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 T60 Imperial Rome: rulers, favour and politi · 521 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T60: caesar, rome, emperor, empire, honour, lord, lucius, great, palsgrave, kings.
Now will I to that old Andronicus, And temper him with all the Art I have, To pluck proud Lucius from the warlike Goths. And now sweet Emperor be blithe again, And bury all thy fear in my devices. Then go successantly and plead for him. Approved warriors, and my faithful Friends, I have received Letters from great Rome, Which signifies what hate they bear their Emperor, And how desirous of our sight they are. Therefore great Lords, be as your Titles witness, Imperious and impatient of your wrongs, And wherein Rome hath done you any scathe, Let him make triple satisfaction. Brave slip, sprung from the Great Andronicus, Whose name was once our terror, now our comfort, Whose high exploits, and honourable Deeds, Ingrateful Rome requites with foul contempt: Behold in us, we'll follow where thou leadest, Like stinging Bees in hottest Summer's day, Led by their Master to the flowered fields, And be avenged on cursed Tamora: And as he saith, so say we all with him. I humbly thank him, and I thank you all. But who comes here, led by a lusty Goth? Renowned Lucius, from our troops I strayed, To gaze upon a ruinous Monastery, And as I earnestly did fix mine eye Upon the wasted building, suddenly I heard a child cry underneath a wall: I made unto the noise, when soon I heard, The crying babe controlled with this discourse: Peace Tawny slave, half me, and half thy Dam, Did not thy Hue bewray whose brat thou art? Had nature lent thee, but thy Mother's look, Villain thou mightst have been an Emperor. But where the Bull and Cow are both milk-white, They never do beget a cole-blacke-Calfe: Peace, villain peace, even thus he rates the babe, For I must bear thee to a trusty Goth, Who when he knows thou art the Empress babe, Will hold thee dearly for thy Mother's sake. With this, my weapon drawn I rushed upon him, Surprised him suddenly, and brought him hither To use, as you think neeedefull of the man. Oh worthy Goth, this is the incarnate devil, That robbed Andronicus of his good hand: This is the Pearl that pleased your Empress' eye, And here's the Base Fruit of his burning lust. Say wall-eyed slave, whether wouldst thou convey This growing Image of thy fiendlike face? Why dost not speak? what deaf? Not a word? A halter Soldiers, hang him on this Tree, And by his side his Fruit of Bastardy. Touch not the Boy, he is of Royal blood. Too like the Sire for ever being good. First hang the Child that he may see it sprawl, A sight to vex the Father's soul withal. Get me a Ladder Lucius, save the Child, And bear it from me to the Empress: If thou do this, I'll show thee wondrous things, That highly may advantage thee to hear; If thou wilt not, befall what may befall, I'll speak no more: but vengeance rot you all. Say on, and if it please me which thou speakest, Thy child shall live, and I will see it Nourished.
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)
Now will I to that old Andronicus, And temper him with all the Art I haue, To plucke proud Lucius from the warlike Gothes. And now ſweet Emperour be blithe againe, And bury all thy feare in my deuiſes. Then goe ſucceſſantly and plead for him. Approued warriours, and my faithfull Friends, I haue receiued Letters from great Rome, Which ſignifies what hate they beare their Emperour, And how deſirous of our ſight they are. Therefore great Lords, be as your Titles witneſſe, Imperious and impatient of your wrongs, And wherein Rome hath done you any ſcathe, Let him make treble ſatiſfaction. Braue ſlip, ſprung from the Great Andronicus, Whoſe name was once our terrour, now our comfort, Whoſe high exploits, and honourable Deeds, Ingratefull Rome requites with foule contempt: Behold in vs, weele follow where thou lead'ſt, Like ſtinging Bees in hotteſt Sommers day, Led by their Maiſter to the flowred fields, And be aueng'd on curſed Tamora: And as he ſaith, ſo ſay we all with him. I humbly thanke him, and I thanke you all. But who comes heere, led by a luſty Goth? Renowned Lucius, from our troups I ſtraid, To gaze vpon a ruinous Monaſterie, And as I earneſtly did fixe mine eye Vpon the waſted building, ſuddainely I heard a childe cry vnderneath a wall: I made vnto the noyſe, when ſoone I heard, The crying babe control'd with this diſcourſe: Peace Tawny ſlaue, halfe me, and halfe thy Dam, Did not thy Hue bewray whoſe brat thou art? Had nature lent thee, but thy Mothers looke, Villaine thou might'ſt haue bene an Emperour. But where the Bull and Cow are both milk-white, They neuer do beget a cole-blacke-Calfe: Peace, villaine peace, euen thus he rates the babe, For I muſt beare thee to a truſty Goth, Who when he knowes thou art the Empreſſe babe, Will hold thee dearely for thy Mothers ſake. With this, my weapon drawne I ruſht vpon him, Surpriz'd him ſuddainely, and brought him hither To vſe, as you thinke neeedefull of the man. Oh worthy Goth, this is the incarnate deuill, That rob'd Andronicus of his good hand: This is the Pearle that pleaſ'd your Empreſſe eye, And heere's the Baſe Fruit of his burning luſt. Say wall-ey'd ſlaue, whether would'ſt thou conuay This growing Image of thy fiend-like face? Why doſt not ſpeake? what deafe? Not a word? A halter Souldiers, hang him on this Tree, And by his ſide his Fruite of Baſtardie. Touch not the Boy, he is of Royall blood. Too like the Syre for euer being good. Firſt hang the Child that he may ſee it ſprall, A ſight to vexe the Fathers ſoule withall. Get me a Ladder Lucius, ſaue the Childe, And beare it from me to the Empreſſe: If thou do this, Ile ſhew thee wondrous things, That highly may aduantage thee to heare; If thou wilt not, befall what may befall, Ile ſpeake no more: but vengeance rot you all. Say on, and if it pleaſe me which thou ſpeak'ſt, Thy child ſhall liue, and I will ſee it Nouriſht.