Shakespeare, William · published 1609 · first performed or written 1602 [1602-1603] (Annals) tragedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men · Globe T7 The Trojan war: conflict and its afterma typicality 0.84 · 504 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.
CAll here my varlet, I'll unarm again, Why should I war without the walls of Troy: That find such cruel battle here within, Each Trojan that is master of his heart, Let him to field Troilus alas hath none. Will this gear near be mended? The Greeks are strong and skilful to their strength Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness valiant, But I am weaker than a woman's tear; Tamer than sleep; fonder than ignorance, Less valiant than the Virgin in the night, And skilless as unpractised infancy: Well, I have told you enough of this; for my part i'll not meddle nor make no farther; he that will have a cake out of the wheat must tarry the grinding. Have I not tarried? I the grinding; but you must tarry the bolting. Have I not tarried? I the bolting; but you must tarry the leavening. Still have I tarried. ay, to the leavening, but hears yet in the word hereafter, the kneading, the making of the cake, the heating the oven, and the baking, nay you must stay the cooling too, or yea may chance burn your lips. Patience herself, what Goddess e'er she be, Doth lesser blench at sufferance than I do: At Priam's royal table do I sit And when fair Cressida comes into my thoughts, So traitor than she comes when she is thence. Well she looked yesternight fairer than ever I saw her look, or any woman else. I was about to tell thee when my heart, As wedged with a sigh would rive in twain, Lest Hector or my father should perceive me: I have (as when the Sun doth light a scorn) Buried this sigh in wrinkle of a smile, But sorrow that is couched in seeming gladness, Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness. And her hair were not somewhat darker then Helen's, well go to, there were no more comparison between the women! but for my part she is my kinswoman, I would not as they term it praise her, but I would somebody had heard her talk yesterday as I did, I will not dispraise your sister Cassandra's wit, but— Oh Pandarus I tell thee Pandarus, When I do tell thee there my hopes lie drowned Reply not in how many fathoms deep, They lie indrench'd*, I tell thee I am mad: In Cressida's love? thou answerst she is fair, Pourest in the open ulcer of my heart: Her eyes, her hair her cheek, her gate, her voice, Handlest in thy discourse: O that her hand In whose comparison all whites are ink Writing their own reproach; to whose soft seizure, The cygnet's down is harsh, and spirit of sense: Hard as the palm of ploughman; this thou tellest me, As true thou tellst me, when I say I love her, But saying thus in steed of oil and balm, Thou layst in every gash that love hath given me The knife that made it. I speak no morethen truth.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 0–49 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 1 of 50 in this edition
Length
504 words · 681 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T7 — The Trojan war: conflict and its aftermathcross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.841 (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)
CAll heere my varlet, Ile vnarme againe, Why should I warre without the walls of Troy: That finde such cruell battell here within, Each Troyan that is maister of his heart, Let him to field Troylus alas hath none. Will this geere nere be mended? The Greeks are strong and skilfull to their strength Fierce to their skill, and to their fiercenesse valiant, But I am weaker then a womans teare; Tamer then sleepe; fonder then ignorance, Lesse valiant then the Virgin in the night, And skillesse as vnpractiz'd infancy: Well, I haue told you enough of this; for my part ile not meddle nor make no farther; hee that will haue a cake out of the wheate must tarry the grynding. Haue I not tarried? I the grindin; but you must tarry the boulting. Haue I not tarried? I the boulting; but you must tarry the leauening. Still haue I tarried. I, to the leauening, but heares yet in the word hereafter, the kneading, the making of the cake, the heating the ouen, and the baking, nay you must stay the cooling too, or yea may chance burne your lippes. Pacience her selfe, what Godesse ere she be, Doth lesser blench at suffrance then I do: At Priams royall table do I sit And when faire Cressid comes into my thoughts, So traitor then she comes when she is thence. Well shee lookt yesternight fairer then euer I saw her looke, or any woman els. I was about to tell thee when my heart, As edged with a sigh would riue in twaine, Least Hector or my father should perceiue mee: I haue (as when the Sunne doth light a score) Buried this sigh in wrincle of a smyle, But sorrow that is coucht in seemin gladnesse, Is like that mirth fate turnes to suddaine sadnesse. And her haire were not some-what darke then Hllns, well go to, there were no more comarison betweene the women but for my part she is my kinswoman, I would not as they tearme it praise her, but I would som-body had heard her talke yester-day as I did, I will not dispraie your sister Cassandras wit, but— Oh Pandarus I tell thee Pandarus, When I do tel hee there may hopes lie drown'd Reply not in how many sadomes deepe, They lie indrench'd I tell thee I am madde: In Cressids loue? thou answest she is faire, Powrest in the open vlcer of my heart: Her eyes, her haire her cheeke, her gate, her voice, Handlest in thy discourse: O that her hand In whose comparion all whites are ynke Writing their owne reproch; to whose soft seisure, The cignets downe is harsh, and spiit of sence: Hard as th palme of plow-man; this thou telst me, As true thou telt me, when I say I loue her, But saing thus in steed of oyle and balme, Thou layst in euery gash that loue hath giuen mee The knife that made it. I speake no morethen truth.