Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1608 (Annals) tragedy · King's Men T2 Roman politics: senate, consuls and civi typicality 0.87 · 517 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T2: rome, caesar, senate, sulla, roman, consul, brutus, romans, men, marius.
Though all at once, cannot See what I do deliver out to each, Yet I can make my Awdit up, that all From me do back receive the Flower of all, And leave me but the Bran. What say you too't? It was an answer, how apply you this? The Senators of Rome, are this good Belly, And you the mutinous Members: For examine Their Counsels, and their Cares; digest things rightly, Touching the Weal o' th' Common, you shall find No public benefit which you receive But it proceeds, or comes from them to you, And no way from yourselves. What do you think? You, the great Toe of this Assembly? I the great Toe? Why the great Toe? For that being one o' th' lowest, basest, poorest Of this most wise Rebellion, thou goest foremost: Thou Rascal, that art worst in blood to run, Leadest first to win some vantage. But make you ready your stiff bats and clubs, Rome, and her Rats, are at the point of battle, The one side must have bail. Hail, Noble Martius. Thanks. What's the matter you dissentious rogues That rubbing the poor Itch of your Opinion, Make yourselves Scabs. We have ever your good word. He that will give good words to thee, will flatter Beneath abhorring. What would you have, you Curs, That like nor Peace, nor War? The one affrights you, The other makes you proud. He that trusts to you, Where he should find you Lions, finds you Hares: Where Foxes, Geese you are: No surer, no, Then is the coal of fire upon the Ice, Or Hailstone in the Sun. Your Virtue is, To make him worthy, whose offence subdues him, And curse that justice did it. Who deserves Greatness, Deserves your Hate: and your Affections are A sick-man's Appetite; who desires most that Which would increase his evil. He that depends Upon your favours, swims with fins of Lead, And hews down Oaks, with rushes. Hang ye: trust ye? With every Minute you do change a Mind, And call him Noble, that was now your Hate: Him vild, that was your Garland. What's the matter, That in these several places of the City, You cry against the Noble Senate, who (Under the Gods) keep you in awe, which else Would feed on one another? What's their seeking? For Corn at their own rates, whereof they say The City is well stored. Hang 'em: They say? They'll sit by th' fire, and presume to know What's done i' th' Capitol: Who's like to rise, Who thrives, & who declines: Side factions, & give out Conjectural Marriages, making parties strong, And feebling such as stand not in their liking, Below their cobbled Shoes. They say there's grain enough? Would the Nobility lay aside their ruth, And let me use my Sword, I'd make a Quarry With thousands of these quartered slaves, as high As I could pick my Lance. Nay these are almost thoroughly persuaded: For though abundantly they lack discretion Yet are they passing Cowardly. But I beseech you, What says the other Troop?
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)
Though all at once, cannot See what I do deliuer out to each, Yet I can make my Awdit vp, that all From me do backe receiue the Flowre of all, And leaue me but the Bran. What ſay you too't? It was an anſwer, how apply you this? The Senators of Rome, are this good Belly, And you the mutinous Members: For examine Their Counſailes, and their Cares; diſgeſt things rightly, Touching the Weale a' th Common, you ſhall finde No publique benefit which you receiue But it proceeds, or comes from them to you, And no way from your ſelues. What do you thinke? You, the great Toe of this Aſſembly? I the great Toe? Why the great Toe? For that being one o' th loweſt, baſeſt, pooreſt Of this moſt wiſe Rebellion, thou goeſt formoſt: Thou Raſcall, that art worſt in blood to run, Lead'ſt firſt to win ſome vantage. But make you ready your ſtiffe bats and clubs, Rome, and her Rats, are at the point of battell, The one ſide muſt haue baile. Hayle, Noble Martius. Thanks. What's the matter you diſſentious rogues That rubbing the poore Itch of your Opinion, Make your ſelues Scabs. We haue euer your good word. He that will giue good words to thee, wil flatter Beneath abhorring. What would you haue, you Curres, That like nor Peace, nor Warre? The one affrights you, The other makes you proud. He that truſts to you, Where he ſhould finde you Lyons, findes you Hares: Where Foxes, Geeſe you are: No ſurer, no, Then is the coale of fire vpon the Ice, Or Hailſtone in the Sun. Your Vertue is, To make him worthy, whoſe offence ſubdues him, And curſe that Iuſtice did it. Who deſerues Greatnes, Deſerues your Hate: and your Affections are A ſickmans Appetite; who deſires moſt that Which would encreaſe his euill. He that depends Vpon your fauours, ſwimmes with finnes of Leade, And hewes downe Oakes, with ruſhes. Hang ye: truſt ye? With euery Minute you do change a Minde, And call him Noble, that was now your Hate: Him vilde, that was your Garland. What's the matter, That in theſe ſeuerall places of the Citie, You cry againſt the Noble Senate, who (Vnder the Gods) keepe you in awe, which elſe Would feede on one another? What's their ſeeking? For Corne at their owne rates, wherof they ſay The Citie is well ſtor'd. Hang 'em: They ſay? They'l ſit by th' fire, and preſume to know What's done i' th Capitoll: Who's like to riſe, Who thriues, & who declines: Side factions, & giue out Coniecturall Marriages, making parties ſtrong▪ And feebling ſuch as ſtand not in their liking, Below their cobled Shooes. They ſay ther's grain enough? Would the Nobility lay aſide their ruth, And let me vſe my Sword, I'de make a Quarrie With thouſands of theſe quarter'd ſlaues, as high As I could picke my Lance. Nay theſe are almoſt thoroughly perſwaded: For though abundantly they lacke diſcretion Yet are they paſsing Cowardly. But I beſeech you, What ſayes the other Troope?