Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1608 (Annals) tragedy · King's Men T2 Roman politics: senate, consuls and civi typicality 0.85 · 470 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T2: rome, caesar, senate, sulla, roman, consul, brutus, romans, men, marius.
A shall not tread on me: I'll run away Till I am bigger, but then I'll sight. Not of a woman's tenderness to be, Requires nor Child, nor woman's face to see: I have sat too long. Nay, go not from us thus: If it were so, that our request did tend To save the Romans, thereby to destroy The Volces whom you serve, you might condemn us As poisonous of your Honour. No, our suit Is that you reconcile them: While the Volces May say, this mercy we have showed: the Romans, This we received, and each in either side Give the All-haile to thee, and cry be Blessed For making up this peace. Thou knowst (great Son) The end of Wars uncertain: but this certain, That if thou conquer Rome, the benefit Which thou shalt thereby reap, is such a name Whose repetition will be dogged with Curses: Whose Chronicle thus writ, The man was Noble, But with his last Attempt, he wiped it out. Destroyed his Country, and his name remains To th' ensuing Age, abhorred. Speak to me Son: Thou hast affected the five strains of Honour, To imitate the graces of the Gods. To tear with Thunder the wide Cheeks o' th' Air, And yet to change thy Sulphur with a Bolt That should but rive an Oak. Why dost not speak? Thinkest thou it Honourable for a Nobleman Still to remember wrongs? Daughter, speak you: He cares not for your weeping. Speak thou Boy, Perhaps thy childishness will move him more Than can our Reasons. There's no man in the world More bound to's Mother, yet here he let's me prate Like one i' th' Stocks. Thou hast never in thy life, Showed thy dear Mother any courtesy, When she (poor Hen) fond of no second brood, Has clocked thee to the Wars: and safely home loaden with Honor. Say my Request's unjust, And spurn me back: But, if it be not so Thou art not honest, and the Gods will plague thee That thou restrainest from me the Duty, which To a Mother's part belongs. He turns away: Down Ladies: let us shame him with him with our knees To his surname Coriolanus longs more pride Than pity to our Prayers. Downe: an end, This is the last. So, we will home to Rome, And dye among our Neighbours: Nay, behold's, This Boy that cannot tell what he would have, But kneels, and holds up hands for fellowship, Does reason our Petition with more strength Than thou hast to deny't. Come, let us go: This Fellow had a Volcean to his Mother: His Wife is in Corioles, and his Child Like him by chance: yet give us our dispatch: I am hushed until our City be afire, & then I'll speak a little
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)
A ſhall not tread on me: Ile run away Till I am bigger, but then Ile ſight. Not of a womans tenderneſſe to be, Requires nor Childe, nor womans face to ſee: I haue ſate too long. Nay, go not from vs thus: If it were ſo, that our requeſt did tend To ſaue the Romanes, thereby to deſtroy The Volces whom you ſerue, you might condemne vs As poyſonous of your Honour. No, our ſuite Is that you reconcile them: While the Volces May ſay, this mercy we haue ſhew'd: the Romanes, This we receiu'd, and each in either ſide Giue the All-haile to thee, and cry be Bleſt For making vp this peace. Thou know'ſt (great Sonne) The end of Warres vncertaine: but this certaine, That if thou conquer Rome, the benefit Which thou ſhalt thereby reape, is ſuch a name Whoſe repetition will be dogg'd with Curſes: Whoſe Chronicle thus writ, The man was Noble, But with his laſt Attempt, he wip'd it out. Deſtroy'd his Country, and his name remaines To th' inſuing Age, abhorr'd. Speake to me Son: Thou haſt affected the fiue ſtraines of Honor, To imitate the graces of the Gods. To teare with Thunder the wide Cheekes a' th' Ayre, And yet to change thy Sulphure with a Boult That ſhould but riue an Oake. Why do'ſt not ſpeake? Think'ſt thou it Honourable for a Nobleman Still to remember wrongs? Daughter, ſpeake you: He cares not for your weeping. Speake thou Boy, Perhaps thy childiſhneſſe will moue him more Then can our Reaſons. There's no man in the world More bound to's Mother, yet heere he let's me prate Like one i' th' Stockes. Thou haſt neuer in thy life, Shew'd thy deere Mother any curteſie, When ſhe (poore Hen) fond of no ſecond brood, Ha's clock'd thee to the Warres: and ſafelie home Loden with Honor. Say my Requeſt's vniuſt, And ſpurne me backe: But, if it be not ſo Thou art not honeſt, and the Gods will plague thee That thou reſtrain'ſt from me the Duty, which To a Mothers part belongs. He turnes away: Down Ladies: let vs ſhame him with him with our knees To his ſur-name Coriolanus longs more pride Then pitty to our Prayers. Downe: an end, This is the laſt. So, we will home to Rome, And dye among our Neighbours: Nay, behold's, This Boy that cannot tell what he would haue, But kneeles, and holds vp hands for fellowſhip, Doe's reaſon our Petition with more ſtrength Then thou haſt to deny't. Come, let vs go: This Fellow had a Volcean to his Mother: His Wife is in Corioles, and his Childe Like him by chance: yet giue vs our diſpatch: I am huſht vntill our City be afire, & then Ile ſpeak a litle