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 T12 Olympian gods: Jupiter, Juno, Venus and · 505 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T12: iupiter, saturn, iuno, venus, gods, mars, earth, titan, love, fair.
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-bon'd-men, framed of the Cyclops size, But metal Marcus, steel to the very back, Yet wrung with wrongs more than our back 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 wongs: Come to this gear, you are a good Archer Marcus. Ad jovem, that's for you: here ad Appollonem, 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 Iupiter 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 your Lordship joy. News, news, from heaven, Marcus the post is come. Sirrah, what tidings? have you any letters? Shall I have justice, what says Iupiter? Ho the jibbetmaker, he says that he hath taken them down again, for the man must not be hanged till the next week. But what says Iupiter I ask thee? Alas sir I know not Iupiter: I never drank with him in all my life. Why villain art not thou the Carrier? I of my Pigeons 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 emperials men.
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)
Kinſmen, his ſorrowes are paſt remedie. Ioyne with the Gothes, and with reuengefull warre, Take wreake on Rome for this ingratitude, And vengeance on the Traytor Saturnine. Publius how now? how now my Maiſters? What 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 ſhe is ſo imploy'd, He thinkes with Ioue in heauen, or ſome where elſe: So that perforce you muſt needs ſtay a time. He doth me wrong to feed me with delayes, Ile diue into the burning Lake below, And pull her out of Acaron by the heeles. Marcus we are but ſhrubs, no Cedars we, No big-bon'd-men, fram'd of the Cyclops ſize, But mettall Marcus, ſteele to the very backe, Yet wrung with wrongs more then our backe can beare: And ſith there's no iuſtice in earth nor hell, We will ſollicite heauen, and moue the Gods To ſend downe Iuſtice for to wreake our wongs: Come to this geare, you are a good Archer Marcus. Ad Iouem, that's for you: here ad Appollonem, Ad Martem, that's for my ſelfe, Heere Boy to Pallas, heere to Mercury, 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. Kinſmen, ſhoot all your ſhafts into the Court, We will afflict the Emperour in his pride. Now Maiſters draw, Oh well ſaid Lucius: Good Boy in Virgoes lap, giue it Pallas. My Lord, I aime a Mile beyond the Moone, Your letter is with Iupiter by this. Ha, ha, Publius, Publius, what haſt thou done? See, ſee, thou haſt, ſhot off one of Taurus hornes. This was the ſport my Lord, when Publius ſhot, The Bull being gal'd, gaue Aries ſuch a knocke, That downe fell both the Rams hornes in the Court, And who ſhould finde them but the Empreſſe villaine: She laught, and told the Moore he ſhould not chooſe But giue them to his Maiſter for a preſent. Why there it goes, God giue your Lordſhip ioy. Newes, newes, from heauen, Marcus the poaſt is come. Sirrah, what tydings? haue you any letters? Shall I haue Iuſtice, what ſayes Iupiter? Ho the Iibbetmaker, he ſayes that he hath taken them downe againe, for the man muſt not be hang'd till the next weeke. But what ſayes Iupiter I aske thee? Alas ſir I know not Iupiter: I neuer dranke with him in all my life. Why villaine art not thou the Carrier? I of my Pigions ſir, nothing elſe. Why, did'ſt thou not come from heauen? From heauen? Alas ſir, I neuer came there, God forbid I ſhould be ſo bold, to preſſe to heauen in my young dayes. Why I am going with my pigeons to the Tribunall Plebs, to take vp a matter of brawle, betwixt my Vncle, and one of the Emperialls men.