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 · 503 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.
Farewell Andronicus my noble Father: The woeful'st man that ever lived in Rome: Farewell proud Rome, till Lucius come again, He loves his pledges dearer than his life: Farewell Lavinia my noble sister, O would thou wert as thou to fore hast been, But now, nor Lucius nor Lavinia lives But in oblivion and hateful griefs: If Lucius live, he will requited your wrongs, And make proud Saturnine and his Empress Beg at the gates likes Tarquin and his Queen. Now will I to the Goths and raise a power, To be revenged on Rome and Saturnine. So, so, now sit, and look you eat no more Than will preserve just so much strength in us As will revenge these bitter woes of ours. Marcus unknit that sorrow-wreathen knot: Thy Niece and I (poor Creatures) want our hands And cannot passionate our tenfold grief, With folded Arms. This poor right hand of mine, Is left to tirranize upon my breast. Who when my hart all mad with misery, Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh, Then thus I thump it down. Thou Map of woe, that thus dost talk in signs, When thy poor hart beats without ragious beating, Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still? Wound it with sighing girl, kill it with groans: Or get some little knife between thy teeth, And just against thy hart make thou a hole, That all the tears that thy poor eyes let fall May run into that sink, and soaking in, Drown the lamenting fool, in Sea salt tears. Fie brother fie, teach her not thus to lay Such violent hands upon her tender life. How now! Has sorrow made thee dote already? Why Marcus, no man should be mad but I: What violent hands can she lay on her life: Ah, wherefore dost thou urge the name of hands, To bid Aeneas tell the tale twice o'er How Troy was burnt, and he made miserable? O handle not the theme, to talk of hands, Lest we remember still that we have none, Fie, fie how Franticly I square my talk As if we should forget we had no hands: If Marcus did not name the word of hands. Come, let's fall too, and gentle girl eat this, here is no drink? Hark Marcus what she says, I can interpret all her martyred signs, She says, she drinks no other drink but tears Breued with her sorrow: meshed upon her cheeks, Speechless complaynet, I will learn thy thought: In thy dumb action, will I be as perfect As begging Hermits in their holy prayers. Thou shalt not sigh nor hold thy stumps to heaven, Nor wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a sign, But I (of these) will wrest an Alphabet, And by still practice, learn to know thy meaning. Good grandsire leave these bitter deep laments, Make my Aunt merry, with some pleasing tale. Alas, the tender boy in passion moved, Doth weep to see his grandsires heaviness.
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 1362–1423 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 22 of 40 in this edition
Length
503 words · 667 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T2 — Roman politics: senate, consuls and civil warcross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.766 (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)
Farewell Andronicus my noble Father: The woful'ſt man that euer liu'd in Rome: Farewell proud Rome, til Lucius come againe, He loues his pledges dearer then his life: Farewell Lauinia my noble ſiſter, O would thou wert as thou to fore haſt beene, But now, nor Lucius nor Lauinia liues But in obliuion and hateful griefes: If Lucius liue, he will requit your wrongs, And make proud Saturnine and his Empreſſe Beg at the gates likes Tarquin and his Queene. Now will I to the Gothes and raiſe a power, To be reueng'd on Rome and Saturnine. So, ſo, now ſit, and looke you eate no more Then will preſerue iuſt ſo much ſtrength in vs As will reuenge theſe bitter woes of ours. Marcus vnknit that ſorrow-wreathen knot: Thy Neece and I (poore Creatures) want our hands And cannot paſſionate our tenfold griefe, Wirh foulded Armes. This poore right hand of mine, Is left to tirranize vppon my breaſt. Who when my hart all mad with miſery, Beats in this hollow priſon of my fleſh, Then thus I thumpe it downe. Thou Map of woe, that thus doſt talk in ſignes, When thy poore hart beates without ragious beating, Thou canſt not ſtrike it thus to make it ſtill? Wound it with ſighing girle, kil it with grones: Or get ſome little knife betweene thy teeth, And iuſt againſt thy hart make thou a hole, That all the teares that thy poore eyes let fall May run into that ſinke, and ſoaking in, Drowne the lamenting foole, in Sea ſalt teares. Fy brother fy, teach her not thus to lay Such violent hands vppon her tender life. How now! Has ſorrow made thee doate already? Why Marcus, no man ſhould be mad but I: What violent hands can ſhe lay on her life: Ah, wherefore doſt thou vrge the name of hands, To bid Aeneas tell the tale twice ore How Troy was burnt, and he made miſerable? O handle not the theame, to talke of hands, Leaſt we remember ſtill that we haue none, Fie, fie how Frantiquely I ſquare my talke As if we ſhould forget we had no hands: If Marcus did not name the word of hands. Come, lets fall too, and gentle girle eate this, Heere is no drinke? Harke Marcus what ſhe ſaies, I can interpret all her martir'd ſignes, She ſaies, ſhe drinkes no other drinke but teares Breu'd with her ſorrow: meſh'd vppon her cheekes, Speechleſſe complaynet, I will learne thy thought: In thy dumb action, will I be as perfect As begging Hermits in their holy prayers. Thou ſhalt not ſighe nor hold thy ſtumps to heauen, Nor winke, nor nod, nor kneele, nor make a ſigne, But I (of theſe) will wreſt an Alphabet, And by ſtill practice, learne to know thy meaning. Good grandſire leaue theſe bitter deepe laments, Make my Aunt merry, with ſome pleaſing tale. Alas, the tender boy in paſſion mou'd, Doth weepe to ſee his grandſires heauineſſe.