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 0.82 · 466 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T2: rome, caesar, senate, sulla, roman, consul, brutus, romans, men, marius.
Never fear that: If he be so resolved, I can o'ersway him: For he loves to hear, That Unicorns may be betrayed with Trees, And Bears with Glasses, Elephants with Holes, Lions with Toils, and men with Flatterers. But, when I tell him, he hates Flatterers, He says, he does; being then most flattered. Let me work: For I can give his humour the true bent; And I will bring him to the Capitol. Nay, we will all of us, be there to fetch him. By the eight hour, is that the uttermost? Be that the uttermost, and fail not then. Caius Ligarius doth bear Caesar hard, Who rated him for speaking well of Pompey; I wonder none of you have thought of him. Now good Metellus go along by him: He loves me well, and I have given him Reasons, Send him but hither, and I'll fashion him. The morning comes upon's: we'll leave you Brutus, And Friends disperse yourselves; but all remember What you have said, and show yourselves true Romans. Good Gentlemen, look fresh and merrily, Let not our looks put on our purposes, But bear it as our Roman Actors do, With untired Spirits, and formal Constancy, And so good morrow to you every one. Boy: Lucius: Fast asleep? It is no matter, Enjoy the hony-heavy-dew of Slumber: Thou hast no Figures, nor no Fantasies, Which busy care draws, in the brains of men; Therefore thou sleepest so sound. Brutus, my Lord. Portia: What mean you? wherefore rise you now? It is not for your health, thus to commit Your weak condition, to the raw cold morning. Nor for yours neither. YE have ungently Brutus Stole from my bed: and yesternight at Supper You suddenly arose, and walked about, Musing, and sighing, with your arms across: And when I asked you what the matter was, You stared upon me, with ungentle looks. I urged you further, than you scratched your head, And too impatiently stamped with your foot: Yet I insisted, yet you answered not, But with an angry waster of your hand Gave sign for me to leave you: So I did, Fearing to strengthen that impatience Which seemed too much enkindled; and withal, Hoping it was but an effect of Humour, Which sometime hath his hour with every man. It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep; And could it work so much upon your shape. As it hath much prevailed on your Condition, I should not know you Brutus. Dear my Lord, Make me acquainted with your cause of grief. I am not well in health, and that is all. Brutus is wise, and were he not in health, He would embrace the means to come by it. Why so I do: good Portia go to bed.
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)
Neuer feare that: If he be ſo reſolu'd, I can ore-ſway him: For he loues to heare, That Vnicornes may be betray'd with Trees, And Beares with Glaſſes, Elephants with Holes, Lyons with Toyles, and men with Flatterers. But, when I tell him, he hates Flatterers, He ſayes, he does; being then moſt flattered. Let me worke: For I can giue his humour the true bent; And I will bring him to the Capitoll. Nay, we will all of vs, be there to fetch him▪ By the eight houre, is that the vttermoſt? Be that the vttermoſt, and faile not then. Caius Ligarius doth beare Caeſar hard, Who rated him for ſpeaking well of Pompey; I wonder none of you haue thought of him. Now good Metellus go along by him: He loues me well, and I haue giuen him Reaſons, Send him but hither, and Ile faſhion him. The morning comes vpon's: Wee'l leaue you Brutus, And Friends diſperſe your ſelues; but all remember What you haue ſaid, and ſhew your ſelues true Romans. Good Gentlemen, looke freſh and merrily, Let not our lookes put on our purpoſes, But beare it as our Roman Actors do, With vntyr'd Spirits, and formall Conſtancie, And ſo good morrow to you euery one. Boy: Lucius: Faſt aſleepe? It is no matter, Enioy the hony-heauy-Dew of Slumber: Thou haſt no Figures, nor no Fantaſies, Which buſie care drawes, in the braines of men; Therefore thou ſleep'ſt ſo ſound. Brutus, my Lord. Portia: What meane you? wherfore riſe you now? It is not for your health, thus to commit Your weake condition, to the raw cold morning. Nor for yours neither. Y' haue vngently Brutus Stole from my bed: and yeſternight at Supper You ſodainly aroſe, and walk'd about, Muſing, and ſighing, with your armes a-croſſe: And when I ask'd you what the matter was, You ſtar'd vpon me, with vngentle lookes. I vrg'd you further, then you ſcratch'd your head, And too impatiently ſtampt with your foote: Yet I inſiſted, yet you anſwer'd not, But with an angry wafter of your hand Gaue ſigne for me to leaue you: So I did, Fearing to ſtrengthen that impatience Which ſeem'd too much inkindled; and withall, Hoping it was but an effect of Humor, Which ſometime hath his houre with euery man. It will not let you eate, nor talke, nor ſleepe; And could it worke ſo much vpon your ſhape. As it hath much preuayl'd on your Condtion, I ſhould not know you Brutus. Deare my Lord, Make me acquainted with your cauſe of greefe. I am not well in health, and that is all. Brutus is wiſe, and were he not in health, He would embrace the meanes to come by it. Why ſo I do: good Portia go to bed.