Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T2: rome, caesar, senate, sulla, roman, consul, brutus, romans, men, marius.
It did not please the Gods; who'instruct the people. And their unquestioned pleasures must be served. They know what's fitter for us, than ourselves; And 'twere impiety, to think against them. You bear it rightly, Lucius; and, it glads, me, To find your thoughts so even. I shall still Study to make them such to Rome, and Heaven. I would withdraw with you, a little, Iulius. I'll come home to you: Crassus would not ha' you To speak to him, 'fore Quintus Catulus. I apprehend you. No, when they shall judge Honours convenient for me, I shall have 'em, With a full hand: I know it. In mean time, They are no less part of the Commonwealth, That do obey, than those, that do command. O, let me kiss your forehead, Lucius. How are you wronged! By whom? Public report. That gives you out, to stomach your repulse; And brook it deadly. Sir: she brooks not me. Believe me rather, and yourself, now, of me; It is a kind of slander, to trust rumour. I know it. And I could be angry with it. So may not I Where it concerns himself, Who's angry at a slander, makes it true. Most noble Sergius! This your temper melts me. Will you do office to the Consul, Quintus? That Cato, and the Rout have done the other? I wait, when he will go. Be still yourself. He wants no state, or honours, that hath virtue, Did I appear so tame, as this man thinks me? Looked I so poor, so dead? So like that nothing, Which he calls virtuous? O my breast, break quickly; And show my friends my inparts, lest they think I have betrayed 'hem. Where's Gabinius? Gone. And Vargunteius? Slipped away; all shrunk: Now that he missed the Consulship. I am The scorn of bondmen; who are next to beasts. What can I worse pronounce myself, that's fitter? The Owl of Rome, whom Boys, and Girls will hout; That were I set up, for that wooden God, That keeps our gardens, could not fright the crows, Or the least Bird from muting on my head. 'tis strange how he should miss it. Is't not stranger, The upstart Cicero should carry it so, By all consents, from men so much his Masters? 'tis true. To what a shadow, am I melted! Antonius won it but by some few voices. Struck through, like air, and feel it not. My wounds Close faster, then they're made. The whole design, And enterprise is lost by't. All hands quit it, Upon his fail. I grow mad at my patience. It is a Visor that hath poisoned me. Would it had burnt me up, and I died inward: My heart first turned to ashes. Here's Cethegus yet. REpulse upon repulse? An Inmate, Consul? That I could reach the axle, where the pins are, Which bolt this frame; that I might pull 'em out, And pluck all into Chaos, with myself.
seed 43: T1 · seed 44: T2 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
It did not please the Gods; who'instruct the people. And their vnquestion'd pleasures must be seru'd. They know what's fitter for vs, then our selues; And 'twere impiety, to thinke against them. You beare it rightly, Lucius; and, it glads, mee, To find your thoughts so euen. I shall still Studie to make them such to Rome, and Heauen. I would withdraw with you, a little, Iulius. Ile come home to you: Crassus would not ha' you To speake to him, 'fore Quintus Catulus. I apprehend you. No, when they shall iudge Honors conuenient for me, I shall haue 'hem, With a full hand: I know it. In meane time, They are no lesse part of the Common-wealth, That doe obey, then those, that doe command. O, let me kisse your forehead, Lucius. How are you wrongd! By whom? Publicke report. That giues you out, to stomacke your repulse; And brooke it deadly. Sir: she brookes not me. Belieue me rather, and your selfe, now, of mee; It is a kinde of slaunder, to trust rumour. I know it. And I could be angrie with it. So may not I. Where it concernes himselfe, Who's angry at a slander, makes it true. Most noble Sergius! This your temper melts me. Will you do office to the Consul, Quintus? That Cato, and the Rout haue done the other? I waite, when he will goe. Be still your selfe. He wants no state, or honors, that hath vertue, Did I appeare so tame, as this man thinks mee? Look'd I so poore, so dead? So like that nothing, Which he calls vertuous? O my breast, breake quickly; And shew my friends my in-parts, least they thinke I haue betraid 'hem. Where's Gabinius? Gone. And Vargunteius? Slipt away; all shrunke: Now that he mist the Consul-ship. I am The scorne of bond-men; who are next to beasts. What can I worse pronounce my selfe, that's fitter? The Owle of Rome, whom Boyes, and Girles will hout; That were I set vp, for that woodden God, That keepes our gardens, could not fright the crowes, Or the least Bird from muting on my head. Tis strange how he should misse it. Is't not stranger, The vpstart Cicero should carry it so, By all consents, from men so much his Masters? Tis true. To what a shadow, am I melted! Antonius wan it but by some few voyces. Strooke through, like ayre, and feele it not. My wounds Close faster, then they're made. The whole designe, And enterprise is lost by't. All handes quit it, Vpon his fayle. I grow mad at my patience. It is a Visor that hath poyson'd mee. Would it had burnt me vp, and I died inward: My heart first turn'd to ashes. Here's Cethegus yet. REpulse vpon repulse? An In-mate, Consul? That I could reach the axell, where the pinnes are, Which bolt this frame; that I might pull 'hem out, And plucke all into Chaos, with my selfe.