Shakespeare, William · published 1597 · first performed or written 1596 [1594-1596] (Annals) tragedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint · 484 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
Well he hath hid himself amongst those trees, To be comforted with the humorous night, Blind in his love, and best befits the dark. If love be blind, love will not hit the mark, Now will he sit under a Medler tree, And wish his Mistress were that kind of fruit, As maids call Meddlers when they laugh alone. Ah Romeo that she were, ah that she were. An open Et caetera, thou a poprin Pear. Romeo God night, i'll to my trundle bed: This field bed is too cold for me. Come let's away, for 'tis but vain, To seek him here that means not to be found. He jests at scars that never felt a wound: But soft, what light forth yonder window breaks? It is the East, and Iuliet is the Sun, Arise fair sun, and kill the envious Moon That is already sick, and pale with grief: That thou her maid, art far more fair than she. Pe not her maide since she is enuious, Her vestal livery is but pale and green, And none but fools do wear it, cast it off. She speaks, but she says nothing. What of that? Her eye discourseth, I will answer it. I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks, Two of the fairest stars in all the skies, Having some business, do entreat her eyes To twinkle in their spheres till they return. What if her eyes were there, they in her head, The brightness of her cheeks would shame those stars: As daylight doth a Lamp, her eyes in heaven, Would through the airy region stream so bright, That birds would sing, and think it were not night. Oh now she leans her cheeks upon her hand, I would I were the glove to that same hand, That I might kiss that cheek. Ay me. She speaks, Oh speak again bright Angel: For thou art as glorious to this night being over my head, As is a winged messenger of heaven Unto the white upturned wondering eyes, Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him, When he bestrides the lazy pacing clouds, And sails upon the bosom of the air. Ah Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy Father, and refuse thy name, Or if thou wilt not be but sworn my love, And i'll no longer be a Capulet. Shall I hear more, or shall I speak to this? 'tis but thy name that is mine enemy. What's Montague? It is nor hand nor foot, Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part. What's in a name? That which we call a Rose, By any other name would smell as sweet: So Romeo would, were he not Romeo called, Retain the divine perfection he owes: Without that title Romeo part thy name, And for that name which is no part of thee, Take all I have.
seed 43: T2 · seed 44: T3 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Well he hath hid himselfe amongst those trees, To be conrted with the humerous night, Blinde in his loue, and best befits the darke. If loue be blind, loue will not hit the marke, Now will he sit vnder a Medler tree, And wish his Mistris were that kinde of fruite, As maides call Medlers when they laugh alone. Ah Romeo that she were, ah that she were. An open Et caetera, thou a poprin Peare. Romeo God night, il'e to my trundle bed: This ield bed is too cold for mee. Come lets away, for tis but vaine, To seeke him here that meanes not to be found. He iests at scars that neuer felt a wound: But sot, what light forth yonder window breakes? It is the ast, and uliet is the Sunne, Arise faire Snne, and kill the enuious Moone That is alreadie sicke, and pale with griee: That thou her maid, art ar more faire than she. Pe not her maide since she is enuious, Her vestall liuerie is but pale and greene, And none but fooles doe weare it, cast it off. She speakes, but she sayes nothing. What of that? Her eye discourseth, I will answere it. I am too bold, tis not to me she speakes, Two of the fairest starres in all the skies, Hauing some busines, doe entreat her eyes To twinckle in their spheares till they returne. What if her eyes were there, they in her head, The brightnes of her cheekes would shame those stars: As day-light doth a Lampe, her eyes in heauen, Would through the airie region streame so bright, That birdes would sing, and thinke it were not night. Oh now she leanes her cheekes vpon her hand, I would I were the gloue to that same hand, That I might kisse that cheeke. Ay me. She speakes, Oh speake againe bright Angell: For thou art as glorious to this night beeing ouer my head, As is a winged messenger of heauen Vnto the white vpturned woondring eyes, Of mortals that all backe to gaze on him, When he bestrides the lasie pacing cloudes, And sailes vpon the bosome of the aire. Ah Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo? Denie thy Father, and refuse thy name, Or if thou wilt not be but sworne my loue, And il'e no longer be a Capulet. Shall I heare more, or shall I speake to this? Tis but thy name that is mine enemie. Whats Mountague? It is nor hand nor foote, Nor arme, nor face, nor any other part. Whats in a name? That which we call a Rose, By any other name would smell as sweet: So Romeo would, were he not Romeo cald, Retaine the diuine perfection he owes: Without that title Romeo part thy name, And for that name which is no part of thee, Take all I haue.