Beaumont, Francis / Fletcher, John · published 1619 · first performed or written 1610 [c.1610-1611] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T7 The Trojan war: conflict and its afterma · 504 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T7: hector, troy, achilles, greeks, aeneas, priam, ulysses, troilus, trojan, trojans.
Why then 'tis well enough, never look black, You have a full wind, and a false heart Theseus, Does not the story say, his Keel was split, Or his masts spent, or some kind rock or other Met with his vessel. Not as I remember. It should ha' been so, could the Gods know this, And none of all their number raise a storm, But they are all as ill, this false smile was expressed well, Just such another caught me, you shall not go so Antiphila, in this place work a quicksand, And over it a shallow smiling water, And over it a shallow smiling water, And his ship ploughing it, and then a fear, Do that fear bravely wench. 'twill wrong the story. 'twill make the story, wronged by wanton Poets, Live long and be believed, but where's the Lady. There madam. Fie, you have missed it there Antipila, You are much mistaken wench: These colours are not dull and pale enough, To show a soul so full of misery As this poor Ladies was, do it by me, Do it again, by me the lost Aspasia, And you will find all true but the wild Island, Suppose I stand upon the Sea, breach now Mine arms thus, and mine hair blown with the wind, Wild as the place she was in, let all about me Be tears of my story, do my face, If thou hadst ever feeling of a sorrow, Thus, thus, Antiphila make me look good girl Like sorrows mount, and the trees about me Let them be dry and leaveless, let the rocks Groan with continual surges, and behind me Make all a desolation, see, see wenches, A miserable life of this poor picture. Dear madam. I haue done, sit downe, and let v Upon that point fix all our eyes, that point there; Make a dumb silence till you feel a sudden sadness Give us new souls. The King may do this, and he may not do it, My child is wronged, disgraced, well, how now housewives, What at your ease, is this a time to sit still, up you young Lazy whores, up or i'll swinge you. Nay good my Lord. You'll lie down shortly, in and whine there, What are you grown so rusty you want heats, We shall have some of the Court boys heat you shortly. Good my Lord be not angry, we do nothing But what my Lady's pleasure is, we are thus in grief, She is forsaken.. There's a rogue too, A sly dissembling slave, well? get you in, I'll have about with that boy, 'tis high time Now to be valiant, I confess my youth Was never prone that way, A Court stale, well I must be valiant, And beat some dozen of these whelps, and there's Another of'em, a trim cheating soldier, I'll maul that rascal, has outbraved me twice, But now I thank the Gods I am valiant, Go, get you in, i'll take a course with all.
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)
Why then tis well enough, neuer looke black, You haue a full winde, and a false heart Theseus, Does not the story say, his Keele was split, Or his masts spent, or some kind rock or other Met with his vessell. Not as I remember. It should ha been so, could the Gods know this, And none of all their number raise a storme, But they are all as ill, this false smile was exprest well, Iust such another caught me, you shall not goe so Antiphila, in this place worke a quick-sand, And ouer it a shallow smiling water, And ouer it a shallow smiling water, And his ship plowing it, and then a feare, Doe that feare brauely wench. Twill wrong the storie. Twill make the story, wrong'd by wanton Poets, Liue long and be beleeu'd, but wheres the Lady. There Madame. Fie, you haue mist it there Antipila, You are much mistaken wench: These colours are not dull and pale enough, To show a soule so full of miserie As this poore Ladies was, doe it by me, Doe it againe, by me the lost Aspatia, And you will find all true but the wilde Iland, Suppose I stand vpon the Sea, breach now Mine armes thus, and mine haire blowne with the wind, Wilde as the place she was in, let all about me Be teares of my story, doe my face, If thou hadst euer feeling of a sorrow, Thus, thus, Antiphila make me looke good gile Like sorrowes mount, and the trees about me Let them be dry and leauelesse, let the rocks Groane with contiunall urges, and behind me Make all a desolation, see, see wenches, A miserable life of this poore picture. Deare Madame. I haue done, sit downe, and let v Vpon hat point fixe all our eyes, hat point there Make a dumbe silence till you feele a sudden sadnesse Giue vs new soules. The King may doe this, and he may not doe it, My childe is wrongd, disgrac'd, well, how now huswiues, What at your ease, is this a time to sit still, vp you young Lazie whores, vp or ile swenge you. Nay good my Lord. You'l lie downe shortly, in and whine there, What are you growne so rutie you want heae, We shall haue some of the Court boyes heat you shortly. Good my Lord be not angry, we doe nothing But what my Ladies pleasure is, we are thus in griefe, She is forsaken. Theres a rogue too, A slie dissembling slaue, well? get you in, Ile haue about with that boy, tis hie time Now to be valiant, I confesse my youth Was neuer prone that way, A Court stale, well I must be valiant, And beate some dozen of these whelps, and theres Another of'em, a trim cheating souldier, Ile maule that raschall, has out-brau'd me twice, But now I thanke the Gods I am valiant, Goe, get you in, ile take a course with all.