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 · 511 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.
Good Uncle take you in this barbarous Moor, This Ravenous Tiger, this accursed devil, Let him receive no sustenance, fetter him, Till he be brought unto the Emperors face, For testimony of her foul proceed. And see the Ambush of our Friends be strong, If ere the Emperor means no good to us. Some devil whisper curses in my ear, And prompt me that my tongue may utter forth, The Venomous Malice of my swelling heart. Away Inhuman Dog, Unhallowed Slave, Sirs, help our Uncle, to convey him in, The Trumpets show the Emperor is at hand. What, hath the Firemament more Suns than one? What boots it thee to call thyself a Sun? Rome's Emperor & Nephew break the parley These quarrels must be quietly debated, The Feast is ready which the careful Titus, Hath ordained to an Honourable end, For Peace, for Love, for League, and good to Rome: Please you therefore draw nigh and take your places. Marcus we will. Welcome my gracious Lord, Welcome Dread Queen, Welcome ye Warlike Goths, welcome Lucius, And welcome all: although the cheer be poor, 'Twill fill your stomacks, please you eat of it. Why art thou thus attired Andronicus? Because I would be sure to have all well, To entertain your Highness, and your Empress. We are beholding to you good Andronicus? And if your Highness knew my heart, you were: My Lord the Emperor resolve me this, Was it well done of rash Virginius, To slay his daughter with his own right hand, Because she was enfor'st, stained, and deflowered? It was Andronicus. Your reason, Mighty Lord? Because the Girl, should not suruiue her shame, And by her presence still renew his sorrows. A reason mighty, strong, and effectual, A pattern, precedent, and lively warrant, For me (most wretched) to perform the like: Die, die, Lavinia, and thy shame with thee, And with thy shame, thy Father's sorrow die. What hast done, unnatural and unkind? Killed her for whom my tears have made me blind. I am as woeful as Virginius was, And have a thousand times more cause than he. What was she ravished? tell who did the deed, Wilt please you eat, Wilt please your Highness feed? Why hast thou slain thine only Daughter? Not I, 'twas Chiron and Demetrius, They ravished her, and cut away her tongue, And they, 'twas they, that did her all this wrong. Go fetch them hither to us presently. Why there they are both, baked in that Pie, Whereof their Mother dantily hath fed, Eating the flesh that she herself hath bred. 'Tis true, 'tis true, witness my knives sharp point. Die frantic wretch, for this accursed deed. Can the Son's eye, behold his Father bleed? There's meed for meed, death for a deadly deed. You sad faced men, people and Sons of Rome, By uproars severed like a flight of Fowl, Scattered by winds and high tempestuous gusts: Oh let me teach you how, to knit again This scattered Corn, into one mutual sheaf, These broken limbs again into one body.
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)
Good Vnckle take you in this barbarous Moore, This Rauenous Tiger, this accurſed deuill, Let him receiue no ſuſtenance, fetter him, Till he be brought vnto the Emperous face, For teſtimony of her foule proceedings. And ſee the Ambuſh of our Friends be ſtrong, If ere the Emperour meanes no good to vs. Some deuill whiſper curſes in my eare, And prompt me that my tongue may vtter forth, The Venemous Mallice of my ſwelling heart. Away Inhumaine Dogge, Vnhallowed Slaue, Sirs, helpe our Vnckle, to conuey him in, The Trumpets ſhew the Emperour is at hand. What, hath the Firemament more Suns then one? What bootes it thee to call thy ſelfe a Sunne? Romes Emperour & Nephewe breake the parle Theſe quarrels muſt be quietly debated, The Feaſt is ready which the carefull Titus, Hath ordained to an Honourable end, For Peace, for Loue, for League, and good to Rome: Pleaſe you therfore draw nie and take your places. Marcus we will. Welcome my gracious Lord, Welcome Dread Queene, Welcome ye Warlike Gothes, welcome Luciu, And welcome all: although the cheere be poore, 'Twill fill your ſtomacks, pleaſe you eat of it. Why art thou thus attir'd Andronicus? Becauſe I would be ſure to haue all well, To entertaine your Highneſſe, and your Empreſſe. We are beholding to you good Andronicus? And if your Highneſſe knew my heart, you were: My Lord the Emperour reſolue me this, Was it well done of raſh Virginius, To ſlay his daughter with his owne right hand, Becauſe ſhe was enfor'ſt, ſtain'd, and deflowr'd? It was Andronicus. Your reaſon, Mighty Lord? Becauſe the Girle, ſhould not ſuruine her ſhame, And by her preſence ſtill renew his ſorrowes. A reaſon mighty, ſtrong, and effectuall, A patterne, preſident, and liuely warrant, For me (moſt wretched) to performe the like: Die, die, Lauinia, and thy ſhame with thee, And with thy ſhame, thy Fathers ſorrow die. What haſt done, vnnaturall and vnkinde? Kil'd her for whom my teares haue made me blind. I am as wofull as Virginius was, And haue a thouſand times more cauſe then he. What was ſhe rauiſht? tell who did the deed, Wilt pleaſe you eat, Wilt pleaſe your Higneſſe feed? Why haſt thou ſlaine thine onely Daughter? Not I, 'twas Chiron and Demetrius, They rauiſht her, and cut away her tongue, And they, 'twas they, that did her all this wrong. Go fetch them hither to vs preſently. Why there they are both, baked in that Pie, Whereof their Mother dantily hath fed, Eating the fleſh that ſhe herſelfe hath bred. 'Tis true, 'tis true, witneſſe my kniues ſharpe point. Die franticke wretch, for this accurſed deed. Can the Sonnes eye, behold his Father bleed? There's meede for meede, death for a deadly deed. You ſad fac'd men, people and Sonnes of Rome, By vprores ſeuer'd like a flight of Fowle, Scattred by windes and high tempeſtuous guſts: Oh let me teach you how, to knit againe This ſcattred Corne, into one mutuall ſheafe, Theſe broken limbs againe into one body.