Shakespeare, William / Fletcher, John · published 1634 · first performed or written 1613 [1613-1614] (Annals) tragicomedy · King's Men · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T7 The Trojan war: conflict and its afterma · 481 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T7: hector, troy, achilles, greeks, aeneas, priam, ulysses, troilus, trojan, trojans.
They said that Palamon had Arcites body Within an inch o'th' Pyramid, that the cry Was general a Palamon: But anon, Th' Assistants made a brave redemption, and The two bold Tytlers, at this instant are Hand to hand at it. Were they metamorphisd Both into one; oh why? there were no woman Worth so composed a Man: their single share, Their nobleness peculiar to them, gives The prejudice of disparity values shortness To any Lady breathing— More exulting? Palamon still? Nay, now the sound is Arcite. I prithee lay attention to the Cry. Set both thine ears toth' business. The cry is Arcite, and victory, hark Arcite, victory, The Combats consummation is proclaimed By the wind Instruments. Half sights saw That Arcite was no babe: god's lid, his richness And costliness of spirit looked through him, it could No more be hid in him, than fire in flax, Then humble banks can go to law with waters, That drift winds, force to raging: I did think Good Palamon would miscarry, yet I knew not Why I did think so; Our reasons are not prophets When oft our fancies are: They are coming off: Alas poor Palamon. Lo, where our Sister is in expectation, Yet quaking, and unsettled: Fairest Emily. The gods by their divine arbitrement Have given you this Knight, he is a good one As ever struck at head: Give me your hands; Receive you her, you him, be plighted with A love that grows, as you decay; Emily, To buy you, I have lost what's dearest to me, Save what is bought, and yet I purchase cheaply, As I do rate your value. O loved Sister, He speaks now of as brave a Knight as ere Did spur a noble Steed: Surely the gods Would have him die a Bachelor, lest his race Should show i'th' world too godlike: His behaviour So charmed me, that me thought Alcides was To him a sow of lead: if I could praise Each part of him to'th all; I have spoke, your Arcut Did not lose by't; For he that was thus good Encountered yet his Better, I have heard Two emulous Philomel's, beat the ear o'th' night With their contentious throats, now one the higher, Anon the other, then again the first, And by and by outbreasted, that the sense Could not be judge between 'em: So it fared Good space between these kinesmen; till heavens did Make hardly one the winner: wear the Garland With joy that you have won: For the subdued, Give them our present justice, since I know Their lives but pinch'em; Let it here be done: The scene's not for our seeing, go we hence, Right joyful, with some sorrow. Arm your prize, I know you will not lose her: Hippolita I see one eye of yours conceives a tear The which it will deliver.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T11 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
They saide that Palamon had Arcites body Within an inch o'th Pyramid, that the cry Was generall a Palamon: But anon, Th' Assistants made a brave redemption, and The two bold Tytlers, at this instant are Hand to hand at it. Were they metamorphisd Both into one; oh why? there were no woman Worth so composd a Man: their single share, Their noblenes peculier to the, gives The prejudice of disparity values shortnes To any Lady breathing — More exulting? Palamon still? Nay, now the sound is Arcite. I pre'thee lay attention to the Cry. Set both thine ares to'th busines. The cry is Arcite, and victory, harke Arcite, victory, The Combats consummation is proclaim'd By the wind Instruments. Halfe sights saw That Arcite was no babe: god's lyd, his richnes And costlines of spirit look't through him, it could No more be hid in him, then fire in flax, Then humble banckes can goe to law with waters, That drift windes, force to raging: I did thinke Good Palamon would miscarry, yet I knew not Why I did thinke so; Our reasons are not prophets When oft our fancies are: They are comming off: Alas poore Palamon. Lo, where our Sister is in expectation, Yet quaking, and unsetled: Fairest Emily. The gods by their divine arbitrament Have given you this Knight, he is a good one As ever strooke at head: Give me your hands; Receive you her, you him, be plighted with A love that growes, as you decay; Emily, To buy you, I have lost what's deerest to me, Save what is bought, and yet I purchase cheapely, As I doe rate your value. O loved Sister, He speakes now of as brave a Knight as ere Did spur a noble Steed: Surely the gods Would have him die a Batchelour, least his race Should shew i'th world too godlike: His behaviour So chard me, that me thought Alcides was To him a sow of lead: if I could praise Each part of him to'th all; I have spoke, your Arcut Did not loose by't; For he that was thus good Encountred yet his Better, I have heard Two emulous Philomels, beate the care o'th night With their contentious throates, now one the higher, Anon the other, then againe the first, And by and by out breasted, that the sence Could not be judge betweene 'em: So it far'd Good space betweene these kinesmen; till heavens did Make hardly one the winner: weare the Girlond With joy that you have won: For the subdude, Give them our present Iustice, since I know Their lives but pinch'em; Let it here be done: The Sceane's not for our seeing, goe we hence, Right joyfull, with some sorrow. Arme your prize, I know you will not loose her: Hipolita I see one eye of yours conceives a teare The which it will deliver.