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 0.74 · 522 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.
As if that name shot from the deadly level of a gun Did murder her, as that names cursed hand Murdered her kinsman. Ah tell me holy Friar In what vile part of this Anatomy Doth my name lie? Tell me that I may sack The hateful mansion? Ah? Hold, stay thy hand: art thou a man? thy form Cries out thou art, but thy wild acts denote The unreasonable furies of a beast. Unseemly woman in a seeming man, Or ill beseeming beast in seeming both. Thou hast amazed me. By my holy order, I thought thy disposition better tempered, Hast thou slain Tybalt? wilt thou slay thyself? And slay thy Lady too, that lives in thee? Rouse up thy spirits, thy Lady Iuliet lives, For whose sweet sake thou wert but lately dead: There art thou happy. Tybalt would kill thee, But thou slewest Tybalt, there art thou happy too. A pack of blessings lights upon thy back, Happiness Courts thee in his best array: But like a misbehaude and sullen wench Thou frownst upon thy Fate that smilles on thee. Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable. Go get thee to thy love as was decreed: Ascend her Chamber Window, hence and comfort her, But look thou stay not till the watch be set: For than thou canst not pass to Mantua. Nurse provide all things in a readiness, Comfort thy Mistress, haste the house to bed, Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto. Good Lord what a thing learning is▪ I could have stayed here all this night To hear good counsel. Well Sir, I'll tell my Lady that you will come. Do so and bid my sweet prepare to child, Farewell good Nurse. Hear is a Ring Sir, that she bade me give you, How well my comfort is revived by this. Sojourn in Mantua, I'll find out your man, And he shall signify from time to time: Every good hap that doth befall thee here. Farewell. But that a joy, past joy cries out on me, It were a grief so brief to part with thee. Things have fallen out Sir so unluckily, That we have had no time to move my daughter. Look ye Sir, she loved her kinsman dearly, And so did I. Well, we were borne to die, Wife where's your daughter, is she in her chamber? I think she means not to come down to night. These times of woe afford no time to woo, Madam farewell, commend me to your daughter. Sir Paris? I'll make a desperate tender of my child. I think she will be ruled in all respects by me: But soft what day is this? Monday my Lord. Oh then Wednesday is too soon, On Thursday let it be: you shall be married. we'll make no great a do, a friend or two, or so: For look ye Sir, Tybalt being slain so lately, It will be thought we held him carelessly: If we should revel much, therefore we will have Some half a dozen friends and make no more ado. But what say you to Thursday.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 1146–1211 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 23 of 35 in this edition
Length
522 words · 671 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T15 — Friars and holy orders in plotcross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.745 (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)
As if that name shot from the deadly leuel of a gun Did murder her, as that names cursed hand Murderd her kinsman. Ah tell me holy Fryer In what vile part of this Anatomy Doth my name lye? Tell me that I may sacke The hateull mansion? Ah? Hold, stay thy hand: art thou a man? thy forme Cryes out thou art, but thy wilde actes denote The vnresonable furyes of a beast. Vnseemely woman in a seeming man, Or ill beseeming beast in seeming both. Thou hast amaz'd me. By my holy order, I thought thy disposition better temperd, Hast thou slaine Tybalt? wilt thou slay thy selfe? And slay thy Lady too, that liues in thee? Rouse vp thy spirits, thy Lady Iuliet liues, For whose sweet sake thou wert but lately dead: There art thou happy. Tybalt would kill thee, But thou sluest Tybalt, there art thou happy too. A packe of blessings lights vpon thy backe, Happines Courts thee in his best array: But like a misbehaude and sullen wench Thou fro wst vpon thy Fate that smilles on thee. Take heede, take heede, for such dye miserable. Goe get thee to thy loue as was decreed: Ascend her Chamber Window, hence and comfort her, But looke thou stay not till the watch be set: For then thou canst not passe to Mantua. Nurse prouide all things in a readines, Comfort thy Mistresse, haste the house to bed, Which heauy sorrow makes them apt vnto. Good Lord what a thing learning is▪ I could haue stayde heere all this night To heare good counsell. Well Sir, Ile tell my Lady that you will come. Doe so and bidde my sweet prepare to childe, Farwell good Nurse. Heere is a Ring Sir, that she bad me giue you, How well my comfort is reuiud by this. Soiorne in Mantua, Ile finde out your man, And he shall signifie from time to time: Euery good hap that doth befall thee heere. Farwell. But that a ioy, past ioy cryes ou on me, It were a griefe so breefe to part with thee. Thinges haue fallen out Sir so vnluckily, That we haue had no time to moue my daughter. Looke yee Sir, she lou'd her kinsman dearely, And so did I. Well, we were borne to dye, Wife wher's your daughter, is she in her chamber? I thinke she meanes not to come downe to night. These times of woe affoord no time to wooe, Maddam fawell, commend me to your daughter. Sir Pais? Ile make a desperate tender of my child. I thinke she will be rulde in all respectes by mee: But sof what day is this? Munday my Lord. Oh then Wensday is too soone, On Thursday let i be: you shall be maried. Wee'le make no great a doe, a frend or two, or so: For looke ye Sir, Tybalt being slaine so lately, It will be thought we held him care leslye: If we should reuell much, therefore we will haue Some halfe a dozen frends and make no more adoe. But what say you to Thursday.