Shakespeare, William / Fletcher, John · published 1634 · first performed or written 1613 [1613-1614] (Annals) tragicomedy · King's Men · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T46 Swords, quarrels and valour · 476 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T46: rapier, sword, fight, gentlemen, gentleman, kicked, kill, dagger, signor, valour.
Thou hast well described him. Yet a great deal short Me thinks, of him that's first with Palamon. Pray speak him friend. I guess he is a Prince too, And if it may be, greater; for his show Has all the ornament of honour in't: he's somewhat bigger, than the Knight he spoke of, But of a face far sweeter; His complexion Is (as a ripe grape) ruddy: he has felt Without doubt what he fights for, and so apt To make this cause his own: In's face appears All the fair hopes of what he undertakes, And when he's angry, than a settled valour (Not tainted with extremes) runs through his body, And guides his arm to brave things: Fear he cannot, He shows no such soft temper, his head's yellow, Hard haired, and curled, thick twinned like Ivy tops, Not to undo with thunder: In his face The livery of the warlike Maid appears, Pure red, and white, for yet no beard has blessed him. And in his rolling eyes, sits victory. As if she ever meant to correct his valour: His Nose stands high, a Character of honour. His red lips, after fights, are fit for Ladies. Must these men die too? When he speaks, his tongue Sounds like a Trumpet; All his lineaments Are as a man would wish 'em, strong, and clean, He wears a well-steeld Axe, the staff of gold, His age some five and twenty. there's another, A little man, but of a tough soul, seeming As great as any: fairer promises In such a Body, yet I never looked on. O, he that's freckle faced? The same my Lord, Are they not sweet ones? Yes they are well. Me thinks, Being so few, and well disposed, they show Great, and fine art in nature, he's white haired, Not wanton white, but such a manly colour Next to an aborne, tough, and nimble set, Which shows an active soul; his arms are brawny Lined with strong sinewes: To the shoulder piece, Gently they swell, like women new conceived, Which speaks him prone to labour, never fainting Under the weight of Arms; stout hearted, still, But when he stirs, a Tiger; he's gray eyed, Which yields compassion where he conquers: sharp To spy advantages, and where he finds 'em, He's swift to make 'em his: He does no wrongs, Nor takes none; he's round faced, and when he smiles He shows a Lover, when he frowns, a Soldier: About his head he wears the winners oak, And in it stuck the favour of his Lady: His age, some six and thirty. In his hand He bears a charging Staff, embossed with silver. Are they all thus? They are all the sons of honour. Now as I have a soul I long to see'em, Lady you shall see men fight now.
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)
Thou ha'st well describde him. Yet a great deale short Me thinkes, of him that's first with Palamon. Pray speake him friend. I ghesse he is a Prince too, And if it may be, greater; for his show Has all the ornament of honour in't: Hee's somewhat bigger, then the Knight he spoke of, But of a face far sweeter; His complexion Is (as a ripe grape) ruddy: he has felt Without doubt what he fights for, and so apter To make this cause his owne: In's face appeares All the faie hopes of what he undertakes, And when he's angry, then a setled valour (Not tainted with extreames) runs through his body, And guides his arme to brave things: Feare he cannot, He shewesno such soft temper, his head's yellow, Hard hayr'd, and curld, thicke twind like Ivy tops, Not to undoe with thunder: In his face The liverie of the warlike Maide appeares, Pure red, and white, for yet no beard has bleft him. And in his rowling eyes, victory. As if she ever ment to corect his valour: His Nose stands high, a Character of honour. His red lips, after fights, are fit for Ladies. Must these men die too? When he speakes, his tongue Sounds like a Trumpet; All his lyneaments Are as a man would wish 'em, strong, and cleane, He weares a well-steeld Axe, the staffe of gold, His age some five and twenty. Ther's another, A little man, but of a tough soule, seeming As great as any: fairer promises In such a Body, yet I never look'd on. O, he that's freckle fac'd? The same my Lord, Are they not sweet ones? Yes they are well. Me thinkes, Being so few, and well disposd, they show Great, and fine art in nature, he's white hair'd, Not wanton white, but such a manly colour Next to an aborne, tough, and nimble set, Which showes an active soule; his armes are brawny Linde with strong sine wes: To the shoulder peece, Gently they swell, like women new conceav'd, Which speakes him prone to labour, never fainting Vnder the waight of Armes; stout harted, still, But when he stirs, a Tiger; he's gray eyd, Which yeelds compassion where he conquers: sharpe To spy advantages, and where he finds 'em, He's swift to make 'em his: He do's no wrongs, Nor takes none; he's round fac'd, and when he smiles He showes a Lover, when he frownes, a Souldier: About his head he weares the winners oke, And in it stucke the favour of his Lady: His age, some six and thirtie. In his hand He beares a charging Staffe, embost with silver. Are they all thus? They are all the sonnes of honour. Now as I have a soule I long to see'em, Lady you shall see men fight now.