Daniel, Samuel · published 1599 · first performed or written 1593 [revised 1607] (Annals) tragedy T54 Antony and Cleopatra: love, death and mo typicality 0.89 · 475 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T54: antony, caesar, anthony, cleopatra, antonius, love, death, die, heart, breast.
If it be so, why speak I then to th'air? But 'tis not so, my Anthony doth hear: His everliving ghost attends my prayer, And I do know his hovering spirit is near. And I will speak, and pray, and mourn to thee, O pure immortal love that deign'st to hear: I feel thou answerest my credulity With touch of comfort, finding none elsewhere. Thou knowst these hands cotombed thee here of late, Free and vnsorced, which now must servile be, Reserved for bands to grace proud Caesar's state, Who seeks in me to triumph over thee. O if in life we could not severed be, Shall death divide our bodies now asunder? Must thine in Egypt, mine in Italy, Be kept the Monuments of Fortune's wonder? If any powers be there where as thou art, (Sith our own Country Gods betray our case,) O work they may their gracious help impart, To save thy woeful wife from such disgrace. Do not permit she should in triumph show The blush of her reproach, joined with thy shame: But (rather) let that hateful Tyrant know, That thou and I had powre t'avoid the same. But what do I spend breath and idle wind, In vain invoking a conceived aid? Why do I not myself occasion find To break the bounds where in my'selfe am stayed? Words are for them that can complain and live, Whose melting hearts composed of base frame, Can to their sorrows, time and leisure give, But Cleopatra may not do the same. No Anthony, thy love requireth more: A lingering death, with thee deserves no merit, I must myself force open wide a door To let out life, and so unhouse my spirit, These hands must break the prison of my soul To come to thee, thereto enjoy like state, As doth the long-pent solitaric Fowl, That hath escaped her cage, and found her mate. This Sacrifice to sacrifice my life, Is that true incense that doth best beseem: These rites may serve a life-desiring wife, Who doing them, t'have done enough doth deem. My heart blood should the purple flowers have been, Which here upon thy Tomb to thee are offered, No smoke but dying breath should here been seen, And this it had been to, had I been fufired. But what have I save these bare hands to do it? And these weak fingers are not iron-poynted: They cannot pierce the flesh being put unto it, And I of all means else am disappointed. But yet I must away and means seek, how To come unto thee, what so ere I do. O Death art thou so hard to come by now, That we must pray, entreat, and seek thee too? But I will find thee where so ere thou lie, For who can stay a mind resolved to die?
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 1113–1170 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 18 of 27 in this edition
Length
475 words · 616 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T54 — Antony and Cleopatra: love, death and mourningcross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.891 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
Other seeds
seed 43: T51 · seed 44: T48 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
If it be so, why speake I then to th'ayre? But tis not so, my Anthonie doth heare: His euer-liuing ghost attends my prayer, And I do know his houering sp'rit is neere. And I will speake, and pray, and mourne to thee, O pure immortall loue that daign'st to heare: I feele thou answer'st my credulitie With touch of comfort, finding none elswhere. Thou know'st these hands cotomb'd thee here of late, Free and vnsorc'd, which now must seruile be, Reseru'd for bands to grace proud Caesars state, Who seekes in me to triumph ouer thee. O if in life we could not seuerd be, Shall death deuide our bodies now asunder? Must thine in Egypt, mine in Italie, Be kept the Monuments of Fortunes wonder? If any powres be there where as thou art, (Sith our owne Country Gods betray our case,) O worke they may their gracious helpe impart, To saue thy wofull wife from such disgrace. Do not permit she should in triumph shew The blush of her reproch, ioyn'd with thy shame: But (rather) let that hatefull Tyrant know, That thou and I had powre t'auoyde the same. But what doe I spend breath and idle winde, In vaine inuoking a conceiued ayde? Why do I not my selfe occasion find To breake the bounds where in my'selfe am staid? Words are for them that can complaine and liue, Whose melting hearts compos'd of baser frame, Can to their sorrowes, time and leisure giue, But Cleopatra may not do the same. No Anthonie, thy loue requireth more: A lingring death, with thee deserues no merit, I must my selfe force open wide a dore To let out life, and so vnhouse my spirit, These hands must breake the prison of my soule To come to thee, thereto enioy like state, As doth the long-pent solitaric Foule, That hath escapt her cage, and found her mate. This Sacrifice to sacrifize my life, Is that true incense that dooth best beseeme: These rites may serue a life-desiring wife, Who doing them, t'haue done inough doth deeme. My hart blood should the purple flowers haue been, Which heere vpon thy Tombe to thee are offred, No smoake but dying breath should heere been seen, And this it had beene to, had I beene fufired. But what haue I saue these bare hands to do it? And these weake fingers are not iron-poynted: They cannot pierce the flesh be'ing put vnto it, And I of all meanes else am disappointed. But yet I must away and meanes seeke, how To come vnto thee, what so ere I doo. O Death art thou so hard to come by now, That we must pray, intreate, and seeke thee too? But I will find thee where so ere thou lie, For who can stay a minde resolu'd to die?