Jonson, Ben · published 1616 · first performed or written 1611 (Annals) tragedy · King's Men T2 Roman politics: senate, consuls and civi typicality 0.84 · 546 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T2: rome, caesar, senate, sulla, roman, consul, brutus, romans, men, marius.
Of thy confederates, too, be no less great In hell, then here: that, when we would repeat Our strengths in muster, we may name you all, And Furies, upon you, for Furies, call. Whilst, what you do, may strike them into fears, Or make them grieve, and wish your mischief theirs. IT is decreed. Nor shall thy Fate, O Rome, Resist my vow. Though hills were set on hills, And seas met seas, to guard thee; I would through: ay, plough up rocks, steep as the Alpes, in dust; And lave the Tyrrhene waters, into clouds; But I would reach thy head, thy head, proud city. The ills, that I have done, cannot be safe But by attempting greater; and I feel A spirit, within me, chides my sluggish hands, And says, they have been innocent too long. Was I a man, bred great, as Rome herself? One, formed for all her honours, all her glories? Equal to all her titles? that could stand Close up, with ATLAS; and sustain her name As strong, as he doth heaven? And, was I, Of all her brood, marked out for the repulse By her no voice, when I stood Candidate, To be commander in the Pontic war? I will, hereafter, call her stepdame, ever. If she can lose her nature, I can lose My pieties and in her stony entrails Dig me a seat: where, I will live again, The labour of her womb, and be a burden, Weightier than all the prodigies, and monsters, That she hath teemed with, since she first knew MARS. WHo's there? 'Tis I. AURELIA? Yes. Appear, And break, like day, my beauty, to this circle: Upbraid thy Phoebus, that he is so long In mounting to that point, which should give thee Thy proper splendour. Wherefore frowns my sweet? Have I too long been absent from these lips, This cheek, these eyes? What is my trespass? speak. It seems, you know, that can accuse yourself. IT is, methinks, a morning, full of fate! It riseth slowly, as her sullen car Had all the weights of sleep, and death hung at it! she is not rosy-fingered, but swollen black! Her face is like a water, turned to blood, And her sick head is bound about with clouds, As if she threatened night, ere noon of day! It does not look, as it would have a hail, Or health, wished in it, as on other morns. Why, all the fitter, LENTULUS: our coming Is not for salutation, we have business. Said nobly, brave CETHEGUS. Where's AUTRONIUS? Is he not come? Not here. Nor VARGUNTEIUS? Neither. A fire in their beds, and bosoms, That so will serve their sloth, rather than virtue. They are no Romans, and at such high need As now. Both they, LONGINUS, LECCA, CURIUS, FULVIUS, GABINIUS, gave me word, last night, By Lucius BESTIA, they would all be here, And early. Yes? As you, had I not called you. Come, we all sleep, and are mere dormice; flies, A little less than dead: more dullness hangs On us, then on the morn. W''re spirit-bound, In ribs of ice; our whole bloods are one stone; And honour cannot thaw us; nor our wants: Though they burn, hot a fevers, to our states.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 66–139 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 2 of 37 in this edition
Length
546 words · 805 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T2 — Roman politics: senate, consuls and civil warcross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.841 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
Other seeds
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)
Of thy confederates, too, be no lesse great In hell, then here: that, when we would repeat Our strengths in muster, we may name you all, And Furies, vpon you, for Furies, call. Whilst, what you doe, may strike them into feares, Or make them grieue, and wish your mischiefe theirs. IT is decree'd. Nor shall thy Fate, Ô Rome, Resist my vow. Though hills were set on hills, And seas met seas, to guard thee; I would through: I, plough vp rocks, steepe as the Alpes, in dust; And laue the Tyrrhene waters, into clouds; But I would reach thy head, thy head, proud citie. The ills, that I haue done, cannot be safe But by attempting greater; and I feele A spirit, within me, chides my sluggish hands, And sayes, they haue beene innocent too long. Was I a man, bred great, as Rome her selfe? One, form'd for all her honors, all her glories? Equall to all her titles? that could stand Close vp, with ATLAS; and sustaine her name As strong, as he doth heau'n? And, was I, Of all her brood, mark'd out for the repulse By her no voice, when I stood Candidate, To be commander in the Pontick warre? I will, hereafter, call her step-dame, euer. If shee can loose her nature, I can loose My pietie and in her stony entrailes Dig me a seate: where, I will liue againe, The labour of her wombe, and be a burden, Weighter then all the prodigies, and monsters, That shee hath teem'd with, since shee first knew MARS. WHo's there? 'Tis I. AVRELIA? Yes. Appeare, And breake, like day, my beautie, to this circle: Vpbraid thy Phoebus, that he is so long In mounting to that point, which should giue thee Thy proper splendor. Wherefore frownes my sweet? Haue too long beene absent from these lips, This cheeke, these eyes? What is my trespasse? speake. It seemes, you know, that can accuse your selfe. IT is, me thinks, a morning, full of fate! It riseth slowly, as her sollen carre Had all the weights of sleepe, and death hung at it! Shee is not rosy-finger'd, but swolne black! Her face is like a water, turn'd to bloud, And her sick head is bound about with clouds, As if shee threatned night, ere noone of day! It does not looke, as it would haue a haile, Or health, wish'd in it, as on other mornes. Why, all the fitter, LENTVLVS: our comming Is not for salutation, we haue businesse. Said nobly, braue CETHEGVS. Where's AVTRONIVS? Is he not come? Not here. Nor VARGVNTEIVS? Neither. A fire in their beds, and bosomes, That so will serue their sloth, rather then vertue. They are no Romanes, and at such high need As now. Both they, LONGINVS, LECCA, CVRIVS, FVLVIVS, GABINIVS, gaue me word, last night, By LVC'IVS BESTIA, they would all be here, And early. Yes? As you, had I not call'd you. Come, we all sleepe, and are meere dormice; flies, A little lesse then dead: more dulnesse hangs On vs, then on the morne. W'are spirit-bound, In ribs of ice; our whole blouds are one stone; And honor cannot thaw vs; nor our wants: Though they burne, hot a feuers, to our states.