Fletcher, Phineas · published 1631 · first performed or written 1615 [Mar 13] (Annals) pastoral · at University unassigned nearest T7 The Trojan war: conflict and its afterma · 503 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T7: hector, troy, achilles, greeks, aeneas, priam, ulysses, troilus, trojan, trojans.
Why valorous Cancrone, view thyself and me thy captive Cosma, we are conquerors, behold our enemies in fetters fast bound. Am I alive indeed? methought this leg hung out of Charon's boat i'th' water, did I tie the ork there; Cancrone. Come captain, let's go triumphing to the temple. Nay, the Ork's dead and buried, this is the second fatal for the Cyclops. Is he safe? i'll make side-slops on him. I lay studying how to deal with him upon equal terms: come if thou darest, thou sea-bred brat of Polyphemes sine, you that would lick your lips at sweet fisher's blood! sweet fisher's blood! mark that Cosma: I hope you think so too. Sweet fisher, I will turn thy net maker if thou wilt undo me. No, it shall ne'er be said that I was the undoing of any man by net-making, and beside, I have forsworn the muddy trade. Cancrone where's thy spirit? this is that pocketed up thy grandsire in his wide entrails. methought, when I was on the tree, his breath smelled of fish, my stomach even foamed at him. Now then, sir Bompelo, as that ork mouth of thine did crumb thy porridge with my grandsires brains, and then gave him his death's wound too, so will I first mince out thy scald-pate bones, and give thy flesh to a fisher's boy for haddock's meat, & then, O then I will geld thee, that thou never shalt run rutting after the Nymphs. How lik'st thou this? Shame and scorn make me silent. Nay, I will tell thee fitter vengeance, use him, as sage Ulysses did his father Polypheme. That same Foolishes had a pole-cat head, I mean to mitigate him: he was something, as it were about branding a huge stone in a cave, in a goat skin with Polyphemes when the firebrand was asleep. ay, ay, in the cave we branded out Polyphemes eye, when he was asleep, and you must imitate him there take his own staff, and make it an extinguisher for that glazing lamp. This sport I like worst of all: help, gods of the woods. I'll blow the coal while you take your aim, but will your virginity hold him fast? I warrant you it has been tried, come be thou my rest, i'll tilt on thy shoulders. Raunt tara, rant taunt: & I shall make you stumble, let me Come hindermost. O your vineyard, the enemy hath seized on't. 'Tis no matter, he'll hardly make it fly out of the Eelskin, it hath seen no sun this five quarters of a year I am sure. I hope the salt breath of the sea hath sealed it up. O Cosma, 'tis out, let us out too. O Cancrone, lo thy Cosma, Cupid, and Conchilio. Cyclops, blame not this my supposed sex, no Nymph, but lad hath caught thee in this snare. The greater shame, and fouler scorn to me. Up to the hill, Rimbombo fly this shore, And never deal with fisher-Nymph-lad more.
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)
VVhy valorous Cancron, view thy selfe and mee thy captiue Cosma, we are conquerours, behold our enemies in fetters fast bound. Am I aliue indeede? me thought this legge hung out of Charons boate i'th' water, did I tie the Ork there; Cancro Come captain, let's goe triumphing to the temple. Nay, the Ork's dead and buried, this is the second fatall for the Cyclops. Is he safe? i'le make side-slops on him. I lay studying how to deale with him vpon equall tearmes: come if thou darest, thou sea-bred brat of Polyphemes sine, you that would licke your lips at sweete fishers blood! sweete fishers blood! marke that Cosma: I hope you thinke so too. Sweete fisher, I will turne thy net maker if thou wilt vndoe me. No, it shall nere be said that I was the vndoing of any man by net-making, and besides, I haue forsworne the mudde trade. Cancrone wher's thy spirit? this is that pocketted vp thy grandsire in his wide intrailes. Me thought, when I was on the tree his breath smel of fish, my stomacke euen foam'd at him. Now then, sir Bompelo, as that Orke mouth of thine did crumme thy poridge with my grandsires braines, and then gaue him his deaths wound too, so will I first mince out thy scald-pate bones, and giue thy flesh to a fishers boy for haddocks meate, & then, O thn I will ged thee, that thou neuer shalt run rutting after the Nymphs. How lik'st thou this Shame and scorne make me silent. Nay, I will tell thee fitter vengeanc, vse him, as sage Vlysses did his father Polypheme. That same Foolshes had pole-cat head, I eane to mitigate him: he was something, as it wae about branding a huge stone in a caue, in a goate skinne with Polypheme when the fire-brand was asleepe. I, I, in the caue e brded ou Polyphmes eye, when he was asleepe, and you must imitate him here his owne staffe, and make it an exguisher fo that lape. This sport I like worst of all: helpe, gods of the woods. I'le blow the coale while you take your , but will your farginity hold him fast? I warrant you it has been tried, come be thou my rest, i'le tilt on thy shoulders. Raunt tara, raunt taunt: & I shall make you stumble, let me Come hindermost. O your Whineyeard, the enemy hath seazd on't. 'Tis no matter, hee'l hardly make it fly out of the Eel skinne, it hath seene no sunne this fiue quarters of a yeere I am sure. I hope the salt breath of the sea hath seald it vp. O Cosma, 'tis out, let vs out too. O Cancrone, loe thy Cosma, Cupid, and Cochilio. Cyclops, blame not this my supposed sexe, no Nymph, but lad hath caught thee in this snare. The greater shame, and fouler scorne to me. Vp to the hill, Rimbombo flye this shore, And neuer deale with fisher-Nymph-lad more.