Shakespeare, William · published 1609 · first performed or written 1602 [1602-1603] (Annals) tragedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men · Globe unassigned nearest T7 The Trojan war: conflict and its afterma · 509 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T7: hector, troy, achilles, greeks, aeneas, priam, ulysses, troilus, trojan, trojans.
Thou dost not speak so much. Faith I'll not meddle in it, let her be as she is, if she be fair 'tis the better for her, and she be not, she has the mends in her own hands. Good Pandarus. how now Pandarus I have had my labour for my travel, ill thought on of her, and ill thought of you, gon between and between, but small thanks for my labour. What are thou angry Pandarus? what with me? Because she 's kin to me therefore she's not so fair as Hellen, and she were kin to me, she would be as fair a Friday as Helen, is on Sunday, but what I? I care not and she were a blackamoor, 'tis all one to me. Say I she is not fair? I do not care whether you do or no, she's a fool to stay behind her father let her to the Greekes, and so I'll tell her the next time I see her for my part I'll meddle nor make no more ith'matter. Pandarus. Not I Sweet Pandraus. Pray you speak no more to me I will leave all as I found it and there an end. Peace you ungracious clamours, peace rude sounds, Fools on both sides, Hellen must needs be fair, When with your blood you daily paint her thus, I cannot fight upon this argument: It is too starved a subject for my sword, But Pandarus: O gods! how do you plague me I cannot come to Cressida but by Pander, And he's as tetchy to be wood to woe, As she is stubborn, chaste, against all suit. Tell me Apollo for thy Daphne's love What Cressida is, what Pander, and what we: Her bed is India there she lies, a pearl, Between our Ilium, and where she reides Let it be called the wild and wandering stood: Our ele the Marchant, and this sayling Pandar, Our doubtful hope, our convoy and our bark. How now prince Troilus, wherefore not afield, Because not there; this woman's answer sorts, For womanish it is to be from thence. What news Aeneas from the field to day? That Paris is returned home and hurt. By whom Aeneas? Troilus by Menelaus. Let Paris bleed 'tis but a scar to scorn, Paris gored with Menelaus' horn. Hark what good sport is out of town to day. Better at home, if would I might were may: But to the sport abroad are you bound thither? In all swift haste. Come go we then together. Who were those went by? Queen Hecuba, and Hellen. And whether go they? Up to the Eastern tower, Whose height commands as subject all the vale, To see the battle: Hector whose patience, Is as a virtue fixed, to day was moved: He chid Andromache and struck his armourer, And like as there were husbandry in war Before the Sun rose, he was harnessed light, And to the field goes he; where every flower Did as a Prophet weep what it foresaw, In Hector's wrath.
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 dost not speake so much. Faith Ile not meddle in it, let her bee as shee is, if she bee faie tis the better for her, and shee bee not, she has the meds in her owne hands. Good Pandarus. how now Pandarus I haue had my labur for my trauell, ill thought on of her, and ill thought of you, go betweene and betweene, but smal thanks for my labour. What are thou angry Pandarus? what with me? Because she's kin to me therefore shee's not so faire as Hllen, and she were kin to me, she wold be as faire a Friday as Hellen, is on Sunday, but what I? I care not and shee were a black eamore, tis all one to mee. Say I she is not faire? I do not care whether you do or no, she's a foole to stay behinde her father let her to the Greekes, and so Ile tell her the next time I see her for my part Ile meddle nor make no more ith'matter. Pandarus. Not I. Sweete Pandraus. Pray you speake no more to mee I will leaue all as I found it and there an end. Peace you vnracious clamors, peace ude sounds, Fooles on both sides, Helle must needes be faire, When with yor bloud you daylie paint her thus, I cannot fight vpon this argument: It is too staru'd a subiect for my sword, But Pandaus: O gods▪ how do you plague me I cannot come to Cressid but by Pandar, And he's as teachy to be wood to woe, As she is stubborne, chast, again all suite. Tell me Apollo for thy Daphnes loue What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we: Her bed is India there she lies, a pearle, Betweene our Ilium, and where shee reides Let it be cald the wild and wandring stood: Our ele the Marchant, and this sayling Pandar, Our doubtfull hope, our conuoy and our barke. How now prince Troylus, wherefore not a field, Because not there; this womans answer sorts, For woman it is to be from thence. What newes Aeneas from the field to day? That Paris returned home and hurt. By whom Aeneas? Troylus by Menelaus. Let Paris bleed tis but a scar to scorne, Paris gor'd with Menelaus horne. Harke what good sport is out of towne to day. Better at home, if would I might were may: But to the sport abrode are you bound thither? In all swift hast. Come goe wee then togither. Who were those went by? Queene Hecuba, and Hellen. And whether goe they? Vp to the Easterne tower, Whose hight commands as subiect all the vaile, To see the battell: Hector whose pacience, Is as a vertue fixt, to day was mou'd: Hee chid Adrmache and strooke his armoer, And like as there were husbandry in warre Before the Sunne rose, hee was harnest lyte, And to the field goes he; where euery flower Did as a Prophet weepe what it foresawe, In Hectors wrath.