Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written c.1595 (Annals) comedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men T7 The Trojan war: conflict and its afterma typicality 0.74 · 512 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T7: hector, troy, achilles, greeks, aeneas, priam, ulysses, troilus, trojan, trojans.
Hector was but a Trojan in respect of this. But is this Hector? I think Hector was not so leane timbered. His leg is too big for Hector. More Calf certain. No, he is best endued in the small. This cannot be Hector. He's a God or a Painter, for he makes faces. The Armipotent Mars, of Lances the almighty, gave Hector a gift. A gilt Nutmeg. A Lemmon. Stuck with Cloves. No cloven. The Armipotent Mars of Lances the almighty, Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Illium; A man so breathed, that certain he would fight: yea From morn till night, out of his Pavilion. I am that Flower. That Mint. That Cullambine. Sweet Lord Longavill rein thy tongue. I must rather give it the reine: for it runs against Hector. I, and Hector's a Greyhound. The sweet Warman is dead and rotten, Sweet chuckes, beat not the bones of the buried: But I will forward with my device; Sweet Royalty bestow on me the sense of hearing. Speak brave Hector, we are much delighted. I do adore thy sweet Grace's slipper. Loves her by the foot. He may not by the yard. This Hector far surmounted Hannibal. Fellow Hector, she is gone; she is two months on her way. What meanest thou? Faith unless you play the honest Trojan, the poor Wench is cast away: she's quick, the child brags in her belly already: 'tis yours. Dost thou infamonize me among Potentates? Thou shalt die. Then shall Hector be whipped for Iaquenetta that is quick by him, and hanged for Pompey, that is dead by him. Most rare Pompey. Renowned Pompey. Greater than great, great, great, great Pompey: Pompey the huge. Hector trembles. Pompey is moved, more Atees more Atees stir them, or stir them on. Hector will challenge him. I, if of have no more man's blood in's belly, then will sup a Flea. By the North-pole I do challenge thee. I will not fight with a pole like a Northern man; I'll flash, I'll do it by the sword: I pray you let me borrow my Arms again. Room for the incensed Worthies. I'll do it in my shirt. Most resolute Pompey. Master, let me take you a button hole lower: Do you not see Pompey is uncasing for the combat: what mean you? you will lose your reputation. Gentlemen and Soldiers pardon me, I will not combat in my shirt. You may not deny it, Pompey hath made the challenge. Sweet bloods, I both may, and will. What reason have you for't? The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt, I go woolward for penance. True, and it was enjoined him in Rome for want of Linen: since when, I'll be sworn he wore none, but a dishclout of Iaquenettas, and that he wears next his heart for a favour. God save you Madame. Welcome Mercade, but that thou interruptest our merriment. I am sorry Madam, for the news I bring is heavy in my tongue. The King your father Dead for my life.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 1998–2059 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 39 of 42 in this edition
Length
512 words · 719 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T7 — The Trojan war: conflict and its aftermathcross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.736 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
Other seeds
seed 43: T12 · seed 44: T11 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Hector was but a Troyan in reſpect of this. But is this Hector? I thinke Hector was not ſo leane timber'd. His legge is too big for Hector. More Calfe certaine. No, he is beſt indued in the ſmall. This cannot be Hector. He's a God or a Painter, for he makes faces. The Armipotent Mars, of Launces the almighty, gaue Hector a gift. A gilt Nutmegge. A Lemmon. Stucke with Cloues. No clouen. The Armipotent Mars of Launces the almighty, Gaue Hector a gift, the heire of Illion; A man ſo breathed, that certaine he would fight: yea From morne till night, out of his Pauillion. I am that Flower. That Mint. That Cullambine. Sweet Lord Longauill reine thy tongue. I muſt rather giue it the reine: for it runnes againſt Hector. I, and Hector's a Grey-hound. The ſweet War-man is dead and rotten, Sweet chuckes, beat not the bones of the buried: But I will forward with my deuice; Sweet Royaltie beſtow on me the ſence of hearing. Speake braue Hector, we are much delighted. I do adore thy ſweet Graces ſlipper. Loues her by the foot. He may not by the yard. This Hector farre ſurmounted Hanniball. Fellow Hector, ſhe is gone; ſhe is two moneths on her way. What meaneſt thou? Faith vnleſſe you play the honeſt Troyan, the poore Wench is caſt away: ſhe's quick, the child brags in her belly alreadie: tis yours. Doſt thou infamonize me among Potentates? Thou ſhalt die. Then ſhall Hector be whipt for Iaquenetta that is quicke by him, and hang'd for Pompey, that is dead by him. Moſt rare Pompey. Renowned Pompey. Greater then great, great, great, great Pompey: Pompey the huge. Hector trembles. Pompey is moued, more Atees more Atees ſtirre them, or ſtirre them on. Hector will challenge him. I, if a' haue no more mans blood in's belly, then will ſup a Flea. By the North-pole I do challenge thee. I wil not fight with a pole like a Northern man; Ile flaſh, Ile do it by the ſword: I pray you let mee borrow my Armes againe. Roome for the incenſed Worthies. Ile do it in my ſhirt. Moſt reſolute Pompey. Maſter, let me take you a button hole lower: Do you not ſee Pompey is vncaſing for the combat: what meane you? you will loſe your reputation. Gentlemen and Souldiers pardon me, I will not combat in my ſhirt. You may not denie it, Pompey hath made the challenge. Sweet bloods, I both may, and will. What reaſon haue you for't? The naked truth of it is, I haue no ſhirt, I go woolward for penance. True, and it was inioyned him in Rome for want of Linnen: ſince when, Ile be ſworne he wore none, but a diſhclout of Iaquenettas, and that hee weares next his heart for a fauour. God ſaue you Madame. Welcome Marcade, but that thou interrupteſt our merriment. I am ſorrie Madam, for the newes I bring is heauie in my tongue. The King your father Dead for my life.