Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1608 (Annals) tragedy · King's Men T2 Roman politics: senate, consuls and civi typicality 0.80 · 484 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T2: rome, caesar, senate, sulla, roman, consul, brutus, romans, men, marius.
But now 'tis odds beyond Arithmetic, And Manhood is called Foolery, when it stands Against a falling Fabric. Will you hence, Before the Tag return? whose Rage doth rend Like interrupted Waters, and o'erbear What they are used to bear. Pray you be gone: I'll try whether my old Wit be in request With those that have but little: this must be patched With Cloth of any Colour. Nay, come away. This man has marred his fortune. His nature is too noble for the World: He would not flatter Neptune for his Trident, Or Ioue, for's power to Thunder: his Heart's his Mouth: What his Breast forges, that his Tongue must vent, And being angry, does forget that ever He heard the Name of Death. Here's goodly work. I would they were a bed. I would they were in Tiber. What the vengeance, could he not speak 'em fair? Where is this Viper, That would depopulate the city, & be every man himself You worthy Tribunes. He shall be thrown down the Tarpeian rock With rigorous hands: he hath resisted Law, And therefore Law shall scorn him further Trial Than the severity of the public Power, Which he so sets at naught. He shall well know the Noble Tribunes are The people's mouths, and we their hands. He shall sure out. Sir, sir. Peace. Do not cry havoc, where you should but hunt With modest warrant. Sir, how comest that you have holp To make this rescue? Hear me speak? As I do know The Consul's worthiness, so can I name his Faults. Consul? what Consul? The Consul Coriolanus. He Consul. No, no, no, no, no. If by the Tribunes leave, And yours good people, I may be heard, I would crave a word or two, The which shall turn you to no further harm, Then so much loss of time. Speak briefly then, For we are peremptory to dispatch This Viporous Traitor: to eiect him hence Were but one danger, and to keep him here Our certain death: therefore it is decreed, He dies to night. Now the good Gods forbidden, That our renowned Rome, whose gratitude Towards her deserved Children, is enrolled In Jove's own Book, like an unnatural Dam Should now eat up her own. He's a Disease that must be cut away. Oh he's a Limb, that has but a Disease Mortal, to cut it off: to cure it, easy. What has he done to Rome, that's worthy death? Killing our Enemies, the blood he hath lost (Which I dare vouch, is more than that he hath By many an Ounce) he dropped it for his Country: And what is left, to lose it by his Country, Were to us all that do't, and suffer it A brand to th' end a ' th' World. This is clean kamme. Merely awry: When he did love his Country, it honoured him.
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)
But now 'tis oddes beyond Arithmetick, And Manhood is call'd Foolerie, when it ſtands Againſt a falling Fabrick. Will you hence, Before the Tagge returne? whoſe Rage doth rend Like interrupted Waters, and o're-beare What they are vs'd to beare. Pray you be gone: Ile trie whether my old Wit be in requeſt With thoſe that haue but little: this muſt be patcht With Cloth of any Colour. Nay, come away. This man ha's marr'd his fortune. His nature is too noble for the World: He would not flatter Neptune for his Trident, Or Ioue, for's power to Thunder: his Heart's his Mouth: What his Breſt forges, that his Tongue muſt vent, And being angry, does forget that euer He heard the Name of Death. Here's goodly worke. I would they were a bed. I would they were in Tyber. What the vengeance, could he not ſpeake 'em faire? Where is this Viper, That would depopulate the city, & be euery man himſelf You worthy Tribunes. He ſhall be throwne downe the Tarpeian rock With rigorous hands: he hath reſiſted Law, And therefore Law ſhall ſcorne him further Triall Then the ſeuerity of the publike Power, Which he ſo ſets at naught. He ſhall well know the Noble Tribunes are The peoples mouths, and we their hands. He ſhall ſure out. Sir, ſir. Peace. Do not cry hauocke, where you ſhold but hunt With modeſt warrant. Sir, how com'ſt that you haue holpe To make this reſcue? Heere me ſpeake? As I do know The Conſuls worthineſſe, ſo can I name his Faults. Conſull? what Conſull? The Conſull Coriolanus. He Conſull. No, no, no, no, no. If by the Tribunes leaue, And yours good people, I may be heard, I would craue a word or two, The which ſhall turne you to no further harme, Then ſo much loſſe of time. Speake breefely then, For we are peremptory to diſpatch This Viporous Traitor: to eiect him hence Were but one danger, and to keepe him heere Our certaine death: therefore it is decreed, He dyes to night. Now the good Gods forbid, That our renowned Rome▪ whoſe gratitude Towards her deſerued Children, is enroll'd In Ioues owne Booke, like an vnnaturall Dam Should now eate vp her owne. He's a Diſeaſe that muſt be cut away. Oh he's a Limbe, that ha's but a Diſeaſe Mortall, to cut it off: to cure it, eaſie. What ha's he done to Rome, that's worthy death? Killing our Enemies, the blood he hath loſt (Which I dare vouch, is more then that he hath By many an Ounce) he dropp'd it for his Country: And what is left, to looſe it by his Countrey, Were to vs all that doo't, and ſuffer it A brand to th' end a 'th World. This is cleane kamme. Meerely awry: When he did loue his Country, it honour'd him.