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 · 513 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.
Holy S. Francis, what a change is here? Is Rosaline whom thou didst love so dear So soon forsook, lo young men's love then lies Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes. Iesu Maria, what a deal of brine Hath washed thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline? How much salt water cast away in waste, To season love, that of love doth not taste. The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears, Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears, And lo upon thy cheek the stain doth sit, Of an old tear that is not washed off yet. If ever thou wert thus, and these woes thine, Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline, And art thou changed, pronounce this sentence then Women may fall, when there's no strength in men. Thou chidst me oft for loving Rosaline. For doting, not for loving, pupil mine. And badst me bury love. Not in a grave, To lay one in another out to have▪ I pray thee chide not, she whom I love now Doth grace for grace, and love for love allow: The other did not so. Oh she knew well Thy love did read by rote, and could not spell. But come young Waverer, come go with me, In one respect I'll thy assistant be: For this alliance may so happy prove, To turn your households rancour to pure love. Why what's become of Romeo? came he not home to night? Not to his Fathers, I spoke with his man. Ah that same pale hard hearted wench, that Rosaline, Torments him so, that he will sure run mad. Tybalt the Kinsman of old Capolet Hath sent a Letter to his Father's House: Some Challenge on my life. Romeo will answer it. I, any man that can write may answer a letter. Nay, he will answer the letters master if he be challenged. Who, Romeo? why he is already dead: stabbed with a white wenches black eye, shot through the ear with a love song▪ the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boyes butt-shaft. And is he a man to encounter Tybalt? Why what is Tybalt? More than the prince of cats I can tell you. Oh he is the courageous captain of compliments, Catso, he fights as you sing pricksong, keeps time distance and proportion, rests me his minum rest one two and the third in your bosom, the very butcher of a silken button, a duelist a duelist, a gentleman of the very first house of the first and second cause, ah the immortal Passado, the Punto reverso, the Hay. The what? The Pox of such limping antic affecting fantasticoes these new tuners of accents. By Iesu a very good blade, a very tall man, a very good whore. Why grandsire is not this a miserable case that we should be still afflicted with these strange flies: these fashionmongers, these pardonmees, that stand so much on the new form, that they cannot sit at ease on the old bench. Oh their bones, their bones.
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)
Holy S. Francis, what a change is here? Is Rosaline whome thou didst loue so deare So soone forsooke, lo yong mens loue then lies Not truelie in their harts, bt in their eyes. Iesu Maria, what a deale of brine Hath washt thy sallow cheekes for Rosaline? How much salt water cast away in wase, To season loue, that of loue doth not taste. The sunne not yet thy sighes from heauen cleares, Thy old grones ring yet in my ancient ares, And loe vpon thy cheeke the staine doth sit, Of an old eare that is not washt off yet. If euer thou wert thus, and these woes thine, Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline, And art thou changde, pronounce this sentence then Women may al, when ther's no strength in men. Thou chidst me ot for louing Rosaline. For doating, not for louing, pupill mine. And badst me burie loue. Not in a graue, To lay one in another out to haue▪ I pree thee chide not, she whom I loue now Doth grace for grace, and loue for loue allow: The other did not so. Oh she knew well Thy loue did read by rote, and could not spell. But come yong Wauerer, come goe with mee, In one respect Ile thy assistant bee: For this alliaunce may so happie proue, To turne your Housholds rancour to pure loue. Why whats become of Romeo? came he not home to night? Not to his Fathers, I spake with his man. Ah that same pale hard hearted wench, that Rosalin Torments him so, that he will sure run mad. Tybalt the Kinsman of olde Capolet Hath sent a Letter to his Fathers House: Some Challenge on my life. Romeo will answere it. I, anie man that can write may answere a letter. Nay, he will answere the letters master if hee bee challenged. Who, Romeo? why he is alreadie dead: stabd with a white wenches blacke eye, shot thorough the eare with a loue song▪ the verie pinne of his heart cleft with the blinde bow-boyes but-shaft. And is he a man to encounter Tybalt? Why what is Tybalt? More than the prince of cattes I can tell you. Oh he is the couragious captaine of complements, Catso, he fightes as you sing pricke-song, keepes time dystance and proportion, rests me his minum rest one two and the thirde in your bosome, the very butcher of a silken button, a Duellist a Duellist, a gentleman of the very first house of the first and second cause, ah the immortall Passado, the Punto reurso, the Hay. The what? The Poxe of such limping antique affecting fantasticoes these new tuners of accents. By Iesu a very good blade, a very tall man, a very good whoore. Why graundsir is not this a miserable case that we should be stil afflicted with these strange flies: these fashionmongers, these pardonmees, that stand so much on the new forme, that they cannot sitte at ease on the old bench. Oh their bones, theyrbones.