Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1608 (Annals) tragedy · King's Men unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 532 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
I Martius, Caius Martius': Dost thou think I'll grace thee with that Robbery, thy stolen name Coriolanus in Corioles? You Lords and Heads o' th' State, perfidiously He has betrayed your business, and given up For certain drops of Salt, your City Rome: I say your City to his Wife and Mother, Breaking his Oath and Resolution, like A twist of rotten Silk, never admitting Counsel o' th' war: But at his Nurse's tears He whined and roared away your Victory, That Pages blushed at him, and men of heart Looked wondering each at others. Hearest thou Mars? Name not the God, thou boy of Tears. Ha'? No more. Measureless Liar, thou hast made my heart Too great for what contains it. Boy? Oh Slave, Pardon me Lords, 'tis the first time that ever I was forced to scouled. Your judgements my grave Lords Must give this Cur the Lie: and his own Notion, Who wears my stripes impressed upon him, that Must bear my beating to his Grave, shall join To thrust the Lie unto him. Peace both, and hear me speak. Cut me to pieces Volces men and Lads, Stain all your edges on me. Boy, false Hound: If you have writ your Annals true, 'tis there, That like an Eagle in a Dove-coat, I Flattered your Volcians in Corioles. Alone I did it, Boy. Why Noble Lords, Will you be put in mind of his blind Fortune, Which was your shame, by this unholy Braggart? 'Fore your own eyes, and ears? Let him dye for't. Tear him to pieces, do it presently: He killed my Son, my daughter, he killed my Cousin Marcus, he killed my Father. Peace ho: no outrage, peace: The man is Noble, and his Fame folds in This Orb o' th' earth: His last offences to us Shall have judicious hearing. Stand Auffidius, And trouble not the peace. O that I had him, with six Auffidiusses, or more: His Tribe, to use my lawful Sword. Insolent Villain. Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him. Hold, hold, hold, hold. My Noble Masters, hear me speak. O Tullus. Thou hast done a deed, whereat Valour will weep. Tread not upon him Masters, all be quiet, Put up your Swords. My Lords, When you shall know (as in this Rage Provoked by him, you cannot) the great danger Which this man's life did owe you, you'll rejoice That he is thus cut off. Please it your Honours To call me to your Senate, I'll deliver Myself your loyal Servant, or endure Your heaviest Censure. Bear from hence his body, And mourn you for him. Let him be regarded As the most Noble Coarse, that ever Herald Did follow to his Urn. His own impatience, Takes from Auffidius a great part of blame: Let's make the Best of it. My Rage is gone, And I am struck with sorrow. Take him up: Help three o' th' chiefest Soldiers, I'll be one. Beat thou the Drum that it speak mournfully: Trail your steel Pikes. Though in this City he Hath widowed and vnchilded many a one, Which to this hour bewail the Injury, Yet he shall have a Noble Memory. Assist.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
I Martius, Caius Martius: Do'ſt thou thinke Ile grace thee with that Robbery, thy ſtolne name Coriolanus in Corioles? You Lords and Heads a' th' State, perfidiouſly He ha's betray'd your buſineſſe, and giuen vp For certaine drops of Salt, your City Rome: I ſay your City to his Wife and Mother, Breaking his Oath and Reſolution, like A twiſt of rotten Silke, neuer admitting Counſaile a' th' warre: But at his Nurſes teares He whin'd and roar'd away your Victory, That Pages bluſh'd at him, and men of heart Look'd wond'ring each at others. Hear'ſt thou Mars? Name not the God, thou boy of Teares. Ha? No more. Meaſureleſſe Lyar, thou haſt made my heart Too great for what containes it. Boy? Oh Slaue, Pardon me Lords, 'tis the firſt time that euer I was forc'd to ſcoul'd. Your iudgments my graue Lords Muſt giue this Curre the Lye: and his owne Notion, Who weares my ſtripes impreſt vpon him, that Muſt beare my beating to his Graue, ſhall ioyne To thruſt the Lye vnto him. Peace oth, and heare me ſpeake. Cut me to peeces Volces men and Lads, Staine all your edges on me. Boy, falſe Hound: If you haue writ your Annales true, 'tis there, That like an Eagle in a Doue-coat, I Flatter'd your Volcians in Corioles. Alone I did it, Boy. Why Noble Lords, Will you be put in minde of his blinde Fortune, Which was your ſhame, by this vnholy Braggart? 'Fore your owne eyes, and eares? Let him dye for't. Teare him to peeces, do it preſently: He kill'd my Sonne, my daughter, he kill'd my Coſine Marcus, he kill'd my Father. Peace hoe: no outrage, peace: The man is Noble, and his Fame folds in This Orbe o' th' earth: His laſt offences to vs Shall haue Iudicious hearing. Stand Auffidius, And trouble not the peace. O that I had him, with ſix Auffidiuſſes, or more: His Tribe, to vſe my lawfull Sword. Inſolent Villaine. Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him. Hold, hold, hold, hold. My Noble Maſters, heare me ſpeake. O Tullus. Thou haſt done a deed, whereat Valour will weepe. Tread not vpon him Maſters, all be quiet, Put vp your Swords. My Lords, When you ſhall know (as in this Rage Prouok'd by him, you cannot) the great danger Which this mans life did owe you, you'l reioyce That he is thus cut off. Pleaſe it your Honours To call me to your Senate, Ile deliuer My ſelfe your loyall Seruant, or endure Your heauieſt Cenſure. Beare from hence his body, And mourne you for him. Let him be regarded As the moſt Noble Coarſe, that euer Herald Did follow to his Vrne. His owne impatience, Takes from Auffidius a great part of blame: Let's make the Beſt of it. My Rage is gone, And I am ſtrucke with ſorrow. Take him vp: Helpe three a' th' cheefeſt Souldiers, Ile be one. Beate thou the Drumme that it ſpeake mournfully: Traile your ſteele Pikes. Though in this City hee Hath widdowed and vnchilded many a one, Which to this houre bewaile the Iniury, Yet he ſhall haue a Noble Memory. Aſſiſt.