Shakespeare, William / Fletcher, John · published 1634 · first performed or written 1613 [1613-1614] (Annals) tragicomedy · King's Men · Blackfriars T34 Thebes and royal catastrophe: siege, sla typicality 0.81 · 476 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T34: thebes, antigone, polynices, creon, eteocles, war, theban, gods, dear, country.
Go too, leave your pointing; they would not Make us their object; out of their sight. It is a holiday to look on them: Lord, the Difference of men. How do you Noble Cosen? How do you Sir? Why strong enough to laugh at misery, And bear the chance of war yet, we are prisoners I fear for ever Cosen. I believe it, And to that destiny have patiently Laid up my hour to come. Oh Cosen Arcite, Where is Thebes now? where is our noble Country? Where are our friends, and kindreds? never more Must we behold those comforts, never see The hardy youths strive for the Games of honour (Hung with the painted favours of their Ladies) Like tall Ships under sail: then start amongst 'em And as an Eastwind leave 'em all behind us, Like lazy Clouds, whilst Palamon and Arcite, Even in the wagging of a wanton leg Outstripped the people's praises, won the Garlands, Ere they have time to wish 'em ours. O never Shall we two exercise, like Twins of honour, Our Arms again, and feel our fiery horses Like proud Seas under us, our good Swords, now (Better the red-eyd god of war ne'er were) Bravishd our sides, like age must run to rust, And deck the Temples of those gods that hate us, These hands shall never draw'em out like lightning To blast whole Armies more. No Palamon, Those hopes are Prisoners with us, here we are And here the graces of our youths must wither Like a too-timely Spring; here age must find us, And which is heaviest (Palamon) unmarried, The sweet embraces of a loving wife loaden with kisses, armed with thousand Cupids Shall never clasp our necks, no issue know us, No figures of ourselves shall we e'er see, To glad our age, and like young Eagles teach'em Boldly to gaze against bright arms, and say Remember what your fathers were, and conquer. The faire-eyd Maids, shall weep our Bavishments, And in their Songs, curse ever-blinded fortune Till she for shame see what a wrong she has done To youth and nature; This is all our world; We shall know nothing here but one another, Hear nothing but the Clock that tells our woes. The Vine shall grow, but we shall never see it: Summer shall come, and with her all delights; But dead-cold winter must inhabit here still. 'tis too true Arcite. To out Theban hounds, That shook the aged Forrest with their echoes, No more now must we halo, no more shake Our pointed Iavelyns, whilst the angry Swine Flies like a parthian quiver from our rages, Struck with our well-steeld Darts: All valiant uses, (The food, and nourishment of noble minds,) In us two here shall perish; we shall die (which is the curse of honour) lastly, Children of grief, and Ignorance.
seed 43: T30 · seed 44: T33 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Goe too, leave your pointing; they would not Make us their object; out of their sight. It is a holliday to looke on them: Lord, the Diffrence of men. How doe you Noble Cosen? How doe you Sir? Why strong inough to laugh at misery, And beare the chance of warre yet, we are prisoners I feare for ever Cosen. I beleeve it, And to that destiny have patiently Laide up my houre to come. Oh Cosen Arcite, Where is Thebs now? where is our noble Country? Where are our friend, and kindreds? never more Must we behold those comforts, never see The hardy youthes strive for the Games of honour (Hung with the painted favours of their Ladies) Like tall Ships under saile: then start among'st 'em And as an Eastwind leave 'em all behinde us, Like lazy Clowdes, whilst Palamon and Arcite, Even in the wagging of a wanton leg Out-stript the peoples praises, won the Garlands, Ere they have time to wish 'em ours. O never Shall we two exercise, like Twyns of honour, Our Armes againe, and feele our fyry horses Like proud Seas under us, our good Swords, now (Better the red-eyd god of war nev'r were) Bravishd our sides, like age must run to rust, And decke the Temples of those gods that hate us, These hands shall never draw'em out like lightning To blast whole Armies more. No Palamon, Those hopes are Prisoners with us, here we are And here the graces of our youthes must wither Like a too-timely Spring; here age must finde us, And which is heaviest (Palamon) unmarried, The sweete embraces of a loving wife Loden with kisses, armd with thousand Cupids Shall never claspe our neckes, no issue know us, No figures of our selves shall we ev'r see, To glad our age, and like young Eagles teach'em Boldly to gaze against bright armes, and say Remember what your fathers were, and conquer. The faire-eyd Maides, shall weepe our Bauishments, And in their Songs, curse ever-blinded fortune Till shee for shame see what a wrong she has done To youth and nature; This is all our world; We shall know nothing here but one another, Heare nothing but the Clocke that tels our woes. The Vine shall grow, but we shall never see it: Sommer shall come, and with her all delights; But dead-cold winter must inhabite here still. Tis too true Arcite. To out Theban houndes, That shooke the aged Fo: rest with their ecchoes, No more now must we halloa, no more shake Our pointed Iavelyns, whilst the angry Swine Flyes like a parthian quiver from our rages, Strucke with our well-steeld Darts: All valiant uses, (The soode, and nourishment of noble mindes,) In us two here shall perish; we shall die (which is the curse of honour) lastly, Children of greife, and Ignorance.