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 · 502 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.
And is it true that I must go from Troy? A hateful truth. What and from Troilus to? From Troy, and Troilus. Is't possible? And suddenly, where injury of chance Puts back, leave taking, iussles roughly by: All time of pause: rudely beguiles our lips Of all rejoindure: forcibly prevents Our locked embrasures, strangles our dear vows, even in the birth of our own labouring breath: We two that with so many thousand sighs, Did buy each other, must poorly sell ourselves: With the rude brevity, and discharge of one, Injurious time now with a robbers haste, Cram's his rich theeu'ry up he knows not how. As many farewells as be stars in heaven. With distinct breath, and consigned kisses to them, He fumbles up into a loose adieu: And scants us with a single famished kiss, Distasted with the salt of broken tears. My Lord is the Lady ready? Hark, you are called, some say the Genius Cries so to him that instantly must die, Bid them have patience she shall come anon. Where are my tears rain to lay this wind, or my heart willbe blown up by my throat. I must then to the Grecians. No remedy? A woeful Cressida 'mongst the merry Greekes, When shall we see again. Here me love? be thou but true of heart. I true? how now? what wicked dame is this? Nay we must use expostulation kindly, For it is parting from us. I speak not be thou true as fearing thee. For I will throw my glove to death himself, That there is no maculation in thy heart: But be thou true say I to fashion in, My sequent protestation; be thou true, and I will see thee. Oh you shallbe exposed my Lord to dangers, As infinite as imminent; but i'll be true, And i'll grow friend with danger, were this sleeve. And you this glove, when shall I see you? I will corrupt the Grecian sentinels, To give thee nightly visitation, but yet be true. Oh Heavens be true again? Here why I speak it loue, The Grecian youths are full of quality, And swelling over with arts and excercise: How novelty may move, and parts with portion, Alas a kind of Godly jealousy, (Which I beseech you call a virtuous sin,) Makes me a feared. Oh heavens you love me not! Die I a villain then, In this I do not call your faith in question: So mainly as my merit. I cannot sing Nor heel the high lauolt, nor sweeten talk, Nor play at subtle games, fair virtues all: To which the Grecians are most prompt and pregnant, But I can tell that in each grace of these: There lurks a still, and dumb-discoursive devil That tempts most cunningly, but be not tempted. Do you think I will? No, but something may be done that we will not, And sometimes wear devils to ourselves: When we will tempt the frailty of our powers, Presuming on their changeful potency.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 1864–1931 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 35 of 50 in this edition
Length
502 words · 681 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T7 — The Trojan war: conflict and its aftermathcross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.836 (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)
And is it true that I must go from Troy? A hatefull truth. What and from Troylus to? From Troy, and Troylus▪ Is't possible? And suddenly, where iniury of chance Pus back, leaue taking▪ iussles roughly by: All time of pause: rudely beguiles our lippes Of all reioyndue: forcibly preuent Our lock't embrases, strangles our dere vowes, uen in the birth of our owne laboring breath: We two that with so many thousand sighes, Did buy each other, must poorely sell our selues: With the rude breuity, and discharge of one, Iniurious time now with a robbers hast, Cra's his itch thee'ry vp hee knowes not how. As many farewells as be starres in heauen. With distinct breath, and consignde kisses to them▪ He fumbles vp into a loose adewe: And skats vs with a single famisht kisse, Distasted with the salt of broken teares. My Lord is the ady ready? Harke, you are call'd, some say the Geni Cries so to him that instantly must die, Bid them haue pacience she shall come anon. Where are my teares raine to lay this winde, or my heart wilbe blowne vp by my hrote. I must then to the Grecians. No remedy? A wofull Cressid mogst the merry Greekes, When shall we see againe. Here mee loue? be thou but true of heart. I true? how now? what wicked deme is this? Nay we must vse expostulation kindely, For it is parting from vs. I speake not be thou true as fearing thee. For I will throw my gloue to death himselfe, That there is no maculaon in thy heart: But bee tho true say I to fashon in▪ My sequent protestation; bee hou true, and I will ee thee. Oh you shalbe exposd my Lord to dangrs, As infinite as imminent; but ile be rue, And ile grow friend with danger, were this sleeue. And you this gloue, when shall I see you? I will corrupt the Grecian centinells, To giue thee nightly visitation, but yet be true. Oh heaues be true againe? Here why I speake it lou, The Grecian youths are full of quality, And swelling ore with arts and excercise: How nouelty may moue, and parts with portion, Alas a kinde of Godly iealousi, (Which I besech you cal a vertous sinne,) Makes me a feard. Oh heauens you loue mee not! Die I a villa then, In this I do not call your faith in question: So mainely as my merit. I cannot sing Nor heele the high laot, nor sweeten talke, Nor play at subtill games, faire vertues all: To which the Grecians are most prompt and pregane▪ But I can tell that in each grace of these▪ There lurkes a still, and dumb-discourse diuell That tempts most cunningly, but be not tempted. Do you thinke I will? No, but somthing may be done that we will not, And sometimes weare diuells to our selues: When we will tempt the fraily of our powers, Presuming on their changefull potency.