Heywood, Thomas · published 1608 · first performed or written 1607 [1606-1608] (Annals) tragedy · Queen Anne's Men · Red Bull unassigned nearest T2 Roman politics: senate, consuls and civi · 481 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T2: rome, caesar, senate, sulla, roman, consul, brutus, romans, men, marius.
Aruns this crimson favour for thy sake, I'll wear upon my forehead masked with blood Till all the moistures in the Tarquins veins Be spilled upon the earth and leave thy body As dry as the parched summer, burnt and scorched with the canicular stars. Aruns lies dead by this bright sword that's here about his head. And see great consul, where the pride of Rome lies sunk and fallen. Besides him lies the queen mangled and hewed amongst the Roman soldièrs. Lift up their slaughtered bodies, help to rear them against this hill in view of all the camp, This sight willbe a terror to the so, and make them yield or fly. But where's the ravisher, injurious Sextus that we see not him? Through broken spears, cracked swords, unbowelled steeds flawed armours, mangled limbs, and battered casks, Knee deep in blood, I ha' pierced the Roman host to be my father's rescue. 'tis too late, his mounting pride's sunk in the people's hate. My father, mother, brother, fortune now, I do defy thee, I expose myself, To horrid danger, safety I despise, I dare the worst of peril I am bound. On till this pile of flesh be all one wound, begird him Lord, this is the Ravisher. There's no revenge for Lucrece till he fall. Cease Sextus then. Sextus defies you all, yet will you give me language ere I die: Say on. 'tis not for mercy, for I scorn that life That's given by any, and the more to add To your immense unmeasurable hate, I was the spur unto my father's pride, 'twas I that awed the Princes of the Land, That made thee Brutus' mad, these discontents, I ravished the chaste Lucrece, Sextus I, The daughter and thy wife, Brutus thy cozen. Allied indeed to all, 'twas for my Rape, Her constant hand ripped up her innocent breast, 'twas Sextus did all this. Which i'll revenge. Leave that to me. Old as I am I'll do't. I have one hand yet left, of strength enough to kill a ravisher. Come all at once, I all: yet hear me Brutus, thou art honourable. And my words tend to thee: my father died By many hands, what's he 'mongst you can challenge The lest I smallest honour in his death? If I be killed amongst this hostile throng The poorest snaky soldier well may claim As much renown in royal Sextus' death, As Brutus, thou, or thou Horatius. I am to die, and more than die I cannot, Rob not yourselves of Honour in my death. When the two mightiest spirits of Greece and Troy tugged for the mastery, Hector and Achilles, Had puissant Hector by Achilles' hand, Died in a single monomachy Achilles, Had been the worthy, but being slain by odds, The poorest Myrmidon had as much honour As saint Achilles in the Trojans death.
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)
Aruns this crimsin fauor for thy sake, Ile weare vpon my forehead maskt with bloud Till all the moistures in the Tarquins veines Be spilt vpon the earth and leaue thy body As dry as the parcht sommer, burnt and scorcht with the canicular starres. Aruns lies dead by this bright sword thats here about his head. And see great consull, where the pride of Rome lies sunke and fallen. Besides him lies the queene mangled and hewd amongst the Roman soldièrs. Lift vp their slaughtered bodies, help to reare them against this hill in view of all the camp, This sight wilbe a terror to the so, and make them yield or fly. But wheres the rauisher, iniurious Sextus that we see not him? Through broken speares, crackt swords, vnboweld steedes Flaude armors, mangled limbes, and battered caskes, Knee deepe in bloud, I ha pierct the Roman host to be my fathers rescue. Tis too late, his mounting prid's sunke in the peoples hate. My father, mother, brother, fortune now, I do defy thee, I expose my selfe, To horrid danger, saftie I despise, I dare the worst of perill I am bound. On till this pile of flesh be all one wound, Begirt him Lord, this is the Rauisher. Theres no reuenge for Lucrece til he fall. Cease Sextus then. Sextus defies you all, yet wil you giue me language ere I : Say on. Tis not for mercy, for I scorne that life Thats giuen by any, and the more to ad To your immense vnmeasurable hate, I was the spur vnto my fathers , Twas I that awde the Princes of the Land, That made thee Brutus mad, these discontents, I rauisht the chaste Lucrece, Sextus I, The daughter and thy wife, Brutus thy cosen. Allide indeed to all, twas for my Rape, Her constant hand ript vp her innocent brest, twas Sextus did all this. Which ile reuenge. Leaue that to me. Old as I am ile do't. I haue one hand yet left, of strength inough to kill a rausher. Come all at once, I all: yet heare me Brutus, thou art Honrable. And my words tend to thee: my father dide By many hands, whats he mongst you can challenge The least I smallest honor in his death? If I be kild amongst this hostile hrong The poorest snakie souldier well may claime As much renowne in royall Sextus death, As Brutus, thou, or thou Horatius. I am to die, and more then die I cannot, Rob not your selues of Honor in my death. When the two mightiest spirits of Greece and Troy Tugde for the mastie, Hector and Achilles, Had pussant Hector by Achilles hand, Dide in a single monomachie Achilles, Had the orthie, but being slaine by ods, The had as much honor As saint Achilles in the Troians death.