Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1602 [1602-1603] (Annals) tragedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men T7 The Trojan war: conflict and its afterma typicality 0.77 · 478 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T7: hector, troy, achilles, greeks, aeneas, priam, ulysses, troilus, trojan, trojans.
Here, here, here, he comes, a sweet duck. O Troilus, Troilus! What a pair of spectacles is here? let me embrace too: oh hart, as the goodly saying is; O heart, heavy heart, why sighest thou without breaking? where he answers again; because thou canst not ease thy smart by friendship, nor by speaking: there was never a truer rhyme; let us cast away nothing, for we may live to have need of such a Verse: we see it, we see it: how now Lambs? Cressida: I love thee in so strange a purity; That the blessed gods, as angry with my fancy, More bright in zeal, than the devotion which Cold lips blow to their Deities: take thee from me. Have the gods envy? I, I, I, I, 'tis too plain a case. And is it true, that I must go from Troy? A hateful truth. What, and from Troilus too? From Troy, and Troilus. Is't possible? And suddenly, where injury of chance Puts back leaue-taking, justles 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 our Injurious time; now with a robbers haste Crams his rich thievery 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 lose adieu; And scants us with a single famished kiss, Distasting with the salt of broken tears. My Lord, is the Lady ready? Hark, you are called: some say the genius so Cries, come to him that instantly must dye. Bid them have patience: she shall come anon. Where are my tears? rain, to lay this wind, or my heart will be blown up by the root. I must then to the Grecians? No remedy. A woeful Cressida 'mong'st the merry Greeks. When shall we see again? Here me my love: be thou but true of heart. I true? how now? what wicked deem 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's 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. O you shall be exposed, my Lord to dangers As infinite, as imminent: but I'll be true. And I'll grow friend with danger; Wear 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. O heavens: be true again?
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)
Here, here, here, he comes, a ſweet ducke. O Troylus, Troylus! What a paire of ſpectacles is here? let me embrace too: oh hart, as the goodly ſaying is; O heart, heauie heart, why ſigheſt thou without breaking? where he anſwers againe; becauſe thou canſt not eaſe thy ſmart by friendſhip, nor by ſpeaking: there was neuer a truer rime; let vs caſt away nothing, for we may liue to haue neede of ſuch a Verſe: we ſee it, we ſee it: how now Lambs? Creſſid: I loue thee in ſo ſtrange a puritie; That the bleſt gods, as angry with my fancie, More bright in zeale, then the deuotion which Cold lips blow to their Deities: take thee from me. Haue the gods enuie? I, I, I, I, 'tis too plaine a caſe. And is it true, that I muſt goe from Troy? A hatefull truth. What, and from Troylus too? From Troy, and Troylus. Iſt poſſible? And ſodainely, where iniurie of chance Puts backe leaue-taking, iuſtles roughly by All time of pauſe; rudely beguiles our lips Of all reioyndure: forcibly preuents Our lockt embraſures; ſtrangles our deare vowes, Euen 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 breuitie and diſcharge of our Iniurious time; now with a robbers haſte Crams his rich theeuerie vp, he knowes not how. As many farwels as be ſtars in heauen, With diſtinct breath, and conſign'd kiſſes to them, He fumbles vp into a looſe adiew; And ſcants vs with a ſingle famiſht kiſſe, Diſtaſting with the ſalt of broken teares. My Lord, is the Lady ready? Harke, you are call'd: ſome ſay the genius ſo Cries, come to him that inſtantly muſt dye. Bid them haue patience: ſhe ſhall come anon. Where are my teares? raine, to lay this winde, or my heart will be blowne vp by the root. I muſt then to the Grecians? No remedy. A wofull Creſſid 'mong'ſt the merry Greekes. When ſhall we ſee againe? Here me my loue: be thou but true of heart. I true? how now? what wicked deeme 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's 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. O you ſhall be expoſ'd, my Lord to dangers As infinite, as imminent: but Ile be true. And Ile grow friend with danger; Weare this Sleeue. And you this Gloue. When ſhall I ſee you? I will corrupt the Grecian Centinels, To giue thee nightly viſitation. But yet be true. O heauens: be true againe?