Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1602 [1602-1603] (Annals) tragedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T24 Apollo, Phoebus and the Muses · 475 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T24: apollo, phoebus, midas, muses, ears, play, hedone, gods, siren, time.
here comes Thersites. How now, thou core of Envy? Thou crusty batch of Nature, what's the news? Why thou picture of what thou seem'st, & I doll of Ideot-worshippers, here's a Letter for thee. From whence, Fragment? Why thou full dish of Fool, from Troy. Who keeps the Tent now? The Surgeon's box, or the Patient's wound. Well said adversity, and what need these tricks? Prithee be silent boy, I profit not by thy talk, thou art thought to be Achilles' male Varlet. Male Varlet you Rogue? What's that? Why his masculine Whore. Now the rotten diseases of the South, guts-griping Ruptures, Catarrhs, Loads a gravel i' th' back, Lethargies, cold Palsies, and the like, take and take again, such preposterous discoveries. Why thou damnable box of envy thou, what meanest thou to curse thus? Do I curse thee? Why no, you ruinous But, you whoreson indistinguishable Cur. No? why art thou then exasperate, thou idle, immaterial skiene of Sleyd silk; thou green Sarsenet flap for a sore eye, thou tassel of a Prodigals purse thou: Ah how the poor world is pestered with such water-flies, diminutives of Nature. Out gall. Finch Egg. My sweet Patroclus, I am thwarted quite From my great purpose in to morrow's battle: here is a Letter from Queen Hecuba, A token from her daughter, my fair Love, Both taxing me, and gauging me to keep An Oath that I have sworn. I will not break it, Fall Greeks, fail Fame, Honour or go, or stay, My mayor vow lies here; this I'll obey: Come, come Thersites, help to trim my Tent, This night in banqueting must all be spent. Away Patroclus. With too much blood, and too little Brain, these two may run mad: but if with too much brain, and too little blood, they do, I'll be a curer of madmen. here's Agamemnon, an honest fellow enough, and one that loves Quails, but he has not so much Brain as eare-wax; and the goodly transformation of Iupiter there his Brother, the Bull, the primative Statue, and obliqne memorial of Cuckolds, a thrifty shooing-horn in a chain, hanging at his Brother's leg, to what form but that he is, should wit larded with malice, and malice forced with wit, turn him too: to an Ass were nothing; he is both Ass and Ox; to an Ox were nothing, he is both Ox and Ass: to be a Dog, a Mule, a Cat, a Fitchow, a Toad, a Lizard, an Owl, a Puttock, or a Herring without a Roe, I would not care: but to be Menelaus, I would conspire against Destiny. Ask me not what I would be, if I were not Thersites: sot I care not to be the louse of a Lazar, so I were not Menelaus. Heyday, spirits and fires. We go wrong, we go wrong.
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)
Heere comes Therſites. How now, thou core of Enuy? Thou cruſty batch of Nature, what's the newes? Why thou picture of what thou ſeem'ſt, & I doll of Ideot-worſhippers, here's a Letter for thee. From whence, Fragment? Why thou full diſh of Foole, from Troy. Who keepes the Tent now? The Surgeons box, or the Patients wound. Well ſaid aduerſity, and what need theſe tricks? Prythee be ſilent boy, I profit not by thy talke, thou art thought to be Achilles male Varlot. Male Varlot you Rogue? What's that? Why his maſculine Whore. Now the rotten diſeaſes of the South, guts-griping Ruptures, Catarres, Loades a grauell i' th' backe, Lethargies, cold Palſies, and the like, take and take againe, ſuch prepoſtrous diſcoueries. Why thou damnable box of enuy thou, what mean'ſt thou to curſe thus? Do I curſe thee? Why no, you ruinous But, you whorſon indiſtinguiſhable Curre. No? why art thou then exaſperate, thou idle, immateriall skiene of Sleyd ſilke; thou greene Sarcenet flap for a ſore eye, thou taſſell of a Prodigals purſe thou: Ah how the poore world is peſtred with ſuch water-flies, diminutiues of Nature. Out gall. Finch Egge. My ſweet Patroclus, I am thwarted quite From my great purpoſe in to morrowes battell: Heere is a Letter from Queene Hecuba, A token from her daughter, my faire Loue, Both taxing me, and gaging me to keepe An Oath that I haue ſworne. I will not breake it, Fall Greekes, faile Fame, Honor or go, or ſtay, My maior vow lyes heere; this Ile obay: Come, come Therſites, helpe to trim my Tent, This night in banquetting muſt all be ſpent. Away Patroclus. With too much bloud, and too little Brain, theſe two may run mad: but if with too much braine, and too little blood, they do, Ile be a curer of madmen. Heere's Agamemnon, an honeſt fellow enough, and one that loues Quailes, but he has not ſo much Braine as eare-wax; and the goodly transformation of Iupiter there his Brother, the Bull, the primatiue Statue, and oblique memoriall of Cuckolds, a thrifty ſhooing-horne in a chaine, hanging at his Brothers legge, to what forme but that he is, ſhold wit larded with malice, and malice forced with wit, turne him too: to an Aſſe were nothing; hee is both Aſſe and Oxe; to an Oxe were nothing, hee is both Oxe and Aſſe: to be a Dogge, a Mule, a Cat, a Fitchew, a Toade, a Lizard, an Owle, a Puttocke, or a Herring without a Roe, I would not care: but to be Menelaus, I would conſpire againſt Deſtiny. Aske me not what I would be, if I were not Therſites: ſot I care not to bee the lowſe of a Lazar, ſo I were not Menelaus. Hoy-day, ſpirits and fires. We go wrong, we go wrong.