Shakespeare, William / Fletcher, John · published 1634 · first performed or written 1613 [1613-1614] (Annals) tragicomedy · King's Men · Blackfriars T7 The Trojan war: conflict and its afterma typicality 0.78 · 487 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T7: hector, troy, achilles, greeks, aeneas, priam, ulysses, troilus, trojan, trojans.
'tis in our power, (Unless we fear that Apes can Tutor's) to Be Masters of our manners: what need I Affect another's gate, which is not catching Where there is faith, or to be fond upon Another's way of speech, when by mine own I may be reasonably conceived; saved too, Speaking it truly; why am I bound By any generous bond to follow him Follows his Tailor, haply so long until The followed, make pursuit? or let me know, Why mine own Barber is unblessed, with him My poor Chin too, for 'tis not Cizard just To such a Favourites glass: What Cannon is there That does command my Rapier from my hip To dangle't in my hand, or to go tip toe Before the street be foul? Either I am The fore-horse in the Team, or I am none That draw i'th' sequent trace: these poor slight sores, Need not a plantin; That which tips my bosom Almost toth' heart's, Our Uncle Creon. He, A most unbounded Tyrant, whose successes Makes heaven unfeard, and villainy assured Beyond its power: there's nothing, almost puts Faith in a fever, and deifies alone Voluble chance, who only attributes The faculties of other Instruments To his own Nerves and act; Commands men service, And what they win in't, boot and glory on; That fears not to do harm; good, dares not; Let The blood of mine that's sib to him, be sucked From me with Leeches, Let them break and fall Off me with that corruption. Clear spirited Cousin Lets leave his Court, that we may nothing share, Of his loud infamy: for our milk, Will relish of the pasture, and we must Be vile, or disobedient, not his kinesmen In blood, unless in quality. Nothing truer: I think the Echoes of his shames have dea'ft The ears of heavenly justice: widows cries Descend again into their throats; and have not: Enter Valerius. Due audience of the Gods: Valerius The King calls for you; yet be leaden footed Till his great rage be off him. Phoebus when He broke his whipstock and exclaimed The Horses of the Sun, but whispered too The lowdenesse of his Fury. Small winds shake him, But what's the matter? Val. Theseus (who where he threats appalls,) hath sent Deadly defiance to him, and pronounces Ruin to Thebes, who is at hand to seal The promise of his wrath. Let him approach; But that we fear the Gods in him, he brings not A jot of terror to us; Yet what man Thirds his own worth (the case is each of ours) When that his actions dregd, with mind assured 'tis bad he goes about. Leave that unreasond. Our services stand now for Thebes, not Creon, Yet to be neutral to him, were dishonour; Rebellious to oppose: therefore we must With him stand to the mercy of our Fate, Who hath bounded our last minute.
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)
Tis in our power, (Vnlesse we feare that Apes can Tutor's) to Be Masters of our manners: what neede I Affect anothers gate, which is not catching Where there is faith, or to be fond upon Anothers way of speech, when by mine owne I may be reasonably conceiv'd; sav'd too, Speaking it truly; why am I bound By any generous bond to follow him Followes his Taylor, haply so long untill The follow'd, make pursuit? or let me know, Why mine owne Barbe is unblest, with him My poore Chinne too, for tis not Cizard iust To such a Favorites glasse: What Cannon is there That does command my Rapier from my hip To dangle't in my hand, or to go tip toe Before the streete be foule? Either I am The fore-horse in the Teame, or I am none That draw i'th sequent trace: these poore fleight sores, Neede not a plantin; That which tips my bosome Almost to'th heart's, Our Vncle Creon. He, A most unbounded Tyrant, whose successes Makes heaven unfeard, and villany assured Beyond its power: there's nothing, almost puts Faith in a feavour, and deifies alone Voluble chance, who onely attributes The faculties of other Instruments To his owne Neves and act; Commands men service, And what they winne in't, boot and glory on; That feares not to do harm; good, dares not; Let The blood of mine that's sibbe to him, be suckt From me with Leeches, Let them breake and fall Off me with that corruption. Cleere spirited Cozen Lets leave his Court, that we may nothing share, Of his lowd infamy: for our milke, Will relish of the pasture, and we must Be vile, or disobedient, not his kinesmen In blood, unlesse in quality. Nothing truer: I thinke the Ecchoes of his shames have dea'ft The eares of heav'nly Iustice: widdows cryes Descend againe into their throates; and have not: Enter Valeris. Due audience of the Gods: alerius The King cals for you; yet be leaden footed Till his great rage be off him. Phebus when He broke his whipflocke and exclaim dagainst The Horses of the Sun, but whisperd too The low denese of his Fury. Small windes shake him, But whats te matter? Val. Theseus (who where he threates appals,) hath sent Deadly defyance to him, and pronounces Ruine to Thebs, who is at hand to seale The promise of his wrath. Let him approach; But that we feare the Gods in him, he brings not A jot of terrour to us; Yet what man Thirds his owne worth (the case is each of ours) When that his actions dregd, with minde assurd Tis ba he goes about. Leave that unreasond. Our serices stand now for Thebs, not Creon, Yet to be neutrall to him, were dishonour; Rebellious to oppose: therefore we must With him stand to the mercy of our Fate, Who hath bounded our last minute.