Markham, Gervase / Sampson, William · published 1622 · first performed or written 1622 [c.1619-1622] (Annals) tragedy · Red Bull (Revels) Company (first) · Red Bull T60 Imperial Rome: rulers, favour and politi typicality 0.86 · 475 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T60: caesar, rome, emperor, empire, honour, lord, lucius, great, palsgrave, kings.
'tis a rare Gratulation. I'm afraid New fear will alter it. Observe the Emperor. 'tis true (great Sir) your sacred hand was first Invested me in Iuda; gave me that I can forsake with comfort: keep it still; Who from a Crown is rid, is free from cares; I prize the worth, less than two flaxen tears. This is a kind of braving. Hear me forth; And when you've heard; this, for extremity: Since first the time I wore the sorrowful Wreathe, (For Crowns and Sorrows are incorporate, And hang like links, one wreathed in another) Since first the Crown I wore, you knew my grieves; But ne'er relieved me by Person or by Deputy; No, not when Asia and the Afric strands joined both to overthrow me: only, than The ever-praised (now lost) Mark Anthony Thrust forth his hand and stayed me; he kept firm My foot that then was sliding; ay, for this, Sent him not aid, but rent long purchased. O (gracious Sir) view mine obligements well, And you shall see virtue did govern me. Why, did his life yet lie within my hands, Thus would I straddle over him as I stand; Mine arms dissevered like two Rhodian Props; And ere I bent, my Trunk should be the Base For his dread foes to build Ambition on: This would I do; and, if this be a Crime, It is so good an one, I scorn my breath: Who lives the lives the longest still must end in death; And so must I. Thou art thine own judge Herod: call a Slave, A desperate Slave; 'mongst all our Prisoners, Choose him that hath least mercy: you shall find, Your Friendship had a false ground. Caesar, no; Virtue was the foundation, and you may Batter, but not o'erthrow it. Well I'll try The utmost of your fortitude: arm that Slave; And Sirrah, kill that Traitor; 'tis a work That brings you home your Freedom. Gracious Sir, what is he I must murder? 'tis a King. Ha! Villain, why starest thou? Strike, I say, you Slave. Slave, I'll not strike; know'st thou or he, or he, or Caesar What 'tis to be a Murderer; nay, more, The Murderer of a King; nay, most of all, To murder God himself; (for such are Kings:) O you dull bloody Romans; see, in's eyes Are thousands of armed armed Angels; and each Ray A flame of Lightning ready to devour The hand that's lift 'gainst sacred Majesty. Caesar, I'm no Italian; though thy Slave, I will not be thy Devil; those are bred Ith' Shambles, let them Butcher; fetch for this Some from the Roman Gallows; for they are Hangmen that must perform it; and thou look'st Like one: go, take the Office, I'll not do it. The slave's afraid to strike him; timorous Coward: Call another.
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)
Tis a rare Gratulation. I'm affraid New feare will alter it. Obserue the Emperour. Tis true (great Sir) your sacred hand was first Inuested mee in Iuda; gaue mee that I can forsake with comfort: keepe it still; Who from a Crowne is rid, is free from cares; I prize the worth, lesse then two flaxine teares. This is a kinde of brauing. Heare me forth; And when y'aue heard; this, for extremitie: Since first the time I wore the sorrowfull Wreath, (For Crownes and Sorrowes are incorporate, And hang like linkes, one wreathed in another) Since first the Crowne I wore, you knew my grieues; But nere relieu'd me by Person or by Deputy; No, not when Asia and the Affricke strands Ioyn'd both to ouer-throw me: onely, then The euer-prais'd (now lost) Marke Anthony Thrust forth his hand and staid me; he kept firme My foote that then was sliding; I, for this, Sent him not ayde, but rent long purchased. O (gracious Sir) view mine oblidgements well, And you shall see vertue did gouerne me. Why, did his life yet lie within my hands, Thus would I straddle ore him as I stand; Mine armes disseuer'd like two Rhodian Props; And ere I bent, my Trunke should be the Base For his dread foes to build Ambition on: This would I doe; and, if this bee a Crime, It is so good an one, I scorne my breath: Who liues the liues the longest still must end in death; And so must I. Thou art thine owne Iudge Herod: call a Slaue, A desperate Slaue; 'mongst all our Prisoners, Chuse him that hath least mercy: you shall finde, Your Friendship had a false grownd. Caesar, no; Vertue was the foundation, and you may Batter, but not orethrow it. Well Ile try The vtmost of your fortitude: arme that Slaue; And Sirrah, kill that Traytor; tis a worke That brngs you home your Freedome. Gracious Sir, what is he I must murder? Tis a King. Ha! Villaine, why star'st thou? Strike, I say, you Slaue. Slaue, Ile not strike; knowst thou or he, or he, or Caesar What tis to bee a Murderer; nay, more, The Murderer of a King; nay, most of all, To murder God himselfe; (for such are Kings:) O you dull bloody Romans; see, n's eyes Are thousands of arm'd arm'd Angels; and each Ray A flame of Lightning ready to deuoure The hand thats lift gainst sacred Maiesty. Caesar, I'm no Italian; though thy Slaue, I will not be thy Diuell; those are bred Ith' Shambles, let them Butcher; fetch for this Some from the Roman Gallowes; for they are Hangmen that must performe it; and thou lookst Like one: goe, take the Office, Ile not doo it. The Slaue's affraid to strike him; timerous Coward: Call another.