Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1609 [c.1608-1611] (Annals) romance · King's Men T2 Roman politics: senate, consuls and civi typicality 0.75 · 488 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T2: rome, caesar, senate, sulla, roman, consul, brutus, romans, men, marius.
Without me, as within me: not imagined, felt. A headless man? The Garments of Posthumus? I know the shape of is Leg: this is his Hand: His Foot Mercurial: his martial Thigh The brawns of Hercules: but his jovial face— Murder in heaven? How? 'tis gone. Pisanio, All Curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks, All mine to boot, be darted on thee: thou Conspired with that Irregulous devil Cloten, Hath here cut off my Lord. To write, and read, Be henceforth treacherous. Damned Pisanio, Hath with his forged Letters (damned Pisanio) From this most bravest vessel of the world Struck the main top! Oh Posthumus, alas, Where is thy head? where's that? Ay me! where's that? Pisanio might have killed thee at the heart, And left this head on. How should this be, Pisanio? 'Tis he, and Cloten: Malice, and Lucre in them Have laid this Woe here. Oh 'tis pregnant, pregnant! The Drugge he gave me, which he said was precious And Cordial to me, have I not found it murderous to ' th' Senses? That confirms it home: This is Pisanio's deed, and Cloten: Oh! Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood, That we the horrider may seem to those Which chance to find us. Oh, my Lord! my Lord! To them, the Legions garrisoned in Gallia After your will, have crossed the Sea, attending You here at Milford-haven, with your Ships: They are here in readiness. But what from Rome? The Senate hath stirred up the Confiners, And Gentlemen of Italy, most willing Spirits, That promise Noble Service: and they come Under the Conduct of bold Iachimo, Sienna's Brother. When expect you them? With the next benefit o' th' wind. This forwardness Makes our hopes fair. Command our present numbers Be mustered: bid the Captains look too't. Now Sir, What have you dreamed of late of this wars purpose. Last night, the very Gods showed me a vision (I fast, and prayed for their Intelligence) thus: I saw Jove's Bird, the Roman Eagle winged From the spongy South, to this part of the West, There vanished in the Sunbeams, which portends (Unless my sins abuse my Divination) Success to th' Roman host. Dream often so, And never false. Soft hoa, what trunk is here? Without his top? The ruin speaks, that sometime It was a worthy building. How? a Page? Or dead, or sleeping on him? But dead rather: For Nature doth abhor to make his bed With the defunct, or sleep upon the dead. Let's see the Boy's face. he's alive my Lord. he'll then instruct us of this body: Young one, Inform us of thy Fortunes, for it seems They crave to be demanded: who is this Thou makest thy bloody Pillow? Or who was he That (otherwise then noble Nature did) Hath altered that good Picture? What's thy interest In this sad wrack? How cameed? Who is't? What art thou?
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)
Without me, as within me: not imagin'd, felt. A headleſſe man? The Garments of Posthumus? I know the ſhape of 's Legge: this is his Hand: His Foote Mercuriall: his martiall Thigh The brawnes of Hercules: but his Iouiall face— Murther in heauen? How? 'tis gone. Piſanio, All Curſes madded Hecuba gaue the Greekes, All mine to boot, be darted on thee: thou Conſpir'd with that Irregulous diuell Cloten, Hath heere cut off my Lord. To write, and read, Be henceforth treacherous. Damn'd Piſanio, Hath with his forged Letters (damn'd Piſanio) From this moſt braueſt veſſell of the world Strooke the maine top! Oh Poſthumus, alas, Where is thy head? where's that? Aye me! where's that? Piſanio might haue kill'd thee at the heart, And left this head on. How ſhould this be, Piſanio? 'Tis he, and Cloten: Malice, and Lucre in them Haue laid this Woe heere. Oh 'tis pregnant, pregnant! The Drugge he gaue me, which hee ſaid was precious And Cordiall to me, haue I not found it Murd'rous to' th' Senſes? That confirmes it home: This is Piſanio's deede, and Cloten: Oh! Giue colour to my pale cheeke with thy blood, That we the horrider may ſeeme to thoſe Which chance to finde vs. Oh, my Lord! my Lord! To them, the Legions garriſon'd in Gallia After your will, haue croſt the Sea, attending You heere at Milford-Hauen, with your Shippes: They are heere in readineſſe. But what from Rome? The Senate hath ſtirr'd vp the Confiners, And Gentlemen of Italy, moſt willing Spirits, That promiſe Noble Seruice: and they come Vnder the Conduct of bold Iachimo, Syenna's Brother. When expect you them? With the next benefit o' th' winde. This forwardneſſe Makes our hopes faire. Command our preſent numbers Be muſter'd: bid the Captaines looke too't. Now Sir, What haue you dream'd of late of this warres purpoſe. Laſt night, the very Gods ſhew'd me a viſion (I faſt, and pray'd for their Intelligence) thus: I ſaw Ioues Bird, the Roman Eagle wing'd From the ſpungy South, to this part of the Weſt, There vaniſh'd in the Sun-beames, which portends (Vnleſſe my ſinnes abuſe my Diuination) Succeſſe to th' Roman hoaſt. Dreame often ſo, And neuer falſe. Soft hoa, what truncke is heere? Without his top? The ruine ſpeakes, that ſometime It was a worthy building. How? a Page? Or dead, or ſleeping on him? But dead rather: For Nature doth abhorre to make his bed With the defunct, or ſleepe vpon the dead. Let's ſee the Boyes face. Hee's aliue my Lord. Hee'l then inſtruct vs of this body: Young one, Informe vs of thy Fortunes, for it ſeemes They craue to be demanded: who is this Thou mak'ſt thy bloody Pillow? Or who was he That (otherwiſe then noble Nature did) Hath alter'd that good Picture? What's thy intereſt In this ſad wracke? How came't? Who is't? What art thou?