Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T7: hector, troy, achilles, greeks, aeneas, priam, ulysses, troilus, trojan, trojans.
Lo friends ye may see what great men write to me As entirely as heart can think Or scrivener can write with yucke I send you loving greeting Thersytes mine own seating I am very sorry when I cast in memory The great unkindness And also the blindness That hath be in my breast Against you ever priest I have be prompt and diligent Ever to make you shent To appall your good name And To minish your fame In that I was to blame But well all this is gone And remedy there is none But only repentance Of all my old grievance with which I did you molest And gave you sorry rest The cause was thereof truly Nothing but very envy wherefore now gentle esquire forgive me I you desire And help I you beseech Telemachus to a leech That him may wisely charm From the worms that do him harm In that ye may do me pleasure For he is my chief treasure I have heard men say That come by the way That better charmer is no other than is your own dear mother I pray you of her obtain To charm away his pain Far ye well, and come to my house To drink wine and eat a piece of sowse And we will have minstrelsy that shall pipe hankin boby My wife penelobe Doth great you well by me writing at my house on Candelmasse day midsummer month, the calendars of may By me Ulissed being very glad That the victory of late of the monster ye had Ah syrraye quod he? how say you friends all Ulysses is glad for my favour to call well, though we oft have swerved And he small love deserved Yet I am well content seeing he doth repent To let old matters go And to take him no more so As I have do hither to For my mortal foe Come go with me Telemachus, I will the bring Unto my mother to have her cherminge I doubt not, but by that time that she hath done Thou shalt be the better seven years agone Mother Christ thee save and see Ulysses hath send his son to thee That thou shouldest him charm From the worms that him harm Son ye be wife keep ye warm why should I for Ulysses do That never was kind us to He was readye in war Ever the, son, to mar Then had been all my joy Exiled cleave away Well mother all that is past Wroth may not alway last And seeing we be mortal all Let not our wrath be immortal Charm that charm will, he shall not be charmed of me Charm or by the mass with my club I will charm the why son art thou so wicked to beat thy mother ye that I will, by god's dear brother Charm old witch in the devils name Or I will send the to him, to be his dame Alas what a son have I That thus doth order me spitefully Cursed be the time that ever I him fed I would in my belly he had be dead
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)
¶ Lo frendes ye maye see what great men wryte to mee As entyrely as harte can thyncke Or scryuener can wryte with yucke I sende you louynge gretynge Thersytes myne owne swetynge I am very sorye when I cast in memory The great vnkyndnes And also the blyndnes That hath be in my brest Agaynst you euer prest I haue be prompt and dylygent Euer to make you shent To appale your good name And To mynysshe your fame In that I was to blame But well al this is gone And remedy there is none But onely repentaunce Of all my olde greuaunce with whiche I dyd you moleste And gaue you sorye reast The cause was thereof truelye Nothinge but verye enuye wherefore nowe gentyll esquier Forgeue me I you desyre And helpe I you beseche Telemachus to a leche That hym maye wyselye charme From the wormes that do hym harme In that ye maye do me pleasure For he is my chyefe treasure I haue hearde menne say That come by the way That better charmer is no other then is youre owne deare mother I praye you of her obtayne To charme away his paine Fare ye well, and come to my house To dryncke wyne and eate a peece of sowse And we wyll haue minstrelsy that shall pype hankyn boby My wyfe penelobe Doth grete you well by me wrytinge at my house on Candelmasse daye Mydsomer moneth, the calenders of maye By me Ulissed beynge verye gladde That the victorye of late of the monster ye hadde Ah syrraye quod he? how saye you frendes all Ulisses is glad for my fauoure to call well, thoughe we ofte haue swerued And he small loue deserued Yet I am well contente Seinge he dothe repente To let olde matters go And to take him no more so As I haue do hyther to For my mortall fo Come go with me Telemachus, I wyll the bringe Unto my mother to haue her cherminge I doubte not, but by that tyme that she hathe done Thou shalte be the better seuen yeares agone Mother Christe thee saue and see Ulysses hathe sende his sonne to thee That thou shouldest hym charme From the wormes that hym harme ¶ Sonne ye be wife kepe ye warme whye shoulde I for Ulysses doo That neuer was kynde vs to He was readye in warre Euer the, sonne, to marre Then had bene all my ioye Exiled cleaue awaye ¶ Wel mother all that is past Wroth maye not alwaye laste And seinge we be mortall all Let not our wroth be immortall Charme that charme wyll, he shal not be charmed of me Charme or by the masse with my club I wil charme the ¶ why sonne arte thou so wicked to beate thy mother ¶ ye that I wyll, by goddes deare brother Charme olde witche in the deuils name Or I wyll sende the to him, to be his dame ¶ Alas what a sonne haue I That thus dothe order me spitefullye Cursed be the time that euer I hym fedde I woulde in my bely he had be deade