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 0.75 · 490 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T35: fool, wit, aristippus, achilles, wise, fools, patroclus, thersites, master, men.
If I could have remembered a guilt counterfeit, thou wouldst 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 a fair coarse, 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 a prayer? I, the heavens hear me. Who's there? Thersites, my Lord. Where, 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 thyself? Thy knower Patroclus: then tell me Patroclus, what art thou? Thou mayst tell that knowst. O tell, tell. I'll declin the whole question: Agamemnon commands Achilles, Achilles is my Lord, I am Patroclus knower, and Patroclus is a fool. You rascal. Peace fool, I have not done. He is a privileged man, proceed Thersites. Agamemnon is a fool, Achilles is a fool, Thersites is a fool, and as aforesaid, Patroclus is a fool. Derive this? come? Agamemnon is a fool to offer to command Achilles, Achilles is a fool to be commanded of Agamemon, Thersites is a fool to serve such a fool: and Patroclus is a fool positive. Why am I a fool? Make that demand to the Creator, it suffises me thou art. Look you, who comes here? 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 Cuckold and a Whore, a good quarrel to draw emulations, factions, and bleed to death upon: Now the dry Suppeago on the Subject, and War and Lechery confound all. Where is Achilles? Within his Tent, but ill disposed my Lord. Let it be known to him that we are here: He sent out Messengers, and we lay by Our appertainments, visiting of him: Let him be told of, so perchance he think We dare not move the question of our place, Or know not what we are. I shall so say 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 will favour the man, but by my head, it is pride; but why, why, let him show us the cause? A word my Lord. What moves Aiax thus to bay at him? Achilles hath inveigled his Fool from him. Who, Thersites? He. Then will Aiax lack matter, if he have lost his Argument. No, you see he is his argument that has his argument Achilles.
nodes 1006–1045 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 19 of 52 in this edition
Length
490 words · 701 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T35 — Fools, wit and railingcross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.749 (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)
If I could haue remembred a guilt counterfeit, thou would'ſt not haue ſlipt out of my contemplation, but it is no matter, thy ſelfe vpon thy ſelfe. The common curſe of mankinde, follie and ignorance be thine in great reuenew; heauen bleſſe thee from a Tutor, and Diſcipline come not neere thee. Let thy bloud be thy direction till thy death, then if ſhe that laies thee out ſayes thou art a faire coarſe, Ile be ſworne and ſworne vpon't ſhe neuer ſhrowded any but Lazars, Amen. Wher's Achilles? What art thou deuout? waſt thou in a prayer? I, the heauens heare me. Who's there? Therſites, my Lord. Where, where, art thou come? why my cheeſe, my digeſtion, why haſt thou not ſeru'd thy ſelfe into my Table, ſo many meales? 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 thy ſelfe? Thy knower Patroclus: then tell me Patroclus, what art thou? Thou maiſt tell that know'ſt. O tell, tell. Ile declin the whole queſtion: Agamemnon commands Achilles, Achilles is my Lord, I am Patroclus knower, and Patroclus is a foole. You raſcall. Peace foole, I haue not done. He is a priuiledg'd man, proceede Therſites. Agamemnon is a foole, Achilles is a foole, Therſites is a foole, and as aforeſaid, Patroclus is a foole. Deriue this? come? Agamemnon is a foole to offer to command Achilles, Achilles is a foole to be commanded of Agamemon, Therſites is a foole to ſerue ſuch a foole: and Patroclus is a foole poſitiue. Why am I a foole? Make that demand to the Creator, it ſuffiſes me thou art. Looke you, who comes here? Patroclus, Ile ſpeake with no body: come in with me Therſites. Here is ſuch patcherie, ſuch iugling, and ſuch knauerie: all the argument is a Cuckold and a Whore, a good quarrel to draw emulations, factions, and bleede to death vpon: Now the dry Suppeago on the Subiect, and Warre and Lecherie confound all. Where is Achilles? Within his Tent, but ill diſpoſ'd my Lord. Let it be knowne to him that we are here: He ſent out Meſſengers, and we lay by Our appertainments, viſiting of him: Let him be told of, ſo perchance he thinke We dare not moue the queſtion of our place, Or know not what we are. I ſhall ſo ſay to him. We ſaw him at the opening of his Tent, He is not ſicke. Yes, Lyon ſicke, ſicke of proud heart; you may call it Melancholly if will fauour the man, but by my head, it is pride; but why, why, let him ſhow vs the cauſe? A word my Lord. What moues Aiax thus to bay at him? Achillis hath inueigled his Foole from him. Who, Therſites? He. Then will Aiax lacke matter, if he haue loſt his Argument. No, you ſee he is his argument that has his argument Achilles.