Peele, George / Shakespeare, William / Middleton, Thomas · published 1623 · 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 0.77 · 467 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T2: rome, caesar, senate, sulla, roman, consul, brutus, romans, men, marius.
Hail Rome: Victorious in thy Mourning Weeds: Lo as the Bark that hath discharged his fraught, Returns with precious lading to the Bay, From whence at first she weigh'd her Anchorage: cometh Andronicus bound with Laurel bows, To resalute his Country with his tears, Tears of true joy for his return to Rome, Thou great defender of this Capitol, Stand gracious to the Rites that we intent. Romans', of five and twenty Valiant Sons, Half of the number that King Priam had, Behold the poor remains alive and dead! These that Suruive, let Rome reward with Love: These that I bring unto their latest home, With burial amongst their Ancestors. here Goths have given me leave to sheathe my Sword: Titus unkind, and careless of thine own, Why sufferest thou thy Sons unburied yet, To hover on the dreadful shore of Styx? Make way to lay them by their brethren. There greet in silence as the dead are wont, And sleep in peace, slain in your Country's wars: O sacred receptacle of my joys, Sweet Cell of virtue and nobility, How many Sons of mine hast thou in store, That thou wilt never render to me more? Give us the proudest prisoner of the Goths, That we may hue his limbs, and on a pile Admanus fratrum, sacrifice his flesh: Before this earthly prison of their bones, That so the shadows be not unappeased, Nor we disturbed with prodigies on earth. I give him you, the Noblest that Suruives, The eldest Son of this distressed Queen. Stay Roman brethren, gracious Conqueror, Victorious Titus, rue the tears I shed, A Mother's tears in passion for her son: And if thy Sons were ever dear to thee, Oh think my sons to be as dear to me. Sufficeth not, that we are brought to Rome To beautify thy Triumphs, and return Captive to thee, and to thy Roman yoke, But must my Sons be slaughtered in the streets, For Valiant doings in their Country's cause? O! If to fight for King and Commonweal, Were piety in thine, it is in these: Andronicus, stain not thy Tomb with blood. Wilt thou draw near the nature of the Gods? Draw near them then in being merciful. Sweet mercy is Nobilities true badge, Thrice Noble Titus, spare my first borne son. Patiented yourself Madam, and pardon me. These are the Brethren, whom you Goths beheld Alive and dead, and for their brethren slain, Religiously they ask a sacrifice: To this your son is marked, and die he must, T' appease their groaning shadows that are gone. Away with him, and make a fire strait, And with our Swords upon a pile of wood, Let's hue his limbs till they be clean consumed. O cruel irreligious piety. Was ever Scythia half so barbarous?
Peele, George / Shakespeare, William / Middleton, Thomas
Publication year (edition)
1623
First performance / composition (Annals)
1594 [Jan 23 (24); poss. written 1590-1592]
First performance (BritDrama)
1592 [1584-1594]
Company (BritDrama)
Pembroke's Men (?)
Genre (British Drama)
tragedy
Play type
Adult Professional;Professional
Edition / TCP / DEEP
edition 214 · TCP A11954 · DEEP 5081.27
Edition role
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 72–134 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 2 of 40 in this edition
Length
467 words · 635 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T2 — Roman politics: senate, consuls and civil warcross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.769 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
Other seeds
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)
Haile Rome: Victorious in thy Mourning Weedes: Loe as the Barke that hath diſcharg'd his fraught, Returnes with precious lading to the Bay, From whence at firſt ſhe wegh'd her Anchorage: Commeth Andronicus bound with Lawrell bowes, To reſalute his Country with his teares, Teares of true ioy for his returne to Rome, Thou great defender of this Capitoll, Stand gracious to the Rites that we intend. Romaines, of fiue and twenty Valiant Sonnes, Halfe of the number that King Priam had, Behold the poore remaines aliue and dead! Theſe that Suruiue, let Rome reward with Loue: Theſe that I bring vnto their lateſt home, With buriall amongſt their Aunceſtors. Heere Gothes haue giuen me leaue to ſheath my Sword: Titus vnkinde, and careleſſe of thine owne, Why ſuffer'ſt thou thy Sonnes vnburied yet, To houer on the dreadfull ſhore of Stix? Make way to lay them by their Bretheren. There greete in ſilence as the dead are wont, And ſleepe in peace, ſlaine in your Countries warres: O ſacred receptacle of my ioyes, Sweet Cell of vertue and Noblitie, How many Sonnes of mine haſt thou in ſtore, That thou wilt neuer render to me more? Giue vs the proudeſt priſoner of the Gothes, That we may hew his limbes, and on a pile Admanus fratrum, ſacrifice his fleſh: Before this earthly priſon of their bones, That ſo the ſhadowes be not vnappeas'd, Nor we diſturb'd with prodigies on earth. I giue him you, the Nobleſt that Suruiues, The eldeſt Son of this diſtreſſed Queene. Stay Romaine Bretheren, gracious Conqueror, Victorious Titus, rue the teares I ſhed, A Mothers teares in paſſion for her ſonne: And if thy Sonnes were euer deere to thee, Oh thinke my ſonnes to be as deere to mee. Sufficeth not, that we are brought to Rome To beautifie thy Triumphs, and returne Captiue to thee, and to thy Romaine yoake, But muſt my Sonnes be ſlaughtred in the ſtreetes, For Valiant doings in their Countries cauſe? O! If to fight for King and Common-weale, Were piety in thine, it is in theſe: Andronicus, ſtaine not thy Tombe with blood. Wilt thou draw neere the nature of the Gods? Draw neere them then in being mercifull. Sweet mercy is Nobilities true badge, Thrice Noble Titus, ſpare my firſt borne ſonne. Patient your ſelfe Madam, and pardon me. Theſe are the Brethren, whom you Gothes beheld Aliue and dead, and for their Bretheren ſlaine, Religiouſly they aske a ſacrifice: To this your ſonne is markt, and die he muſt, T' appeaſe their groaning ſhadowes that are gone. Away with him, and make a fire ſtraight, And with our Swords vpon a pile of wood, Let's hew his limbes till they be cleane conſum'd. O cruell irreligious piety. Was euer Scythia halfe ſo barbarous?