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 · 509 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.
Madam depart at pleasure, leave us here. Farewell Andronicus, revenge now goes To lay a complot to betray thy Foes. I know thou dost, and sweet revenge farewell. Tell us old man, how shall we be employed? Tut, I have work enough for you to do, Publius come hither, Caius, and Valentine. What is your will? Know you these two? The Empress' Sons I take them, Chiron, Demetrius. Fie Publius, fie, thou art too much deceived, The one is Murder, Rape is the others name, And therefore bind them gentle Publius, Caius, and Valentine, lay hands on them, Oft have you heard me wish for such an hour, And now I find it, therefore bind them sure, Villains forbear, we are the Empress Sons. And therefore do we, what we are commanded. Stop close their mouths, let them not speak a word, Is he sure bound, look that you bind them fast. Come, come Lavinia, look, thy Foes are bound, Sirs stop their mouths, let them not speak to me, But let them hear what fearful words I utter. Oh Villains, Chiron, and Demetrius, Here stands the spring whom you have stained with mud, This goodly Summer with your Winter mixed, You killed her husband, and for that vild fault, Two of her Brothers were condemned to death, My hand cut off, and made a merry jest, Both her sweet Hands, her Tongue, and that more dear Than Hands or tongue, her spotless Chastity, Inhuman Traitors, you constrained and forced. What would you say, if I should let you speak? Villains for shame you could not beg for grace. Hark Wretches, how I mean to martyr you, This one Hand yet is left, to cut your throats, Whilst that Lavinia 'tween her stumps doth hold: The Basin that receives your guilty blood. You know your Mother means to feast with me, And calls herself Revenge, and thinks me mad. Hark Villains, I will grinned your bones to dust, And with your blood and it, I'll make a Paste, And of the Paste a Coffin I will rear, And make two Pasties of your shameful Heads, And bid that strumpet your unhallowed Dam, Like to the earth swallow her increase. This is the Feast, that I have bid her to, And this the Banquet she shall surfeit on, For worse than Philomela you used my Daughter, And worse than Progne, I will be revenged, And now prepare your throats: Lavinia come. Receive the blood, and when that they are dead, Let me go grinned their Bones to powder small, And with this hateful Liquor temper it, And in that Paste let their vild Heads be baked, Come, come, be every one officious, To make this Banquet, which I wish might prove, More stern and bloody than the Centaur's Feast. So now bring them in, for I'll play the Cook, And see them ready, 'gainst their Mother comes. Uncle Marcus, since 'tis my Father's mind That I repair to Rome, I am content. And ours with thine befall, what Fortune will.
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)
Madam depart at pleaſure, leaue vs heere. Farewell Andronicus, reuenge now goes To lay a complot to betray thy Foes. I know thou doo'ſt, and ſweet reuenge farewell. Tell vs old man, how ſhall we be imploy'd? Tut, I haue worke enough for you to doe, Publius come hither, Caius, and Valentine. What is your will? Know you theſe two? The Empreſſe Sonnes I take them, Chiron, Demetrius. Fie Publius, fie, thou art too much deceau'd, The one is Murder, Rape is the others name, And therefore bind them gentle Publius, Caius, and Valentine, lay hands on them, Oft haue you heard me wiſh for ſuch an houre, And now I find it, therefore binde them ſure, Villaines forbeare, we are the Empreſſe Sonnes. And therefore do we, what we are commanded. Stop cloſe their mouthes, let them not ſpeake a word, Is he ſure bound, looke that you binde them faſt. Come, come Lauinia, looke, thy Foes are bound, Sirs ſtop their mouthes, let them not ſpeake to me, But let them heare what fearefull words I vtter. Oh Villaines, Chiron, and Demetrius, Here ſtands the ſpring whom you haue ſtain'd with mud, This goodly Sommer with your Winter mixt, You kil'd her husband, and for that vil'd fault, Two of her Brothers were condemn'd to death, My hand cut off, and made a merry ieſt, Both her ſweet Hands, her Tongue, and that more deere Then Hands or tongue, her ſpotleſſe Chaſtity, Inhumaine Traytors, you conſtrain'd and for'ſt. What would you ſay, if I ſhould let you ſpeake? Villaines for ſhame you could not beg for grace. Harke Wretches, how I meane to martyr you, This one Hand yet is left, to cut your throats, Whil'ſt that Lauinia tweene her ſtumps doth hold: The Baſon that receiues your guilty blood. You know your Mother meanes to feaſt with me, And calls herſelfe Reuenge, and thinkes me mad. Harke Villaines, I will grin'd your bones to duſt, And with your blood and it, Ile make a Paſte, And of the Paſte a Coffen I will reare, And make two Paſties of your ſhamefull Heads, And bid that ſtrumpet your vnhallowed Dam, Like to the earth ſwallow her increaſe. This is the Feaſt, that I haue bid her to, And this the Banquet ſhe ſhall ſurfet on, For worſe then Philomel you vſd my Daughter, And worſe then Progne, I will be reueng'd, And now prepare your throats: Lauinia come. Receiue the blood, and when that they are dead, Let me goe grin'd their Bones to powder ſmall, And with this hatefull Liquor temper it, And in that Paſte let their vil'd Heads be bakte, Come, come, be euery one officious, To make this Banket, which I wiſh might proue, More ſterne and bloody then the Centaures Feaſt. So now bring them in, for Ile play the Cooke, And ſee them ready, gainſt their Mother comes. Vnckle Marcus, ſince 'tis my Fathers minde That I repair to Rome, I am content. And ours with thine befall, what Fortune will.