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 (?) unassigned nearest T34 Thebes and royal catastrophe: siege, sla · 506 words · other edition — not in the analysis
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 were't 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 Confedrates in the deed, That hath dishonoured all our Family, Unworthy brother, and unworthy Sons. But let us give him burial as becomes: Give Mutius burial with our brethren. traitors away, he rests not in this Tomb: This Monument five hundreth 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 vouched 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 himself, let us withdraw. Not I tell Mutius bones be buried. Brother, for in that name doth nature pleaed. 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 virtue's nest, That died in Honour and Lauinia's cause. Thou art a Roman, be not barbarous: The Greeks upon advice did bury Aiax That slew himself: And Laertes son, Did graciously plead for his Funerals: Let not young Mutius than that was thy joy, Be barred his entrance here. Rise Marcus, rise, The dismallest 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 virtue's cause. My Lord to step out of these sudden 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 her for this high good turn so far? Yes, and will Nobly him remunerate.
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 Qeene, Panthean Lords, accompany Your Noble Emperour and his louely Bride, Sent by the heauens for Prince Saturnine, Whoſe wiſedome hath her Fortune Conquered, There ſhall we Conſummate our Spouſall rites. I am not bid to waite vpon this Bride: Titus when wer't 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 Confedrates in the deed, That hath diſhonoured all our Family, Vnworthy brother, and vnworthy Sonnes. But let vs giue him buriall as becomes: Giue Mutius buriall with our Bretheren. Traytors away, he reſt's not in this Tombe: This Monument fiue hundreth yeares hath ſtood, Which I haue Sumptuouſly re-edified: Heere none but Souldiers, and Romes Seruitors, Repoſe in Fame: None baſely ſlaine in braules, Bury him where you can, he comes not heere. My Lord this is impiety in you, My Nephew Mutius deeds do plead for him, He muſt be buried with his bretheren. And ſhall, or him we will accompany. And ſhall! What villaine was it ſpake that word? He that would vouch'd it in any place but heere. What would you bury 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 Boye mine Honour thou haſt wounded, My foes I doe repute you euery one. So trouble me no more, but get you gone. He is not himſelfe, let vs withdraw. Not I tell Mutius bones be buried. Brother, for in that name doth nature plea'd. Father, and in that name doth nature ſpeake. Speake thou no more if all the reſt will ſpeede. Renowned Titus more then halfe my ſoule. Deare Father, ſoule and ſubſtance of vs all. Suffer thy brother Marcus to interre His Noble Nephew heere in vertues neſt, That died in Honour and Lauinia's cauſe. Thou art a Romaine, be not barbarous: The Greekes vpon aduiſe did bury Aiax That ſlew himſelfe: And Laertes ſonne, Did graciouſly plead for his Funerals: Let not young Mutius then that was thy ioy, Be bar'd his entrance heere. Riſe Marcus, riſe, The diſmall'ſt day is this that ere I ſaw, To be diſhonored by my Sonnes in Rome: Well, bury him, and bury me the next. There lie thy bones ſweet Mutius with thy friends Till we with Trophees do adorne thy Tombe. No man ſhed teares for Noble Mutius, He liues in Fame, that di'd in vertues cauſe. My Lord to ſtep out of theſe ſudden dumps, How comes it that the ſubtile Queene of Gothes, Is of a ſodaine thus aduanc'd in Rome? I know not Marcus: but I know it is, (Whether by deuiſe or no) the heauens can tell, Is ſhe not then beholding to the man, That brought her for this high good turne ſo farre? Yes, and will Nobly him remunerate.