Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1607 [c.1606-1608] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men T38 Death, parting and grief at court typicality 0.79 · 509 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T38: queen, king, death, dead, heart, life, die, lord, royal, news.
This proves me base: If she first meet the Curled Anthony. he'll make demand of her, and spend that kiss Which is my heaven to have. Come thou mortal wretch, With thy sharp teeth this knot intrinsicate, Of life at once untie: Poor venomous Fool, Be angry, and dispatch. Oh couldst thou speak, That I might hear thee call great Caesar Ass, unpolicied. Oh Eastern Star. Peace, peace: Dost thou not see my Baby at my breast, That sucks the Nurse asleep. O break! O break! As sweet as Balm, as soft as Air, as gentle. O Anthony! Nay I will take thee too. What should I stay— In this wild World? So far thee well: Now boast thee Death, in thy possession lies A Lass unparallelled. Downie Windows close, And golden Phoebus, never be beheld Of eyes again so Royal: your Crowns away, I'll mend it, and then play— Where's the Queen? Speak softly, wake her not. Caesar hath sent Too slow a Messenger. Oh come apace, dispatch, I partly feel thee. Approach hoa, All's not well: Caesar's beguiled. There's Dolabella sent from Caesar: call him. What work is here Charmian? Is this well done? It is well done, and fitting for a Princess Descended of so many Royal Kings. Ah Soldier. How goes it here? All dead. Caesar, thy thoughts Touch their effects in this: Thyself art coming To see performed the dreaded Act which thou So soughtest to hinder. A way there, a way for Caesar. Oh sir, you are too sure an Augurer: That you did fear, is done. Bravest at the last, She levelled at our purposes, and being Royal took her own way: the manner of their deaths, I do not see them bleed. Who was last with them? A simple Countryman, that brought her Figs: This was his Basket. Poisoned then. Oh Caesar: This Charmian lived but now, she stood and spoke: I found her trimming up the Diadem; On her dead Mistress tremblingly she stood, And on the sudden dropped. Oh Noble weakness: If they had swallowed poison, 'twould appear By external swelling: but she looks like sleep, As she would catch another Anthony In her strong toil of Grace. here on her breast, There is a vent of Blood, and something blown, The like is on her Arme. This is an Aspickes trail, And these Figge-leaves have slime upon them, such As th' Aspic leaves upon the Caves of Nile. Most probable That so she died: for her Physician tells me She hath pursued Conclusions infinite Of easy ways to dye. Take up her bed, And bear her Women from the Monument, She shall be buried by her Anthony. No Grave upon the earth shall clip in it A pair so famous: high events as these Strike those that make them: and their Story is No less in pity, than his Glory which Brought them to be lamented. Our Army shall In solemn show, attend this Funeral, And then to Rome. Come Dolabella, see High Order, in this great Solmemnity.
seed 43: T44 · seed 44: T6 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
This proues me baſe: If ſhe firſt meete the Curled Anthony. Hee'l make demand of her, and ſpend that kiſſe Which is my heauen to haue. Come thou mortal wretch, With thy ſharpe teeth this knot intrinſicate, Of life at once vntye: Poore venomous Foole, Be angry, and diſpatch. Oh could'ſt thou ſpeake, That I might heare thee call great Caeſar Aſſe, vnpolicied. Oh Eaſterne Starre. Peace, peace: Doſt thou not ſee my Baby at my breaſt, That ſuckes the Nurſe aſleepe. O breake! O breake! As ſweet as Balme, as ſoft as Ayre, as gentle. O Anthony! Nay I will take thee too. What ſhould I ſtay— In this wilde World? So fare thee well: Now boaſt thee Death, in thy poſſeſſion lyes A Laſſe vnparalell'd. Downie Windowes cloze, And golden Phoebus, neuer be beheld Of eyes againe ſo Royall: your Crownes away, Ile mend it, and then play — Where's the Queene? Speake ſoftly, wake her not. Caeſar hath ſent Too ſlow a Meſſenger. Oh come apace, diſpatch, I partly feele thee. Approach hoa, All's not well: Caeſar's beguild. There's Dolabella ſent from Caeſar: call him. What worke is heere Charmian? Is this well done? It is well done, and fitting for a Princeſſe Deſcended of ſo many Royall Kings. Ah Souldier. How goes it heere? All dead. Caeſar, thy thoughts Touch their effects in this: Thy ſelfe art comming To ſee perform'd the dreaded Act which thou So ſought'ſt to hinder. A way there, a way for Caeſar. Oh ſir, you are too ſure an Augurer: That you did fere, is done. Braueſt at the laſt, She leuell'd at our purpoſes, and being Royall Tooke her owne way: the manner of their deaths, I do not ſee them bleede. Who was laſt with them? A ſimple Countryman, that broght hir Figs: This was his Basket. Poyſon'd then. Oh Caeſar: This Charmian liu'd but now, ſhe ſtood and ſpake: I found her trimming vp the Diadem; On her dead Miſtris tremblingly ſhe ſtood, And on the ſodaine dropt. Oh Noble weakeneſſe: If they had ſwallow'd poyſon, 'twould appeare By externall ſwelling: but ſhe lookes like ſleepe, As ſhe would catch another Anthony In her ſtrong toyle of Grace. Heere on her breſt, There is a vent of Bloud, and ſomething blowne, The like is on her Arme. This is an Aſpickes traile, And theſe Figge-leaues haue ſlime vpon them, ſuch As th' Aſpicke leaues vpon the Caues of Nyle. Moſt probable That ſo ſhe dyed: for her Phyſitian tels mee She hath purſu'de Concluſions infinite Of eaſie wayes to dye. Take vp her bed, And beare her Women from the Monument, She ſhall be buried by her Anthony. No Graue vpon the earth ſhall clip in it A payre ſo famous: high euents as theſe Strike thoſe that make them: and their Story is No leſſe in pitty, then his Glory which Brought them to be lamented. Our Army ſhall In ſolemne ſhew, attend this Funerall, And then to Rome. Come Dolabella, ſee High Order, in this great Solmemnity.