Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1607 [c.1606-1608] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men unassigned nearest T50 Fleets, armies and generals: war by sea · 478 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T50: sea, honour, general, soldiers, men, ship, fight, soldier, king, vittori.
I am satisfied: Caesar sets down in Alexandria, where I will oppose his Fate. Our force by Land, Hath Nobly held, our severed Navy too Have knit again, and Fleet, threatening most Sealike. Where hast thou been my heart? Dost thou hear Lady? If from the Field I shall return once more To kiss these Lips, I will appear in Blood, I, and my Sword, will earn our Chronicle, There's hope in't yet. That's my brave Lord. I will be trebble-sinewed, hearted, breathed, And fight maliciously: for when mine hours Were nice and lucky, men did ransom lives Of me for jests: But now, I'll set my teeth, And send to darkness all that stop me. Come, Let's have one other gaudy night: Call to me All my sad Captains, fill our Bowls once more: Let's mock the midnight Bell. It is my Birthday, I had thought t' have held it poor. But since my Lord Is Anthony again, I will be Cleopatra. We will yet do well. Call all his Noble Captains to my Lord. Do so, we'll speak to them, And to night I'll force The Wine peep through their scars. Come on (my Queen) There's sap in't yet. The next time I do fight I'll make death love me: for I will contend Even with his pestilent scythe. Now he'll outstare the Lightning, to be furious Is to be frighted out of fear, and in that mood The Dove will peck the Ostrich; and I see still A diminution in our Captain's brain, Restores his heart; when valour prays in reason, It eats the Sword it fights with: I will seek Some way to leave him. He calls me Boy, and chides as he had power To beat me out of Egypt. My Messenger He hath whipped with Rods, dares me to personal Combat. Caesar to Anthony: let the old Russian know, I have many other ways to dye: mean time] Laugh at his Challenge. Caesar must think, When one so great begins to rage, he's hunted Even to falling. Give him no breath, but now Make boot of his distraction: Never anger Made good guard for itself. Let our best heads know, That to morrow, the last of many Battles We mean to fight. Within our Files there are, Of those that served Mark Anthony but late, Enough to fetch him in. See it done, And Feast the Army, we have store to do't, And they have earned the waste. Poor Anthony. He will not fight with me, Domitian? No? Why should he not? He thinks, being twenty times of better fortune, He is twenty men to one. To morrow Soldier, By Sea and Land I'll fight: or I will live, Or bathe my dying Honour in the blood Shall make it live again. Wilt thou fight well. I'll strike, and cry, Take all.
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)
I am ſatisfied: Caeſar ſets downe in Alexandria, where I will oppoſe his Fate. Our force by Land, Hath Nobly held, our ſeuer'd Nauie too Haue knit againe, and Fleete, threatning moſt Sea-like. Where haſt thou bin my heart? Doſt thou heare Lady? If from the Field I ſhall returne once more To kiſſe theſe Lips, I will appeare in Blood, I, and my Sword, will earne our Chronicle, There's hope in't yet. That's my braue Lord. I will be trebble-ſinewed, hearted, breath'd, And fight maliciouſly: for when mine houres Were nice and lucky, men did ranſome liues Of me for ieſts: But now, Ile ſet my teeth, And ſend to darkeneſſe all that ſtop me. Come, Let's haue one other gawdy night: Call to me All my ſad Captaines, fill our Bowles once more: Let's mocke the midnight Bell. It is my Birth-day, I had thought t' haue held it poore. But ſince my Lord Is Anthony againe, I will be Cleopatra. We will yet do well. Call all his Noble Captaines to my Lord. Do ſo, wee'l ſpeake to them, And to night Ile force The Wine peepe through their ſcarres. Come on (my Queene) There's ſap in't yet. The next time I do fight Ile make death loue me: for I will contend Euen with his peſtilent Syte. Now hee'l out-ſtare the Lightning, to be furious Is to be frighted out of feare, and in that moode The Doue will pecke the Eſtridge; and I ſee ſtill A diminution in our Captaines braine, Reſtores his heart; when valour prayes in reaſon, It eates the Sword it fights with: I will ſeeke Some way to leaue him. He calles me Boy, and chides as he had power To beate me out of Egypt. My Meſſenger He hath whipt with Rods, dares me to perſonal Combat. Caeſar to Anthony: let the old Ruſſian know, I haue many other wayes to dye: meane time] Laugh at his Challenge. Caeſar muſt thinke, When one ſo great begins to rage, hee's hunted Euen to falling. Giue him no breath, but now Make boote of his diſtraction: Neuer anger Made good guard for it ſelfe. Let our beſt heads know, That to morrow, the laſt of many Battailes We meane to fight. Within our Files there are, Of thoſe that ſeru'd Marke Anthony but late, Enough to fetch him in. See it done, And Feaſt the Army, we haue ſtore to doo't, And they haue earn'd the waſte. Poore Anthony. He will not fight with me, Domitian? No? Why ſhould he not? He thinks, being twenty times of better fortune, He is twenty men to one. To morrow Soldier, By Sea and Land Ile fight: or I will liue, Or bathe my dying Honor in the blood Shall make it liue againe. Woo't thou fight well. Ile ſtrike, and cry, Take all.