Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1602 [1602-1603] (Annals) tragedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men T35 Fools, wit and railing typicality 0.70 · 530 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T35: fool, wit, aristippus, achilles, wise, fools, patroclus, thersites, master, men.
The great Achilles, whom Opinion crowns, The sinew, and the forehand of our Host, Having his ear full of his eyrie Fame, Grows dainty of his worth, and in his Tent Lies mocking our designs. With him, Patroclus, Upon a lazy Bed, the livelong day Breaks scurrile jests, And with ridiculous and awkward action, (Which Slanderer, he imitation calls) He Pageants us. Sometime great Agamemnon, Thy topless deputation he puts on; And like a strutting Player, whose conceit Lies in his Ham-string, and doth think it rich To hear the wooden Dialogue and sound 'Twixt his stretched footing, and the Scaffolage, Such to be pitied, and ore-rested seeming He acts thy Greatness in: and when he speaks, 'Tis like a Chime a mending. With terms vnsquared, Which from the tongue of roaring Typhon dropped, Would seems Hyperboles. At this fusty stuff, The large Achilles (on his prest-bed lolling) From his deep Chest, laughs out a loud applause, Cries excellent, 'tis Agamemnon just. Now play me Nestor; hum, and struck thy Beard As he, being dressed to some Oration: That's done, as near as the extremest ends Of parallels; as like, as Vulcan and his wife, Yet god Achilles still cries excellent, 'Tis Nestor right. Now play him (me) Patroclus, Arming to answer in a night-Alarme, And then (forsooth) the faint defects of Age Must be the Scene of mirth, to cough, and spit, And with a palsy fumbling on his Gorget, Shake in and out the Rivet: and at this sport Sir Valour dies; cries, O enough Patroclus, Or, give me ribs of Steel, I shall split all In pleasure of my Spleen. And in this fashion, All our abilities, gifts, natures, shapes, Severals and generals of grace exact, Achievements, plots, orders, preventions, Excitements to the field, or speech for truce, Success or loss, what is, or is not, serves As stuff for these two, to make paradoxes. And in the imitation of these twain, Who (as Ulysses says) Opinion crowns With an Imperial voice, many are infect: Aiax is grown self-willed, and bears his head In such a reign, in full as proud a place As broad Achilles, and keeps his Tent like him; Makes factious Feasts, rails on our state of War Bold as an Oracle, and sets Thersites A slave, whose Gall coins slanders like a Mint, To match us in comparisons with dirt, To weaken and discredit our exposure, How rank soever rounded in with danger. They tax our policy, and call it Cowardice, Count Wisdom as no member of the War, Forestall prescience, and esteem no act But that of hand: The still and mental parts, That do contrive how many hands shall strike When fitness call them on, and know by measure Of their observant toil, the Enemy's weight, Why this hath not a singer's dignity: They call this Bed-worke, Mapp'ry, Closset-Warre: So that the Ram that batters down the wall, For the great swing and rudeness of his poise, They place before his hand that made the Engine, Or those that with the fineness of their souls, By Reason guide his execution. Let this be granted, and Achilles' horse Makes many Thetis sons.
nodes 446–516 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 10 of 52 in this edition
Length
530 words · 778 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T35 — Fools, wit and railingcross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.705 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T58 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
The great Achilles, whom Opinion crownes, The ſinew, and the fore-hand of our Hoſte, Hauing his eare full of his ayery Fame, Growes dainty of his worth, and in his Tent Lyes mocking our deſignes. With him, Patroclus, Vpon a lazie Bed, the liue-long day Breakes ſcurrill Ieſts, And with ridiculous and aukward action, (Which Slanderer, he imitation call's) He Pageants vs. Sometime great Agamemnon, Thy topleſſe deputation he puts on; And like a ſtrutting Player, whoſe conceit Lies in his Ham-ſtring, and doth thinke it rich To heare the woodden Dialogue and ſound 'Twixt his ſtretcht footing, and the Scaffolage, Such to be pittied, and ore-reſted ſeeming He acts thy Greatneſſe in: and when he ſpeakes, 'Tis like a Chime a mending. With tearmes vnſquar'd, Which from the tongue of roaring Typhon dropt, Would ſeemes Hyperboles. At this fuſty ſtuffe, The large Achilles (on his preſt-bed lolling) From his deepe Cheſt, laughes out a lowd applauſe, Cries excellent, 'tis Agamemnon iuſt. Now play me Neſtor; hum, and ſtroke thy Beard As he, being dreſt to ſome Oration: That's done, as neere as the extreameſt ends Of paralels; as like, as Vulcan and his wife, Yet god Achilles ſtill cries excellent, 'Tis Neſtor right. Now play him (me) Patroclus, Arming to anſwer in a night-Alarme, And then (forſooth) the faint defects of Age Muſt be the Scene of myrth, to cough, and ſpit, And with a palſie fumbling on his Gorget, Shake in and out the Riuet: and at this ſport Sir Valour dies; cries, O enough Patroclus, Or, giue me ribs of Steele, I ſhall ſplit all In pleaſure of my Spleene. And in this faſhion, All our abilities, gifts, natures, ſhapes, Seuerals and generals of grace exact, Atchieuments, plots, orders, preuentions, Excitements to the field, or ſpeech for truce, Succeſſe or loſſe, what is, or is not, ſerues As ſtuffe for theſe two, to make paradoxes. And in the imitation of theſe twaine, Who (as Vlyſſes ſayes) Opinion crownes With an Imperiall voyce, many are infect: Aiax is growne ſelfe-will'd, and beares his head In ſuch a reyne, in full as proud a place As broad Achilles, and keepes his Tent like him; Makes factious Feaſts, railes on our ſtate of Warre Bold as an Oracle, and ſets Therſites A ſlaue, whoſe Gall coines ſlanders like a Mint, To match vs in compariſons with durt, To weaken and diſcredit our expoſure, How ranke ſoeuer rounded in with danger. They taxe our policy, and call it Cowardice, Count Wiſedome as no member of the Warre, Fore-ſtall preſcience, and eſteeme no acte But that of hand: The ſtill and mentall parts, That do contriue how many hands ſhall ſtrike When fitneſſe call them on, and know by meaſure Of their obſeruant toyle, the Enemies waight, Why this hath not a ſingers dignity: They call this Bed-worke, Mapp'ry, Cloſſet-Warre: So that the Ramme that batters downe the wall, For the great ſwing and rudeneſſe of his poize, They place before his hand that made the Engine, Or thoſe that with the fineneſſe of their ſoules, By Reaſon guide his execution. Let this be granted, and Achilles horſe Makes many Thetis ſonnes.