Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1608 (Annals) tragedy · King's Men T2 Roman politics: senate, consuls and civi typicality 0.84 · 480 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T2: rome, caesar, senate, sulla, roman, consul, brutus, romans, men, marius.
It shall be so, it shall be so. You common cry of Curs, whose breath I hate, As reek o' th' rotten Fens: whose Loves I prise, As the dead Carcases of unburied men, That do corrupt my Air: I banish you, And here remain with your uncertainty. Let every feeble Rumour shake your hearts: Your Enemies, with nodding of their Plumes Fan you into despair: Have the power still To banish your Defenders, till at length Your ignorance (which finds not till it feels, Making but reservation of yourselves, Still your own Foes) deliver you As most abated Captives, to some Nation That won you without blows, despising For you the City. Thus I turn my back; There is a world elsewhere. The people's Enemy is gone, is gone. Our enemy is banished, he is gone: Ho, oo. Go see him out at Gates, and follow him As he hath followed you, with all despite Give him deserved vexation. Let a guard Attend us through the City. Come, come, let's see him out at gates, come: The Gods preserve our Noble Tribunes, come. Come leave your tears: a brief farewell: the beast With many heads butts me away. Nay Mother, Where is your ancient Courage? You were used To say, Extremities was the trier of spirits, That common chances. Common men could bear, That when the Sea was calm, all Boats alike Showed Mastership in floating. Fortune's blows, When most strooke home, being gentle wounded, craves A Noble cunning. You were used to load me With Precepts that would make invincible The heart that conned them. Oh heavens! O heavens! Nay, I prithee woman. Now the Red Pestilence strike all Trades in Rome, And Occupations perish. What, what, what: I shall be loved when I am lacked. Nay Mother, Resume that Spirit, when you were wont to say, If you had been the Wife of Hercules. Six of his Labours you'd have done, and saved Your Husband so much sweat. Cominius, Droop not, Adieu: Farewell my Wife, my Mother, I'll do well yet. Thou old and true Menenius, Thy tears are salter than a younger man's, And venomous to thine eyes. My (sometime) General, I have seen the Stern, and thou hast oft beheld Heart-hardning spectacles. Tell these sad women, 'Tis fond to wail inevitable strokes, As 'tis to laugh at 'em My Mother, you wots well My hazards still have been your solace, and Believe't not lightly, though I go alone Like to a lonely Dragon, that his Fen Makes feared, and talked of more than seen: your Son Will or exceed the Common, or be caught With cautelous baits and practice. My first son, Whether will thou go? Take good Cominius With thee a while: Determine on some course More than a wild exposture, to each chance That start's i' th' way before thee. O the Gods!
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)
It ſhall be ſo, it ſhall be ſo. You common cry of Curs, whoſe breath I hate, As reeke a' th' rotten Fennes: whoſe Loues I prize, As the dead Carkaſſes of vnburied men, That do corrupt my Ayre: I baniſh you, And heere remaine with your vncertaintie. Let euery feeble Rumor ſhake your hearts: Your Enemies, with nodding of their Plumes Fan you into diſpaire: Haue the power ſtill To baniſh your Defenders, till at length Your ignorance (which findes not till it feeles, Making but reſeruation of your ſelues, Still your owne Foes) deliuer you As moſt abated Captiues, to ſome Nation That wonne you without blowes, deſpiſing For you the City. Thus I turne my backe; There is a world elſewhere. The peoples Enemy is gone, is gone. Our enemy is baniſh'd, he is gone: Hoo, oo. Go ſee him out at Gates, and follow him As he hath follow'd you, with all deſpight Giue him deſeru'd vexation. Let a guard Attend vs through the City. Come, come, lets ſee him out at gates, come: The Gods preſerue our Noble Tribunes, come. Come leaue your teares: a brief farwel: the beaſt With many heads butts me away. Nay Mother, Where is your ancient Courage? You were vs'd To ſay, Extreamities was the trier of ſpirits, That common chances. Common men could beare, That when the Sea was calme, all Boats alike Shew'd Maſterſhip in floating. Fortunes blowes, When moſt ſtrooke home, being gentle wounded, craues A Noble cunning. You were vs'd to load me With Precepts that would make inuincible The heart that conn'd them. Oh heauens! O heauens! Nay, I prythee woman. Now the Red Peſtilence ſtrike al Trades in Rome, And Occupations periſh. What, what, what: I ſhall be lou'd when I am lack'd. Nay Mother, Reſume that Spirit, when you were wont to ſay, If you had beene the Wife of Hercules. Six of his Labours youl'd haue done, and ſau'd Your Husband ſo much ſwet. Cominius, Droope not, Adieu: Farewell my Wife, my Mother, Ile do well yet. Thou old and true Menenius, Thy teares are ſalter then a yonger mans, And venomous to thine eyes. My (ſometime) Generall, I haue ſeene the Sterne, and thou haſt oft beheld Heart-hardning ſpectacles. Tell theſe ſad women, 'Tis fond to waile ineuitable ſtrokes, As 'tis to laugh at 'em My Mother, you wot well My hazards ſtill haue beene your ſolace, and Beleeu't not lightly, though I go alone Like to a lonely Dragon, that his Fenne Makes fear'd, and talk'd of more then ſeene: your Sonne Will or exceed the Common, or be caught With cautelous baits and practice. My firſt ſonne, Whether will thou go? Take good Cominius With thee a while: Determine on ſome courſe More then a wilde expoſture, to each chance That ſtart's i' th' way before thee. O the Gods!