Jonson, Ben · published 1616 · first performed or written 1611 (Annals) tragedy · King's Men T2 Roman politics: senate, consuls and civi typicality 0.82 · 517 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.
If an oration, or high language, Fathers, Could make me guilty, here is one, hath done it: H' has strove to emulate this morning's thunder, With his prodigious rhetoric. But I hope, This Senate is more grave, then to give credit Rashly to all he vomits, 'gainst a man Of your own order, a Patrician; And one, whose ancestors have more deserved Of Rome, than this man's eloquence could utter, Turned the best way: as still, it is the worst. His eloquence hath more deserved today, Speaking thy ill, than all thy ancestors Did, in their good: and, that the state will find, Which he hath saved. How, he? were I that enemy, That he would make me: I'd not wish the state More wretched, then to need his preservation. What do you make him, CATO, such a HERCULES? An ATLAS? A poor petty inmate! Traitor. He save the state? A burgess son of Arpinum. The gods would rather twenty Rome's should perish, Then have that contumely stuck upon 'em, That he should share with them, in the preserving A shed, or signpost. Peace, thou prodigy. They would be forced themselves, again, and lost In the first, rude, and indigested heap; Ere such a wretched name, as CICERO, Should found with theirs. Away, thou impudent head. Do you all back him? are you silent too? Well, I will leave you, Fathers; I will go. But— my fine dainty speaker— What now, Fury? Wilt thou assault me here? Help, aid the Consul.) See, Fathers, laugh you not? who threatened him? In vain thou dost conceive, ambitious orator, Hope of so brave a death, as by this hand. Out, of the court, with the pernicious traitor.) There is no title, that this flattering Senate, Nor honour, the base multitude can give thee, Shall make thee worthy Catiline's anger. Stop, Stop that portentous mouth.) Or, when it shall, I'll look thee dead. Will none restrain the monster? Parricide. Butcher, traitor, leave the Senate. I'm gone, to banishment, to please you, Fathers. Thrust headlong forth? Still, dost thou murmur, monster? Since, I am thus put out, and made a— What? Not guiltier than thou art. I will not burn Without my funeral pile. What says the fiend? I will have matter, timber. Sing out screech-owl. It shall be in— Speak thy imperfect thoughts. The common fire, rather than mine own. For fall I will with all, ere fall alone. he's lost, there is no hope of him. Unless He presently take arms; and give a blow, Before the consul's forces can be levied. What is your pleasure, Fathers, shall be done? See, that the commonwealth receive no loss. Commit the care thereof unto the Consuls. 'Tis time. And need. Thanks to this frequent Senate. But what decree they, unto CURIUS, And FULVIA? What the Consul shall think meet. They must receive reward, though 't be not known; Lest when a state needs ministers, they ha' none. Yet, MARCUS TULLIUS, do not I believe, But CRASSUS, and this CAESAR here ring hollow. And would appear so, if that we durst prove 'em.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 1600–1683 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 24 of 37 in this edition
Length
517 words · 757 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T2 — Roman politics: senate, consuls and civil warcross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.817 (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)
If an oration, or high language, Fathers, Could make me guiltie, here is one, hath done it: H' has stroue to emulate this mornings thunder, With his prodigious rhetoricke. But I hope, This Senate is more graue, then to giue credit Rashly to all he vomits, 'gainst a man Of your owne order, a Patrician; And one, whose ancestors haue more deseru'd Of Rome, then this mans eloquence could vtter, Turn'd the best way: as still, it is the worst. His eloquence hath more deseru'd to day, Speaking thy ill, then all thy ancestors Did, in their good: and, that the state will find, Which he hath sau'd. How, he? were I that enemie, That he would make me: Il'd not wish the state More wretched, then to need his preseruation. What doe you make him, CATO, such a HERCVLES? An ATLAS? A poore petty in-mate! Traytor. He saue the state? A burgesse sonne of Arpinum. The gods would rather twentie Romes should perish, Then haue that contumely stucke vpon 'hem, That he should share with them, in the preseruing A shed, or signe-post. Peace, thou prodigie. They would be forc'd themselues, againe, and lost In the first, rude, and indigested heape; Ere such a wretched name, as CICERO, Should found with theirs. Away, thou impudent head. Doe you all backe him? are you silent too? Well, I will leaue you, Fathers; I will goe. But—my fine daintie speaker— What now, Furie? Wilt thou assault me here? Helpe, aide the Consul.) See, Fathers, laugh you not? who threatned him? In vaine thou do'st conceiue, ambitious orator, Hope of so braue a death, as by this hand. Out, of the court, with the pernicious traytor.) There is no title, that this flattering Senate, Nor honor, the base multitude can giue thee, Shall make thee worthy CATILINES anger. Stop, Stop that portentous mouth.) Or, when it shall, Ile looke thee dead. Will none restraine the monster? Parricide. Butcher, traytor, leaue the Senate. I'am gone, to banishment, to please you, Fathers. Thrust head-long forth? Still, do'st thou murmure, monster? Since, I am thus put out, and made a— What? Not guiltier then thou art. I will not burne Without my funerall pile. What saies the fiend? I will haue matter, timber. Sing out scrich-owle. It shall be in— Speake thy imperfect thoughts. The common fire, rather then mine owne. For fall I will with all, ere fall alone. H'is lost, there is no hope of him. Vnlesse He presently take armes; and giue a blow, Before the Consuls forces can be leui'd. What is your pleasure, Fathers, shall be done? See, that the common-wealth receiue no losse. Commit the care thereof vnto the Consuls. 'Tis time. And need. Thankes to this frequent Senate. But what decree they, vnto CVRIVS, And FVLVIA? What the Consul shall thinke meete. They must receiue reward, though 't be not knowne; Lest when a state needs ministers, they ha' none. Yet, MARCVS TVLLIVS, doe not I beleeue, But CRASSVS, and this CAESAR here ring hollow. And would appeare so, if that we durst proue 'hem.