Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1595 (Annals) tragedy; history · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T27 Uncles, nephews and cousins: kinship and · 471 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T27: uncle, niece, nephew, gentlemen, faith, cousin, wife, house, gentleman, money.
My gracious Lord, I come but for mine own. Your own is yours, and I am yours, and all. So far be mine, my most redoubted Lord, As my true service shall deserve your love. Well you deserved: They well deserve to have, That know the strongest, and surest way to get. Uncle give me your Hand: nay, dry your Eyes, Tears show their Love, but want their Remedies. Cousin, I am too young to be your Father, Though you are old enough to be my Heir. What you will have, I'll give, and willing to, For do we must, what force will have us do. Set on towards London: Cousin, is it so? Yea, my good Lord. Then I must not say, no. What sport shall we device here in this Garden, To drive away the heavy thought of Care? Madame, we'll play at Bowls. 'Twill make me think the World is full of Rubs, And that my fortune runs against the Bias. Madame, we'll Dance. My Legs can keep no measure in Delight, When my poor Heart no measure keeps in Grief. Therefore no Dancing (Girl) some other sport. Madame, we'll tell Tales. Of Sorrow, or of Grief? Of either, Madame. Of neither, Girl. For if of joy, being altogether wanting, It doth remember me the more of Sorrow: Or if of Grief, being altogether had, It adds more Sorrow to my want of joy: For what I have, I need not to repeat; And what I want, it boots not to complain. Madame, I'll sing. 'Tis well that thou hast cause: But thou shouldst please me better, wouldst thou weep. I could weep, Madame, would it do you good. And I could sing, would weeping do me good, And never borrow any Tear of thee. But stay, here comes the Gardiner's, Let's step into the shadow of these Trees. My wretchedness, unto a Row of Pinnes, They'll talk of State: for every one doth so, Against a Change; Woe is forerun with Woe. Go bind thou up yond dangling Apricocks, Which like unruly Children, make their Sire Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight: Give some supportance to the bending twigs. Go thou, and like an Executioner Cut off the heads of too fast growing sprays, That look too lofty in our Commonwealth: All must be even, in our Government. You thus employed, I will go root away The noisome Weeds, that without profit suck The Soils fertility from wholesome flowers. Why should we, in the compass of a Pale, Keep Law and Form, and due Proportion, Showing as in a Model our firm Estate? When our Sea-walled Garden, the whole Land, Is full of Weeds, her fairest Flowers choked up, Her Fruit-trees all vnpruin'd, her Hedges ruined, Her Knots disordered, and her wholesome Herbs Swarming with Caterpillars.
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)
My gracious Lord, I come but for mine owne. Your owne is yours, and I am yours, and all. So farre be mine, my moſt redoubted Lord, As my true ſeruice ſhall deſerue your loue. Well you deſeru'd: They well deſerue to haue, That know the ſtrong'ſt, and ſureſt way to get. Vnckle giue me your Hand: nay, drie your Eyes, Teares ſhew their Loue, but want their Remedies. Couſin, I am too young to be your Father, Though you are old enough to be my Heire. What you will haue, Ile giue, and willing to, For doe we muſt, what force will haue vs doe. Set on towards London: Couſin, is it ſo? Yea, my good Lord. Then I muſt not ſay, no. What ſport ſhall we deuiſe here in this Garden, To driue away the heauie thought of Care? Madame, wee'le play at Bowles. 'Twill make me thinke the World is full of Rubs, And that my fortune runnes againſt the Byas. Madame, wee'le Dance. My Legges can keepe no meaſure in Delight, When my poore Heart no meaſure keepes in Griefe. Therefore no Dancing (Girle) ſome other ſport. Madame, wee'le tell Tales. Of Sorrow, or of Griefe? Of eyther, Madame. Of neyther, Girle. For if of Ioy, being altogether wanting, It doth remember me the more of Sorrow: Or if of Griefe, being altogether had, It addes more Sorrow to my want of Ioy: For what I haue, I need not to repeat; And what I want, it bootes not to complaine. Madame, Ile ſing. 'Tis well that thou haſt cauſe: But thou ſhould'ſt pleaſe me better, would'ſt thou weepe. I could weepe, Madame, would it doe you good. And I could ſing, would weeping doe me good, And neuer borrow any Teare of thee. But ſtay, here comes the Gardiners, Let's ſtep into the ſhadow of theſe Trees. My wretchedneſſe, vnto a Rowe of Pinnes, They'le talke of State: for euery one doth ſo, Againſt a Change; Woe is fore-runne with Woe. Goe binde thou vp yond dangling Apricocks, Which like vnruly Children, make their Syre Stoupe with oppreſſion of their prodigall weight: Giue ſome ſupportance to the bending twigges. Goe thou, and like an Executioner Cut off the heads of too faſt growing ſprayes, That looke too loftie in our Common-wealth: All muſt be euen, in our Gouernment. You thus imploy'd, I will goe root away The noyſome Weedes, that without profit ſucke The Soyles fertilitie from wholeſome flowers. Why ſhould we, in the compaſſe of a Pale, Keepe Law and Forme, and due Proportion, Shewing as in a Modell our firme Eſtate? When our Sea-walled Garden, the whole Land, Is full of Weedes, her faireſt Flowers choakt vp, Her Fruit-trees all vnpruin'd, her Hedges ruin'd, Her Knots diſorder'd, and her wholeſome Hearbes Swarming with Caterpillers.