Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1599 [1598-1599] (Annals) tragedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men T2 Roman politics: senate, consuls and civi typicality 0.73 · 527 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T2: rome, caesar, senate, sulla, roman, consul, brutus, romans, men, marius.
HEnce: home you idle Creatures, get you home: Is this a Holiday? What, know you not (Being Mechanical) you ought not walk Upon a labouring day, without the sign Of your Profession? Speak, what Trade art thou? Why Sir, a Carpenter. Where is thy Leather Apron, and thy Rule? What dost thou with thy best Apparel on? You sir, what Trade are you? Truly Sir, in respect of a fine Workman, I am but as you would say, a Cobbler. But what Trade art thou? Answer me directly. A Trade Sir, that I hope I may use, with a safe Conscience, which is indeed Sir, a Mender of bad souls. What Trade thou knave? Thou naughty knave, what Trade? Nay I beseech you Sir, be not out with me: yet if you be out Sir, I can mend you. What meanest thou by that? Mend me, thou saucy Fellow? Why sir, Cobble you. Thou art a Cobbler, art thou? Truly sir, all that I live by, is with the Awl: I meddle with no Tradesman's matters, nor women's matters; but withal I am indeed Sir, a Surgeon to old shoes: when they are in great danger, I recover them. As proper men as ever trod upon Neat's Leather, have gone upon my handiwork. But wherefore art not in thy Shop to day? Why dost thou lead these men about the streets? Truly sir, to wear out their shoes, to get myself into more work. But indeed sir, we make Holiday to see Caesar, and to rejoice in his Triumph. Wherefore rejoice? What Conquest brings he home? What Tributaries follow him to Rome, To grace in Captive bonds his Chariot Wheels? You Blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things: O you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome, Knew you not Pompey many a time and oft? Have you climbed up to Walls and Battlements, To Towers and Windows? Yea, to Chimney tops, Your Infants in your Arms, and there have sat The livelong day, with patiented expectation, To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome: And when you saw his Chariot but appear, Have you not made an Universal shout, That Tiber trembled underneath her banks To hear the replication of your sounds, Made in her Concave Shores? And do you now put on your best attire? And do you now cull out a Holiday? And do you now strew Flowers in his way, That comes in Triumph over Pompey's blood? Be gone, Run to your houses, fall upon your knees, Pray to the Gods to intermit the plague That needs must light on this Ingratitude. Go, go, good Countrymen, and for this fault Assemble all the poor men of your sort; Draw them to Tiber banks, and weep your tears Into the Channel, till the lowest stream Do kiss the most exalted Shores of all. See where their basest mettle be not moved, They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness: Go you down that way towards the Capitol, This way will I: Disrobe the Images, If you do find them decked with Ceremonies. May we do so? You know it is the Feast of Lupercall.
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)
HEnce: home you idle Creatures, get you home: Is this a Holiday? What, know you not (Being Mechanicall) you ought not walke Vpon a labouring day, without the ſigne Of your Profeſſion? Speake, what Trade art thou? Why Sir, a Carpenter. Where is thy Leather Apron, and thy Rule? What doſt thou with thy beſt Apparrell on? You ſir, what Trade are you? Truely Sir, in reſpect of a fine Workman, I am but as you would ſay, a Cobler. But what Trade art thou? Anſwer me directly. A Trade Sir, that I hope I may vſe, with a ſafe Conſcience, which is indeed Sir, a Mender of bad ſoules. What Trade thou knaue? Thou naughty knaue, what Trade? Nay I beſeech you Sir, be not out with me: yet if you be out Sir, I can mend you. What mean'ſt thou by that? Mend mee, thou ſawcy Fellow? Why ſir, Cobble you. Thou art a Cobler, art thou? Truly ſir, all that I liue by, is with the Aule: I meddle with no Tradeſmans matters, nor womens matters; but withal I am indeed Sir, a Surgeon to old ſhooes: when they are in great danger, I recouer them. As proper men as euer trod vpon Neats Leather, haue gone vpon my handy-worke. But wherefore art not in thy Shop to day? Why do'ſt thou leade theſe men about the ſtreets? Truly ſir, to weare out their ſhooes, to get my ſelfe into more worke. But indeede ſir, we make Holyday to ſee Caeſar, and to reioyce in his Triumph. Wherefore reioyce? What Conqueſt brings he home? What Tributaries follow him to Rome, To grace in Captiue bonds his Chariot Wheeles? You Blockes, you ſtones, you worſe then ſenſleſſe things: O you hard hearts, you cruell men of Rome, Knew you not Pompey many a time and oft? Haue you climb'd vp to Walles and Battlements, To Towres and Windowes? Yea, to Chimney tops, Your Infants in your Armes, and there haue ſate The liue-long day, with patient expectation, To ſee great Pompey paſſe the ſtreets of Rome: And when you ſaw his Chariot but appeare, Haue you not made an Vniuerſall ſhout, That Tyber trembled vnderneath her bankes To heare the replication of your ſounds, Made in her Concaue Shores? And do you now put on your beſt attyre? And do you now cull out a Holyday? And do you now ſtrew Flowers in his way, That comes in Triumph ouer Pompeyes blood? Be gone, Runne to your houſes, fall vpon your knees, Pray to the Gods to intermit the plague That needs muſt light on this Ingratitude. Go, go, good Countrymen, and for this fault Aſſemble all the poore men of your ſort; Draw them to Tyber bankes, and weepe your teares Into the Channell, till the loweſt ſtreame Do kiſſe the moſt exalted Shores of all. See where their baſeſt mettle be not mou'd, They vaniſh tongue-tyed in their guiltineſſe: Go you downe that way towards the Capitoll, This way will I: Diſrobe the Images, If you do finde them deckt with Ceremonies. May we do ſo? You know it is the Feaſt of Lupercall.