Shakespeare, William · published 1597 · first performed or written 1596 [1594-1596] (Annals) tragedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T28 Marriage-making: weddings, brides and ma · 505 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T28: married, marriage, wedding, day, bride, father, wife, luce, love, husband.
And trust me Love, in my eye so do you, Dry sorrow drinks out blood: adieu, adieu. Madame beware, take heed the day is broke, Your Mother's coming to your Chamber, make all sure. Where are you Daughter? What Lady, Lamb, what Iuliet? How now, who calls? It is your Mother. Why how now Iuliet? Madam, I am not well. What evermore weeping for your Cousin's death: I think thou'lt wash him from his grave with tears. I cannot choose, having so great a loss. I cannot blame thee. But it grieves thee more that Villain lives. What Villain Madam? That Villain Romeo. Villain and he are many miles a sunder. Content thee Girl, if I could find a man I soon would send to Maniva where he is, That should bestow on him so sure a draft, As he should soon bear Tybalt company. Find you the means, and I'll find such a man: For whilst he lives, my heart shall near be light Till I behold him, dead is my poor heart. Thus for a Kinsman vexed? Well let that pass. I come to bring thee joyful news? And joy comes well in such a needful time. Well then, thou hast a careful Father girl, And one who pitying thy needful state, Hath found thee out a happy day of joy. What day is that I pray you? Marry my Child, The gallant, young and youthful Gentleman, The County Paris at Saint Peter's Church, Early next Thursday morning must provide, To make you there a glad and joyful Bride. Now by Saint Peter's Church and Peter too, He shall not there make me a joyful Bride. Are these the news you had to tell me of? Marry here are news indeed. Madam I will not marry yet. And when I do, it shallbe rather Romeo whom I hate, Than County Paris that I cannot love. Here comes your Father, you may tell him so. Why how now, evermore showering? In one little body thou resemblest a sea, a bark, a storm: For this thy body which I term a bark, Still floating in thy everfalling tears, And tossed with sighs arising from thy heart: Will without succour shipwreck presently. But hear you Wife, what have you sounded her, what says she to it? I have, but she will none she thanks ye: Would God that she were married to her grave. What will she not, doth she not thank us, doth she not wax proud? Not proud ye have, but thankful that ye have: Proud can I never be of that I hate, But thankful even for hate that is meant love. Proud and I thank you, and I thank you not, And yet not proud. What's here, chop logic. Proud me no prouds, nor thank me no thanks, But settle your fine joints on Thursday next To go with Paris to Saint Peter's Church, Or I will drag you on a hurdle thither. Out you green sickness baggage, out you tallow face.
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)
And trust me Loue, in my eye so doo you, Drie sorrow drinkes out blood: adieu, adieu. Madame beware, take heed the day is broke, Your Mother's comming to your Chamber, make all sure. Where are you Daughter? What Ladie, Lambe, what Iuliet? How now, who calls? It is your Mother. Why how now Iuliet? Madam, I am not well. What euermore weeping for your Cosens death: I thinke thoult wash him from his graue with teares. I cannot chuse, hauing so great a losse. I cannot blame thee. But it greeues thee more that Villaine liues. What Villaine Madame? That Villaine Romeo. Villaine and he are manie miles a sunder. Content thee Girle, if I could finde a man I soone would send to Maniua where he is, That should bestow on him so sure a draught, As he should soone beare Tybalt companie. Finde you the meanes, and Ile finde such a man: For whilest he liues, my heart shall nere be light Till I behold him, dead is my poore heart. Thus for a Kinsman vext? Well let that passe. I come to bring thee ioyfull newes? And ioy comes well in such a needfull time. Well then, thou hast a carefull Father Cirle, And one who pittying thy needfull state, Hath found thee out a happie day of ioy. What day is that I pray you? Marry my Childe, The gallant, yong and youthfull Gentleman, The Countie Paris at Saint Peters Church, Early next Thursday morning must prouide, To make you there a glad and ioyfull Bride. Now by Saint Peters Church and Peter too, He shall not there make mee a ioyfull Bride. Are these the newes you had to tell me of? Marrie here are newes indeed. Madame I will not marrie yet. And when I doo, it shalbe rather Romeo whom I hate, Than Countie Paris that I cannot loue. Here comes your Father, you may tell him so. Why how now, euermore showring? In one little bodie thou resemblest a sea, a barke, a storme: For this thy bodie which I tearme a barke, Still floating in thy euerfalling teares, And tost with sighes arising from thy hart: Will without succour shipwracke presently. But heare you Wife, what haue you sounded her, what saies she to it? I haue, but she will none she thankes ye: VVould God that she were married to her graue. What will she not, doth she not thanke vs, doth she not wexe proud? Not proud ye haue, but thankfull that ye haue: Proud can I neuer be of that I hate, But thankfull euen for hate that is ment loue. Proud and I thanke you, and I thanke you not, And yet not proud. VVhats here, chop logicke. Proud me no prouds, nor thanke me no thankes, But fettle your fine ioynts on Thursday next To goe with Paris to Saint Peters Church, Or I will drag you on a hurdle thether. Out you greene sicknes baggage, out you tallow face.