Shakespeare, William · published 1597 · first performed or written 1596 [1594-1596] (Annals) tragedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men T15 Friars and holy orders in plot typicality 0.83 · 511 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T15: friar, lord, holy, friars, robin, peggy, lacie, angelo, love, nun.
'tis torture and not mercy, heaven is here Where Iuliet lives: and every cat and dog, And little mouse, every unworthy thing live here in heaven, and may look on her, But Romeo may not. More validity, More honourable state, more courtship lives In carrion flies, than Romeo: they may seize On the white wonder of fair Iuliets skin, And steal immortal kisses from her lips; But Romeo may not, he is banished. Flies may do this, but I from this must fly. Oh Father hadst thou no strong poison mixed, No sharp ground knife, no present mean of death, Though near so mean, but banishment To torture me withal: ah, banished. O Friar, the damned use that word in hell: Howling attends it. How hadst thou the heart, Being a Divine, a ghostly Confessor, A sin absolver, and my friend professed, To mangle me with that word, Banishment? Thou fond mad man, hear me but speak a word. O, thou wilt talk again of Banishment. I'll give thee armour to bear off this word, Adversities sweet milk, philosophy, To comfort thee though thou be banished. Yet Banished? hang up philosophy, Unless philosophy can make a Iuliet, Displant a Town, reverse a Prince's doom, It helps not, it prevails not, talk no more. O, now I see that madmen have no ears. How should they, when that wise men have no eyes. Let me dispute with thee of thy estate. Thou canst not speak of what thou dost not feel. Wert thou as young as I, Iuliet thy Love, An hour but married, Tybalt murdered. Doting like me, and like me banished, Then mightst thou speak, then mightst thou tear thy hair. And fall upon the ground as I do now, Taking the measure of an unmade grave. Romeo arise, stand up thou wilt be taken, I hear one knock, arise and get thee gone. Ho Friar. God's will what wilfulness is this? Ho Friar open the door, By and by I come. Who is there? One from Lady Iuliet. Then come near. Oh holy Friar, tell me oh holy Friar, Where is my Lady's Lord? where's Romeo? There on the ground, with his own tears made drunk. Oh he is even in my Mistress case. Just in her case. Oh woeful sympathy, Piteous predicament, even so lies she, Weeping and blubbering, blubbering and weeping: Stand up, stand up, stand and you be a man. For Iuliets sake, for her sake rise and stand, Why should you fall into so deep an O. Nurse. Ah sir, ah sir. Well death's the end of all. Spakest thou of Iuliet, how is it with her? Doth she not think me an old murderer, Now I have stained the childhood of her joy, With blood removed but little from her own? Where is she? and how doth she? And what says My concealed Lady to our canceled love? Oh she saith nothing, but weeps and pules, And now falls on her bed, now on the ground, And Tybalt cries, and then on Romeo calls.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 1078–1145 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 22 of 35 in this edition
Length
511 words · 705 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T15 — Friars and holy orders in plotcross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.832 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
Other seeds
seed 43: T19 · seed 44: T20 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Tis torture and not mercie, heauen is heero Where Iuliet liues: and eueie cat and dog, And little mouse, euerie vnworthie thing iue here in heauen, and may looke on her, But Romeo may not. More validitie, More honourable state, more courtship liues In carrion flyes, than Romeo: they may seaze On the white wonder of faire Iuliets skinne, And steale immortall kisses from her lip; But Romeo may not, he is banished. lies may doo this, but I from this must flye. Oh Father hadst thou no strong poyson mixt, No sharpe ground knife, no present meane of death, Though nere so meane, but banishment To torture me withall: ah, banished. O Frier, the damned vse that word in hell: Howlng attends it. How hadst thou the heart, Being a Diuine, a ghostly Confessor, A sinne absouer, and my frend profest, To mangle me with that word, Banishment? Thou fond mad man, heare me but speake a word. O, thou wilt talke againe of Banishment. Ile giue thee armour to beare off this word, Aduersities sweete milke, philosophie, To comfort thee though thou be banished. Yet Banished? hang vp philosophie, Vnlesse philosophie can make a Iuliet, Displant a Towne, reuerse a Princes doome, It hlpes not, it preuiles not, talke no more. O, now I see that madmen haue no eares. How should they, when that wise men haue no eyes. Let me dispute with thee of thy estate. Thou canst not speak of what thou dost not feele. Wert thou as young as I, Iuliet thy Loue, An houre but married, Tybalt murdred. Doting like me, and like me banished, Then mightst thou speake, then mightst thou teare thy hayre. And fall vpon the ground as I doe now, Taking the measure of an vnmade graue. Romeo arise, stand vp thou wilt be taken, I heare one knocke, arise and get thee gone. Hoe Fryer. Gods will what wilfulnes is this? Hoe Fryer open the doore, By and by I come. Who is there? One from Lady Iuliet. Then come neare. Oh holy Fryer, tell mee oh holy Fryer, Where is my Ladies Lord? Wher's Romeo? There on the ground, with his owne teares made drunke. Oh he is euen in my Mistresse case. Iust in her case. Oh wofull simpathy, Pitteous predicament, euen so lyes shee, Weeping and blubbring, blubbring and weeping: Stand vp, stand vp, stand and you be a man. For Iuliets sake, for her sake rise and stand, Why should you fall into so deep an O. Nurse. Ah sir, ah sir. Wel death's the end of all. Spakest thou of Iuliet, how is it with her? Doth she not thinke me an olde murderer, Now I haue stainde the childhood of her ioy, With bloud remou'd but little from her owne? Where is she? and how doth she? And what sayes My conceal'd Lady to our canceld loue? Oh she saith nothing, ut weepes and pules, And now fals on her bed, now on the ground, And Tybal cryes, and then on Romeo calles.