Shakespeare, William / Middleton, Thomas · published 1623 · first performed or written 1607 [c.1606-c.1608] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men unassigned nearest T50 Fleets, armies and generals: war by sea · 536 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T50: sea, honour, general, soldiers, men, ship, fight, soldier, king, vittori.
So did we woo Transformed Timon, to our City's love By humble Message, and by promised means: We were not all unkind, nor all deserve The common stroke of war. These walls of ours, Were not erected by rheir hands, from whom You have received your grief: Nor are they such, That these great Towers, Trophies, & Schools should fall For private faults in them. Nor are they living Who were the motives that you first went out, (Shame that they wanted, cunning in excess) Hath broke their hearts. March, Noble Lord, Into our City with thy Banners spread, By decimation and a tythed death; If thy Revenges hunger for that Food Which Nature loathes, take thou the destined tenth, And by the hazard of the spotted die, Let dye the spotted. All have not offended: For those that were, it is not square to take On those that are, Revenge: Crimes, like Lands Are not inherited, then dear Countryman, Bring in thy ranks, but leave without thy rage, Spare thy Athenian Cradle, and those Kin Which in the bluster of thy wrath must fall With those that have offended, like a Shepherd, Approach the Fold, and cull th' infected forth, But kill not altogether. What thou wilt, Thou rather shalt enforce it with thy smile, Then hue too't, with thy Sword. Set but thy foot Against our rampyr'd gates, and they shall open: So thou wilt send thy gentle heart before, To say thou'lt enter Friendly. Throw thy Glove, Or any Token of thine Honour else, That thou wilt use the wars as thy redress, And not as our Confusion: All thy Powers Shall make their harbour in our Town, till we Have sealed thy full desire. Then there's my Glove, Defend and open your uncharged Ports, Those Enemies of Timon's, and mine own Whom you yourselves shall set out for reproof, Fall and no more; and to atone your fears With my more Noble meaning, not a man Shall pass his quarter, or offend the stream Of Regular justice in your City's bounds, But shall be remedied to your public Laws At heaviest answer. 'Tis most Nobly spoken. Descend, and keep your words. My Noble General, Timon is dead, Entombed upon the very hem o' th' Sea, And on his Gravestone, this Insculpture which With wax I brought away: whose soft Impression Interprets for my poor ignorance. here lies a wretched Coarse, of wretched Soul bereft, Seek not my name: A Plague consume you, wicked Caitiffs left: here lie I Timon, who alive, all living men did hate, Pass by, and curse thy fill, but pass and stay not here thy gate. These well express in thee thy latter spirits: Though thou abhorrd'st in us our humane griefs. Scornd'st our Brains flow, and those our droplets, which From niggard Nature fall; yet Rich Conceit Taught thee to make vast Neptune weep for aye On thy low Grave, on faults forgiven. Dead Is Noble Timon, of whose Memory Hereafter more. Bring me into your City, And I will use the Olive, with my Sword: Make war breed peace; make peace stint war, make each Prescribe to other, as each others Leech. Let our Drums strike.
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)
So did we wooe Transformed Timon, to our Citties loue By humble Meſſage, and by promiſt meanes: We were not all vnkinde, nor all deſerue The common ſtroke of warre. Theſe walles of ours, Were not erected by rheir hands, from whom You haue receyu'd your greefe: Nor are they ſuch, That theſe great Towres, Trophees, & Schools ſhold fall For priuate faults in them. Nor are they liuing Who were the motiues that you firſt went out, (Shame that they wanted, cunning in exceſſe) Hath broke their hearts. March, Noble Lord, Into our City with thy Banners ſpred, By decimation and a tythed death; If thy Reuenges hunger for that Food Which Nature loathes, take thou the deſtin'd tenth, And by the hazard of the ſpotted dye, Let dye the ſpotted. All haue not offended: For thoſe that were, it is not ſquare to take On thoſe that are, Reuenge: Crimes, like Lands Are not inherited, then deere Countryman, Bring in thy rankes, but leaue without thy rage, Spare thy Athenian Cradle, and thoſe Kin Which in the bluſter of thy wrath muſt fall With thoſe that haue offended, like a Shepheard, Approach the Fold, and cull th' infected forth, But kill not altogether. What thou wilt, Thou rather ſhalt inforce it with thy ſmile, Then hew too't, with thy Sword. Set but thy foot Againſt our rampyr'd gates, and they ſhall ope: So thou wilt ſend thy gentle heart before, To ſay thou't enter Friendly. Throw thy Gloue, Or any Token of thine Honour elſe, That thou wilt vſe the warres as thy redreſſe, And not as our Confuſion: All thy Powers Shall make their harbour in our Towne, till wee Haue ſeal'd thy full deſire. Then there's my Gloue, Defend and open your vncharged Ports, Thoſe Enemies of Timons, and mine owne Whom you your ſelues ſhall ſet out for reproofe, Fall and no more; and to attone your feares With my more Noble meaning, not a man Shall paſſe his quarter, or offend the ſtreame Of Regular Iuſtice in your Citties bounds, But ſhall be remedied to your publique Lawes At heauieſt anſwer. 'Tis moſt Nobly ſpoken. Deſcend, and keepe your words. My Noble Generall, Timon is dead, Entomb'd vpon the very hemme o' th' Sea, And on his Graueſtone, this Inſculpture which With wax I brought away: whoſe ſoft Impreſſion Interprets for my poore ignorance. Heere lies a wretched Coarſe, of wretched Soule bereft, Seek not my name: A Plague conſume you, wicked Caitifs left: Heere lye I Timon, who aliue, all liuing men did hate, Paſſe by, and curſe thy fill, but paſſe and ſtay not here thy gate. Theſe well expreſſe in thee thy latter ſpirits: Though thou abhorrd'ſt in vs our humane griefes. Scornd'ſt our Braines flow, and thoſe our droplets, which From niggard Nature fall; yet Rich Conceit Taught thee to make vaſt Neptune weepe for aye On thy low Graue, on faults forgiuen. Dead Is Noble Timon, of whoſe Memorie Heereafter more. Bring me into your Citie, And I will vſe the Oliue, with my Sword: Make war breed peace; make peace ſtint war, make each Preſcribe to other, as each others Leach. Let our Drummes ſtrike.