Jonson, Ben · published 1616 · first performed or written 1611 (Annals) tragedy · King's Men T2 Roman politics: senate, consuls and civi typicality 0.86 · 496 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.
Why, now my FULVIA looks, like her bright name! And is herself! Nay, answer me, your plot: I pray thee tell me, QVINTUS. ay, these sounds Become a mistress. Here is harmony! When you are harsh, I see, the way to bend you Is not with violence, but service. Cruel, A lady is a fire: gentle, a light. Will you not tell me, what I ask you? All, That I can think, sweet love, or my breast holds, I'll pour into thee. What is your design, then? I'll tell thee; CATILINE shall now be Consul: But, you will hear more, shortly. Nay, dear love— I'll speak it, in thine arms, let us go in. Rome will be sacked, her wealth will be our prize; By public ruin, private spirits must rise. GReat father MARS, and greater JOVE, By whose high auspice, Rome hath stood So long; and, first, was built in blood Of your great nephew, that then strove Not with his brother, but your rites: Be present to her now, as then, And let not proud, and factious men Against your wills oppose their mights. Our Consuls, now, are to be made; O, put it in the public voice To make a free, and worthy choice: Excluding such as would invade The common wealth. Let whom we name Have wisdom, foresight, fortitude, Be more with faith, than face endued, And study conscience, above fame. Such, as not seek to get the start In state, by power, parts, or bribes, Ambition's bawds: but move the tribes By virtue, modesty, desert. Our need made thee our Consul, and thy virtue. CATO, you will undo him, with your praise. CAESAR will hurt himself, with his own envy. The voice of CATO is the voice of Rome. The voice of Rome is the consent of heaven! And that hath placed thee, CICERO, at the helm, Where thou must render, now, thyself a man, And master of thy art. Each petty hand Can steer a ship becalmed; but he that will Govern, and carry her to her ends, must know His tides, his currents; how to shift his sails; What she will bear in foul, what in fair weathers; Where her springs are, her leaks; and how to stop 'em; What sands, what shelves, what rocks do threaten her; The forces, and the natures of all winds, Gusts, storms, and tempests; when her keel ploughs hell, And deck knocks heaven: then, to manage her, Becomes the name, and office of a pilot. Which I'll perform, with all the diligence, And fortitude I have; not for my year, But for my life; except my life be less, And that my year conclude it: if it must, Your will, loved gods. This heart shall yet employ A day, an hour is left me, so, for Rome, As it shall spring a life, out of my death, To shine, for ever glorious in my facts. The vicious count their years, virtuous their acts.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 596–662 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 9 of 37 in this edition
Length
496 words · 694 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T2 — Roman politics: senate, consuls and civil warcross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.859 (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)
Why, now my FVLVIA lookes, like her bright name! And is her selfe! Nay, answere me, your plot: I pray thee tell me, QVINTVS. I, these sounds Become a mistris. Here is harmonie! When you are harsh, I see, the way to bend you Is not with violence, but seruice. Cruell, A lady is a fire: gentle, a light. Will you not tell me, what I aske you? All, That I can thinke, sweet loue, or my brest holds, Ile poure into thee. What is your designe, then? Ile tell thee; CATILINE shall now be Consull: But, you will heare more, shortly. Nay, deare loue— Ile speake it, in thine armes, let vs goe in. Rome will be sack'd, her wealth will be our prize; By publique ruine, priuate spirits must rise. GReat father MARS, and greater IOVE, By whose high auspice, Rome hath stood So long; and, first, was built in blood Of your great nephew, that then stroue Not with his brother, but your rites: Be present to her now, as then, And let not proud, and factious men Against your wills oppose their mights. Our Consuls, now, are to be made; O, put it in the publique voice To make a free, and worthy choice: Excluding such as would inuade The common wealth. Let whom we name Haue wisedome, fore-sight, fortitude, Be more with faith, then face endu'd, And studie conscience, aboue fame. Such, as not seeke to get the start In state, by power, parts, or bribes, Ambition's bawdes: but moue the tribes By vertue, modestie, desart. Our need made thee our Consul, and thy vertue. CATO, you will vn-doe him, with your praise. CAESAR will hurt himselfe, with his owne enuie▪ The voice of CATO is the voice of Rome. The voice of Rome is the consent of heauen! And that hath plac'd thee, CICERO, at the helme, Where thou must render, now, thy selfe a man, And master of thy art. Each petty hand Can steere a ship becalm'd; but he that will Gouerne, and carry her to her ends, must know His tides, his currents; how to shift his sailes; What shee will beare in foule, what in faire weathers; Where her springs are, her leakes; and how to stop 'hem; What sands, what shelues, what rocks doe threaten her; The forces, and the natures of all winds, Gusts, stormes, and tempests; when her keele ploughs hell, And deck knocks heauen: then, to manage her, Becomes the name, and office of a pilot. Which I'le performe, with all the diligence, And fortitude I haue; not for my yeere, But for my life; except my life be lesse, And that my yeere conclude it: if it must, Your will, lou'd gods. This heart shall yet employ A day, an houre is left me, so, for Rome, As it shall spring a life, out of my death, To shine, for euer glorious in my facts. The vicious count their yeeres, vertuous their acts.