, But mettall Marcus, steele to the verie backe, Yet wrung with wrongs more than our backs can beare: And sith ther's no iustice in earth nor hell, VVe will sollicite heauen and moue the Gods, To send downe Iustice for to wreake our wrongs: Come to this geare, you are a good Archer Marcus, Ad Iouem, thats for you, here ad Apollonem, Ad Martem, thats for my selfe, Here boy to Pallas, here to Mercurie, To Saturnine, to Caius, not to Saturnine, You were as good to shoote against the winde Too it boy, Marcus loose when I bid, Of my word I haue written to effect, Ther's not a God left vnsollicited. Kinsemen, shoot all your shafts into the Court, VVee will afflict the Emperour in his pride. Now Masters draw, Oh well said Lucius, Good boy in Virgoes lappe, giue it Pallas. My Lord, I aime a mile beyond the Moone, Your letter is with Iubiter by this. Ha, ha, Publius, Publius, what hast thou done? See, see, thou hast shot off one of Tarus hornes. This was the sport my Lord, when Publius shot The Bull being galde, gaue Aries such a knocke, That downe fell both the Rams hornes in the Court, And who should finde them but the Empresse villaine: Shee laught, and tolde the Moore hee should not choose, But giue them to his Master for a present. VVhy there it goes, God giue his Lordship ioy. Newes, newes from heauen, Marcus the Poast is come. Sirra what tidings, haue you any letters, Shall I haue iustice, what saies Iubiter? Ho the Gibbetmaker? Hee saies that he hath taken them downe againe, for the man must not be hangd till the next weeke. But what saies Iubiter I aske thee? Alas sir, I know not Iubiter, I neuer dranke with him in all my life. VVhy villaine art not thou the Carrier. I of my pidgeons sir, nothing els. VVhy didst thou not come from heauen? From heuen, alas sir, I neuer came there, God forbid I should be so bolde, to presse to heauen in my young daies: VVhy I am going with my pidgeons to the tribunall Plebs, to take vp a matter of brawle betwixt my Vncle, and one of the Emperals men.