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 0.88 · 493 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T7: hector, troy, achilles, greeks, aeneas, priam, ulysses, troilus, trojan, trojans.
March patiently along; let one be sent To pray Achilles see us at our Tent. If in his death the gods have us befriended, Great Troy is ours, and our sharp wars are ended. Stand ho, yet are we masters of the field, Never go home; here starve we out the night. Hector is slain. Hector? the gods forbidden. he's dead: and at the murderer's Horses tail, In beastly sort, dragged through the shameful Field: Frown on you heavens, effect your rage with speed: Sat gods upon your thrones, and smile at Troy. I say at once, let your brief plagues be mercy, And linger not our sure destructions on. My Lord, you do discomfort all the Host. You understand me not, that tell me so: I do not speak of flight, of fear, of death, But dare all imminence that gods and men, Address their dangers in. Hector is gone: Who shall tell Priam so? or Hecuba? Let him that will a screechoule aye be called, Go in to Troy, and say there, Hector's dead: There is a word will Priam turn to stone; Make wells, and Niobes of the maids and wives; Cool statues of the youth: and in a word, Scare Troy out of itself. But march away, Hector is dead: there is no more to say. Stay yet: you vile abominable Tents, Thus proudly pight upon our Phrygian plains: Let Titan rise as early as he dare, I'll through, and through you; & thou great sized coward: No space of Earth shall sunder our two hates, I'll haunt thee, like a wicked conscience still, That mouldeth goblins swift as frenzies thoughts. Strike a free march to Troy, with comfort go: Hope of revenge, shall hide our inward woe. But hear you? hear you? Hence broker, lackey, ignomy, and shame Pursue thy life, and live aye with thy name. A goodly medicine for mine aching bones: oh world, world, world! thus is the poor agent despised: Oh traitors and bawds; how earnestly are you set a-work, and how ill requited? why should our endeavour be so desired, and the performance so loathed? What Verse for it? what instance for it? let me see. Full merrily the humble Bee-doth sing, Till he hath lost his honey, and his sting. And being once subdued in armed tail, Sweet honey, and sweet notes together fail. Good traders in the flesh, set this in your painted clothes; As many as be here of Panders hall, Your eyes half out, weep out at Pandar's fall: Or if you cannot weep, yet give some groans; Though not for me yet for your aching bones: Brethren and sisters of the hold-dore trade, Some two months hence, my will shall here be made: It should be now, but that my fear is this: Some galled Goose of Winchester would hisse: Till then, I'll sweat, and seek about for eases; And at that time be queath you my diseases.
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)
March patiently along; let one be ſent To pray Achilles ſee vs at our Tent. If in his death the gods haue vs befrended, Great Troy is ours, and our ſharpe wars are ended. Stand hoe, yet are we maiſters of the field, Neuer goe home; here ſtarue we out the night. Hector is ſlaine. Hector? the gods forbid. Hee's dead: and at the murtherers Horſes taile, In beaſtly ſort, drag'd through the ſhamefull Field▪ Frowne on you heauens, effect your rage with ſpeede: Sit gods vpon your throanes, and ſmile at Troy. I ſay at once, let your briefe plagues be mercy, And linger not our ſure deſtructions on. My Lord, you doe diſcomfort all the Hoſte. You vnderſtand me not, that tell me ſo: I doe not ſpeake of flight, of feare, of death, But dare all imminence that gods and men, Addreſſe their dangers in. Hector is gone: Who ſhall tell Priam ſo? or Hecuba? Let him that will a ſcreechoule aye be call'd, Goe in to Troy, and ſay there, Hector's dead: There is a word will Priam turne to ſtone; Make wels, and Niobes of the maides and wiues; Coole ſtatues of the youth: and in a word, Scarre Troy out of it ſelfe. But march away, Hector is dead: there is no more to ſay. Stay yet: you vile abhominable Tents, Thus proudly pight vpon our Phrygian plaines: Let Titan riſe as early as he dare, Ile through, and through you; & thou great ſiz'd coward: No ſpace of Earth ſhall ſunder our two hates, Ile haunt thee, like a wicked conſcience ſtill, That mouldeth goblins ſwift as frenſies thoughts. Strike a free march to Troy, with comfort goe: Hope of reuenge, ſhall hide our inward woe. But heare you? heare you? Hence broker, lackie, gnomy, and ſhame Purſue thy life, and liue aye with thy name. A goodly medcine for mine aking bones: oh world, world, world! thus is the poore agent diſpſde: Oh traitours and bawdes; how earneſtly are you ſet aworke, and how ill requited? why ſhould our indeuour be ſo deſir'd, and the performance ſo loath'd? What Verſe for it? what inſtance for it? let me ſee. Full merrily the humble Bee-doth ſing, Till he hath loſt his hony, and his ſting. And being once ſubdu'd in armed taile, Sweete hony, and ſweete notes together faile. Good traders in the fleſh, ſet this in your painted cloathes; As many as be here of Panders hall, Your eyes halfe out, weepe out at Pandar's fall: Or if you cannot weepe, yet giue ſome grones; Though not for me yet for your aking bones: Brethren and ſiſters of the hold-dore trade, Some two months hence, my will ſhall here be made: It ſhould be now, but that my feare is this: Some galled Gooſe of Wincheſter would hiſſe: Till then, Ile ſweate, and ſeeke about for eaſes; And at that time be queath you my diſeaſes.