Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1608 (Annals) tragedy · King's Men T2 Roman politics: senate, consuls and civi typicality 0.82 · 481 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T2: rome, caesar, senate, sulla, roman, consul, brutus, romans, men, marius.
So, to our Tent: Where ere we do repose us, we will write To Rome of our success: you Titus Lartius Must to Corioles back, send us to Rome The best, with whom we may articulate, For their own good, and ours. I shall, my Lord. The Gods begin to mock me: I that now refused most Princely gifts, Am bound to beg of my Lord General. Take't, 'tis yours: what is't? I sometime lay here in Corioles, At a poor man's house: he used me kindly, He cried to me: I saw him Prisoner: But then Auffidius was within my view, And Wrath o'erwhelmed my pity: I request you To give my poor Host freedom. Oh well begged: Were he the Butcher of my Son, he should Be free, as is the Wind: deliver him, Titus. Martius, his Name. By Iupiter forgot: I am weary, yea my memory is tired: Have we no Wine here? Go we to our Tent: The blood upon your Visage dries, 'tis time It should be looked too: come. The Town is ta'en. 'Twill be delivered back on good Condition. Condition? I would I were a Roman, for I cannot. Being a Volce, be that I am. Condition? What good Condition can a Treaty find I' th' part that is at mercy? five times, Martius, I have fought with thee; so often hast thou beat me: And wouldst do so, I think, should we encounter As often as we eat. By th' Elements, If ere again I meet him beard to beard, He's mine, or I am his: Mine Emulation Hath not that Honour in't it had: For where I thought to crush him in an equal Force, True Sword to Sword: I'll potche at him some way, Or Wrath, or Craft may get him. He's the devil. Bolder, though not so subtle: my valour's poisoned, With only suffering stain by him: for him Shall fly out of itself, nor sleep, nor sanctuary, Being naked, sick; nor Fane, nor Capitol, The Prayers of Priests, nor times of Sacrifice: Embarkments all of Fury, shall lift up Their rotten Privilege, and Custom 'gainst My hate to Martius. Where I find him, were it At home, upon my Brother's Guard, even there Against the hospitable Canon, would I Wash my fierce hand in's heart. Go you to th' City, Learn how 'tis held, and what they are that must Be Hostages for Rome. Will not you go? I am attended at the Cyprus grove. I pray you ('Tis South the City Mils) bring me word thither How the world goes: that to the pace of it I may spur on my journey. I shall sir. The Agurer tells me, we shall have News to night. Good or bad? Not according to the prayer of the people, for they love not Martius. Nature teaches Beasts to know their Friends.
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)
So, to our Tent: Where ere we doe repoſe vs, we will write To Rome of our ſucceſſe: you Titus Lartius Muſt to Corioles backe, ſend vs to Rome The beſt, with whom we may articulate, For their owne good, and ours. I ſhall, my Lord. The Gods begin to mocke me: I that now refus'd moſt Princely gifts, Am bound to begge of my Lord Generall. Tak't, 'tis yours: what is't? I ſometime lay here in Corioles, At a poore mans houſe: he vs'd me kindly, He cry'd to me: I ſaw him Priſoner: But then Auffidius was within my view, And Wrath o're-whelm'd my pittie: I requeſt you To giue my poore Hoſt freedome. Oh well begg'd: Were he the Butcher of my Sonne, he ſhould Be free, as is the Winde: deliuer him, Titus. Martius, his Name. By Iupiter forgot: I am wearie, yea my memorie is tyr'd: Haue we no Wine here? Goe we to our Tent: The bloud vpon your Viſage dryes, 'tis time It ſhould be lookt too: come. The Towne is ta'ne. 'Twill be deliuer'd backe on good Condition. Condition? I would I were a Roman, for I cannot. Being a Ʋolce, be that I am. Condition? What good Condition can a Treatie finde I' th' part that is at mercy? fiue times, Martius, I haue fought with thee; ſo often haſt thou beat me: And would'ſt doe ſo, I thinke, ſhould we encounter As often as we eate. By th' Elements, If ere againe I meet him beard to beard, He's mine, or I am his: Mine Emulation Hath not that Honor in't it had: For where I thought to cruſh him in an equall Force, True Sword to Sword: Ile potche at him ſome way, Or Wrath, or Craft may get him. He's the diuell. Bolder, though not ſo ſubtle: my valors poiſon'd, With onely ſuff'ring ſtaine by him: for him Shall flye out of it ſelfe, nor ſleepe, nor ſanctuary, Being naked, ſicke; nor Phane, nor Capitoll, The Prayers of Prieſts, nor times of Sacrifice: Embarquements all of Fury, ſhall lift vp Their rotten Priuiledge, and Cuſtome 'gainſt My hate to Martius. Where I finde him, were it At home, vpon my Brothers Guard, euen there Againſt the hoſpitable Canon, would I Waſh my fierce hand in's heart. Go you to th' Citie, Learne how 'tis held, and what they are that muſt Be Hoſtages for Rome. Will not you go? I am attended at the Cyprus groue▪ I pray you ('Tis South the City Mils) bring me word thither How the world goes: that to the pace of it I may ſpurre on my iourney. I ſhall ſir. The Agurer tels me, wee ſhall haue Newes to night. Good or bad? Not according to the prayer of the people, for they loue not Martius. Nature teaches Beaſts to know their Friends.