Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1599 [1598-1599] (Annals) tragedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T54 Antony and Cleopatra: love, death and mo · 521 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T54: antony, caesar, anthony, cleopatra, antonius, love, death, die, heart, breast.
It is no matter, let no Images Be hung with Caesar's Trophies: I'll about, And drive away the Vulgar from the streets; So do you too, where you perceive them thick. These growing Feathers, plucked from Caesar's wing, Will make him fly an ordinary pitch, Who else would soar above the view of men, And keep us all in servile fearfulness. Calphurnia. Peace ho, Caesar speaks. Calphurnia. here my Lord. Stand you directly in Antonio's way, When he doth run his course. Antonio. Caesar, my Lord. Forget not in your speed Antonio, To touch Calphurnia: for our Elders say, The Barren touched in this holy chase, Shake off their sterrile curse. I shall remember, When Caesar says, Do this; it is performed. Set on, and leave no Ceremony out. Caesar. Ha'? Who calls? Bid every noise be still: peace yet again. Who is it in the press, that calls on me? I hear a Tongue shriller than all the Music Cry, Caesar: Speak, Caesar is turned to hear. Beware the Ideses of March. What man is that? A Soothsayer bids you beware the Ideses of March Set him before me, let me see his face. Fellow, come from the throng, look upon Caesar. What sayest thou to me now? Speak once again. Beware the Ideses of March. He is a Dreamer, let us leave him: Pass. Will you go see the order of the course? Not I I pray you do. I am not Gamesome: I do lack some part Of that quick Spirit that is in Antony: Let me not hinder Cassius your desires; I'll leave you. Brutus, I do observe you now of late: I have not from your eyes, that gentleness And show of Love, as I was wont to have: You bear too stubborn, and too strange a hand Over your Friend, that loves you. Cassius, Be not deceived: If I have veiled my look, I turn the trouble of my Countenance Merely upon myself. Vexed I am Of late, with passions of some difference, Conceptions only proper to myself, Which give some soil (perhaps) to my Behaviours: But let not therefore my good Friends be grieved (Among which number Cassius be you one) Nor construe any further my neglect, Then that poor Brutus with himself at war, Forgets the shows of Love to other men. Then Brutus, I have much mistake your passion, By means whereof, this Breast of mine hath buried Thoughts of great value, worthy Cogitations. Tell me good Brutus, Can you see your face? No Cassius: For the eye sees not itself but by reflection, By some other things. 'Tis just, And it is very much lamented Brutus, That you have no such Mirrors, as will turn Your hidden worthiness into your eye, That you might see your shadow: I have heard, Where many of the best respect in Rome, (Except immortal Caesar) speaking of Brutus, And groaning underneath this Age's yoke, Have wished, that Noble Brutus had his eyes. Into what dangers, would you Lead me Cassius? That you would have me seek into myself, For that which is not in me?
seed 43: unassigned · 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 is no matter, let no Images Be hung with Caeſars Trophees: Ile about, And driue away the Vulgar from the ſtreets; So do you too, where you perceiue them thicke. Theſe growing Feathers, pluckt from Caeſars wing, Will make him flye an ordinary pitch, Who elſe would ſoare aboue the view of men, And keepe vs all in ſeruile fearefulneſſe. Calphurnia. Peace ho, Caeſar ſpeakes. Calphurnia. Heere my Lord. Stand you directly in Antonio's way, When he doth run his courſe. Antonio. Caeſar, my Lord. Forget not in your ſpeed Antonio, To touch Calphurnia: for our Elders ſay, The Barren touched in this holy chace, Shake off their ſterrile curſe. I ſhall remember, When Caeſar ſayes, Do this; it is perform'd. Set on, and leaue no Ceremony out. Caeſar. Ha? Who calles? Bid euery noyſe be ſtill: peace yet againe. Who is it in the preſſe, that calles on me? I heare a Tongue ſhriller then all the Muſicke Cry, Caeſar: Speake, Caeſar is turn'd to heare. Beware the Ides of March. What man is that? A Sooth-ſayer bids you beware the Ides of March Set him before me, let me ſee his face. Fellow, come from the throng, look vpon Caeſar. What ſayſt thou to me now? Speake once againe. Beware the Ides of March. He is a Dreamer, let vs leaue him: Paſſe. Will you go ſee the order of the courſe? Not I. I pray you do. I am not Gameſom: I do lacke ſome part Of that quicke Spirit that is in Antony: Let me not hinder Caſſius your deſires; Ile leaue you. Brutus, I do obſerue you now of late: I haue not from your eyes, that gentleneſſe And ſhew of Loue, as I was wont to haue: You beare too ſtubborne, and too ſtrange a hand Ouer your Friend, that loues you. Caſſius, Be not deceiu'd: If I haue veyl'd my looke, I turne the trouble of my Countenance Meerely vpon my ſelfe. Vexed I am Of late, with paſſions of ſome difference, Conceptions onely proper to my ſelfe, Which giue ſome ſoyle (perhaps) to my Behauiours: But let not therefore my good Friends be greeu'd (Among which number Caſſius be you one) Nor conſtrue any further my neglect, Then that poore Brutus with himſelfe at warre, Forgets the ſhewes of Loue to other men. Then Brutus, I haue much miſtook your paſſion, By meanes whereof, this Breſt of mine hath buried Thoughts of great value, worthy Cogitations. Tell me good Brutus, Can you ſee your face? No Caſſius: For the eye ſees not it ſelfe but by reflection, By ſome other things. 'Tis iuſt, And it is very much lamented Brutus, That you haue no ſuch Mirrors, as will turne Your hidden worthineſſe into your eye, That you might ſee your ſhadow: I haue heard, Where many of the beſt reſpect in Rome, (Except immortall Caeſar) ſpeaking of Brutus, And groaning vnderneath this Ages yoake, Haue wiſh'd, that Noble Brutus had his eyes. Into what dangers, would you Leade me Caſſius? That you would haue me ſeeke into my ſelfe, For that which is not in me?