Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1599 [1598-1599] (Annals) tragedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T46 Swords, quarrels and valour · 491 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T46: rapier, sword, fight, gentlemen, gentleman, kicked, kill, dagger, signor, valour.
Not so, my Lord. Nay, I am sure it is, Volumnius. Thou seest the World, Volumnius, how it goes, Our Enemies have beat us to the Pit: It is more worthy, to leap in ourselves, Then tarry till they push us. Good Volumnius, Thou knowst, that we two went to School together: Even for that our love of old, I prithee Hold thou my Sword Hilts, whilst I run on it. That's not an Office for a friend, my Lord. Fly, fly my Lord, there is no tarrying here. Farewell to you, and you, and you Volumnius. Strato, thou hast been all this while asleep: Farewell to thee, to Strato, Countrymen: My heart doth joy, that yet in all my life, I found no man, but he was true to me. I shall have glory by this losing day More than Octavius, and Mark Antony, By this vile Conquest shall attain unto. So far you well at once, for Brutus' tongue Hath almost ended his life's History: Night hangs upon mine eyes, my Bones would rest, That have but laboured, to attain this hour. Fly my Lord, fly. Hence: I will follow: I prithee Strato, stay thou by thy Lord, Thou art a Fellow of a good respect: Thy life hath had some smatch of Honour in it, Hold then my Sword, and turn away thy face, While I do run upon it. Wilt thou Strato? Give me your hand first. Far you well my Lord. Farewell good Strato.— Caesar, now be still, I killed not thee with half so good a will. What man is that? My Masters man. Strato, where is thy Master? Free from the Bondage you are in Messala, The Conquerors can but make a fire of him: For Brutus only overcame himself, And no man else hath Honour by his death. So Brutus should be found. I thank thee Brutus That thou hast proved Lucillius saying true, All that served Brutus, I will entertain them. Fellow, wilt thou bestow thy time with me? I, if Messala will prefer me to you. Do so, good Messala. How died my Master Strato? I held the Sword, and he did run on it. Octavius, then take him to follow thee, That did the latest service to my Master. This was the Noblest Roman of them all: All the Conspirators save only he, Did that they did, in envy of great Caesar: He, only in a general honest thought, And common good to all, made one of them. His life was gentle, and the Elements So mixed in him, that Nature might stand up, And say to all the world; This was a man. According to his Virtue, let us use him Withal Respect, and Rites of Burial. Within my Tent his bones to night shall lie, Most like a Soldier ordered Honourably: So call the Field to rest, and let's away, To part the glories of this happy day.
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)
Not ſo, my Lord. Nay, I am ſure it is, Volumnius. Thou ſeeſt the World, Volumnius, how it goes, Our Enemies haue beat vs to the Pit: It is more worthy, to leape in our ſelues, Then tarry till they puſh vs. Good Volumnius, Thou know'ſt, that we two went to Schoole together: Euen for that our loue of old, I prethee Hold thou my Sword Hilts, whileſt I runne on it. That's not an Office for a friend, my Lord. Fly, flye my Lord, there is no tarrying heere. Farewell to you, and you, and you Volumnius. Strato, thou haſt bin all this while aſleepe: Farewell to thee, to Strato, Countrymen: My heart doth ioy, that yet in all my life, I found no man, but he was true to me. I ſhall haue glory by this looſing day More then Octauius, and Marke Antony, By this vile Conqueſt ſhall attaine vnto. So fare you well at once, for Brutus tongue Hath almoſt ended his liues Hiſtory: Night hangs vpon mine eyes, my Bones would reſt, That haue but labour'd, to attaine this houre. Fly my Lord, flye. Hence: I will follow: I prythee Strato, ſtay thou by thy Lord, Thou art a Fellow of a good reſpect: Thy life hath had ſome ſmatch of Honor in it, Hold then my Sword, and turne away thy face, While I do run vpon it. Wilt thou Strato? Giue me your hand firſt. Fare you wel my Lord. Farewell good Strato. —Caeſar, now be ſtill, I kill'd not thee with halfe ſo good a will. What man is that? My Maſters man. Strato, where is thy Maſter? Free from the Bondage you are in Meſſala, The Conquerors can but make a fire of him: For Brutus onely ouercame himſelfe, And no man elſe hath Honor by his death. So Brutus ſhould be found. I thank thee Brutus That thou haſt prou'd Lucillius ſaying true, All that ſeru'd Brutus, I will entertaine them. Fellow, wilt thou beſtow thy time with me? I, if Meſſala will preferre me to you. Do ſo, good Meſſala. How dyed my Maſter Strato? I held the Sword, and he did run on it. Octauius, then take him to follow thee, That did the lateſt ſeruice to my Maſter. This was the Nobleſt Roman of them all: All the Conſpirators ſaue onely hee, Did that they did, in enuy of great Caeſar: He, onely in a generall honeſt thought, And common good to all, made one of them. His life was gentle, and the Elements So mixt in him, that Nature might ſtand vp, And ſay to all the world; This was a man. According to his Vertue, let vs vſe him Withall Reſpect, and Rites of Buriall. Within my Tent his bones to night ſhall ly▪ Moſt like a Souldier ordered Honourably: So call the Field to reſt, and let's away, To part the glories of this happy day.