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 0.80 · 499 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.
Well, thou hast comforted me wondrous much, I pray thee go thy ways unto my mother Tell her I am gone having displeased my Father. To Friar Laurence Cell to confess me, And to be absolved▪ I will, and this is wisely done. Ancient damnation, O most cursed fiend. Is it more sin to wish me thus forsworn, Or to dispraise him with the self same tongue That thou hast praised him with above compare So many thousand times? Go Counsellor, Thou and my bosom henceforth shallbe twain. I'll to the Friar to know his remedy, If all fail else, I have the power to die. On Thursday say ye: the time is very short, My Father Capolet will have it so, And I am nothing slack to slow his haste. You say you do not know the Lady's mind? uneven is the course, I like it not. Immoderately she weeps for Tybalts death, And therefore have I little talked of love, For Venus smiles not in a house of tears, Now Sir, her father thinks it dangerous: That she doth give her sorrow so much sway. And in his wisdom hasts our marriage, To stop the inundation of her tears▪ Which too much minded by herself alone May be put from her by society. Now do ye know the reason of this haste. I would I knew not why it should be slowd. Hear comes the Lady to my cell, Welcome my love, my Lady and my wife: That may be sir, when I may be a wife, That may be, must be love, on thursday next. What must be shallbe. That's a certain text. What come ye to confession to this Friar. To tell you that were to confess to you. Do not deny to him that you love me. I will confess to you that I love him, So I am sure you will that you love me. And if I do, it willbe of more price, Being spoke behind your back, than to your face. Poor soul thy face is much abused with tears. The tears have got small victory by that, For it was bad enough before their spite. Thou wrong'st it more than tears by that report. That is no wrong sir, that is a truth: And what I spoke I spoke it to my face. Thy face is mine and thou hast slandered it. It may be so, for it is not mine own. Are you at leisure holy Father now: Or shall I come to you at evening Mass? My leisure serves me pensive daughter now. My Lord we must entreat the time alone. God shield I should disturb devotion, Iuliet farewell, and keep this holy kiss. Go shut the door and when thou hast done so, Come weep with me that am past cure, past help, Ah Iuliet I already know thy grief, I hear thou must and nothing may prorogue it, On Thursday next be married to the County.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 1397–1458 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 27 of 35 in this edition
Length
499 words · 626 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T15 — Friars and holy orders in plotcross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.797 (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)
Well, thou hast comforted me wondrous much, I pray thee goe thy waies vnto my mother Tell her I am gone hauing displeasde my Father. To Fryer Laurance Cell to confesse me, And to be absolu'd▪ I will, and this is wisely done. Auncient damnation, O most cursed fiend. Is it more sinne to wish me thus forsworne, Or to dispraise him with the selfe same tongue That thou hast praisde him with aboue compare So many thousand times? Goe Counsellor, Thou and my bosom henceforth shalbe twaine. Ile to the Fryer to know his remedy, If all faile els, I haue the power to dye. On Thursday say ye: the time is very short, My Father Capolet will haue it so, And I am nothing slacke to slow his hast. You say you doe not know the Ladies minde? Vneuen is the course, I like it not. Immoderately she weepes for Tybalts death, And therefore haue I little talkt of loue, For Venus smiles not in a house of teares, Now Sir, her father thinkes it daungerous: That she doth giue her sorrow so much sway. And in his wisedome hasts our mariage, To stop the inundation of her teares▪ Which too much minded by her selfe alone May be put from her by societie. Now doe ye know the reason of this hast. I would I knew not why it should be slowd. Heere comes the Lady to my cell, Welcome my loue, my Lady and my wife: That may be sir, when I may be a wife, That may be, must be loue, on thursday next. What must be shalbe. Thats a certaine text. What come ye to confession to this Fryer. To tell you that were to confesse to you. Do not deny to him that you loue me. I will confesse to you that I loue him, So I am sure you will that you loue me. And if I doe, it wilbe of more price, Being spoke behinde your backe, than to your face. Poore soule thy face is much abus'd with teares. The teares haue got small victory by that, For it was bad enough before their spite. Thou wrongst it more than teares by that report. That is no wrong sir, that is a truth: And what I spake I spake it to my face. Thy face is mine and thou hast slaundred it. It may be so, for it is not mine owne. Are you at leasure holy Father now: Or shall I come to you at euening Masse? My leasure serue me pensiue daughter now. My Lord we must entreate the time alone. God sheild I should disturbe deuotion, Iuliet farwell, and keep this holy kisse. Goe shut the doore and when thou hast done so, Come weepe with me that am past cure, past help, Ah Iuliet I already know thy griefe, I heare thou must and nothing may proroge it, On Thursday next be married to the Countie.