Shakespeare, William · published 1609 · first performed or written 1602 [1602-1603] (Annals) tragedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men · Globe T35 Fools, wit and railing typicality 0.71 · 486 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T35: fool, wit, aristippus, achilles, wise, fools, patroclus, thersites, master, men.
Whose there? Thersites? good Thersites come in and rail. If I could a remembered a guilt counterfeit, thou couldst not have slipped out of my contemplation: but it is no matter, thyself upon thyself. The common curse of mankind, Folly and Ignorance, be thine in great revenue: Heaven bless thee from a tutor, and discipline come not near thee. Let thy blood be thy direction till thy death: then if she that lays thee out says thou art not a fair course, I'll be sworn and sworn upon't, she never shrouded any but lazars. Amen. Where's Achilles? What art thou devout? wast thou in prayer? I the heavens hear me. Amen. Who's there? Thersites my Lord. Where? where? O where? art thou come why my cheese, my digestion, why hast thou not served thyself into my table, so many meals, come what's Agamemnon? Thy commander Achilles, then tell me Patroclus, what's Achilles? Thy Lord Thersites. Then tell me I pray thee, what's Thersites? Thy knower, Patroclus: then tell me Patroclus, what art thou? Thou must tell that knowest. O tell, tell. I'll decline the whole question. Agamemnon commands Achilles, Achilles is my Lord, I am Patroclus knower, and Patroclus is a fool. Derive this? come? Agamemnon is a fool to offer to command Achilles, Achilles is a fool to be commanded. Thersites is a fool to serve such a fool, and this Patroclus is a fool positive. Why am I a fool? Make that demand of the Prover, it suffices me thou art: look you, who comes here? Come Patroclus, I'll speak with no body: come in with me Thersites. Here is such patchery, such juggling, and such knavery: all the argument is a whore, and a Cuckold, a good quarrel to draw emulous factions, & bleed to death upon. Where is Achilles? Within his tent, but ill disposed my Lord. Let it be known to him; that we are here, He sat, our messengers and we lay by, Our appertaining, visiting of him Let him be told so, lest perchance he think, We dare not move the question of our place, Or know not what we are. I shall say so to him. We saw him at the opening of his tent, He is not sick. Yes Lion sick, sick of proud heart, you may call it melancholy if you will favour the man. But by my head 'tis pride: but why, why, let him show us a cause? What moves Ajax thus to bay at him? Achilles hath inveigled his fool from him, Who Thersites? Herald Then will Ajax lack matter, if he have lost his argument. No you see he is his argument, that has his argument Achilles. All the better, their fraction is more our wish then their faction, but it was a strong composure a fool could disunite. The amity that wisdom knits not, folly may easily untie. here comes Patroclus.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 935–975 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 18 of 50 in this edition
Length
486 words · 684 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T35 — Fools, wit and railingcross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.710 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
Other seeds
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)
Whose there? Thersites? good Thersites come in and raile. If I could a remembred a guilt counterfeit, thou couldst not haue slipt out of my contemplation: but it is no mater, thy selfe vpon thy selfe. The common curse of mankinde, Folly and Ignorance, be thine in great reuenew: Heauen blesse thee from a tutor, and discipline come not nere thee. Let thy bloud be thy direction till thy death: then if she that layes thee out sayes thou art not a faire course, Ile be sworne and sworne vpon't, shee neuer shrowded any bu lazars. Amen. Where's Achilles? What art thou deuout? wast thou in prayer? I the heauens heae me. Amen. Who's there? Thertes my Lord. Wher? where? O where? art thou coe why my cheese, my digestion, why hast thou not serued thy selfe into my table, so many meales, come what's Agamemnon? Thy commander Achilles, then tell me Patroclus, whats Achilles? Thy Lord Thersites. Then tell mee I pray thee, what's Thersites? Thy knower, Patroclus: then tell me Patroclus, what art thou? Thou must tell that knowest. O tell, tell. Ile decline the whole question. Agamemnon commands Achilles, Achilles is my Lord, I am Patroclus knower, and Patroclus is a foole. Deriue this? come? Agamemnon is a foole to offer to command Achilles, Achilles is a foole to be commanded. Thersites is a foole to serue such a foole, and this Patroclus is a foole positiue. Why am I a foole? Make that demand of the Prouer, it suffices mee thou art: looke you, who comes heere? Come Patroclus, Ile speake with no body: come in with me Thersites. Here is such patcherie, such iugling, and such knauery: all the argument is a whore, and a Cuckold, a good quarrell to draw emulus factions, & bleed to death vpon. Where is Achilles? Within his tent, but ill disposd my Lord. Let it be knowne to him; hat we are heere, He sate, our messengers and we lay by, Our appertainings, visiting of him Let him be told so, least perchance he thinke, We dare not moue the question of our place, Or know not what we are. I shall say so to him. We saw him at the opening of his tent, Hee i not sick. Yes Lion sick, sick of proud heart, you may call it melancholy if you will fauour the man. But by my head 'tis pride: but why, why, let him shew vs a cause? What mooues Aiax thus to bay at him? Achillis hath inuegled his foole from him, Who Thersites? He. Thē will Aiax lack matter, if he haue lost his argumēt. No you see he is his argument, that has his argument Achilles. All the better, their fractiō is more our wish then thei faction, but it was a strōg composure a foole could disunite. The amity that wisdom knits not, folly may easily vnty. Heere comes Patroclus.