Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1596 [1594-1596] (Annals) tragedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint typicality 0.81 · 509 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
If Love be blind, Love cannot hit the mark, Now will he sit under a Medler tree, And wish his Mistress were that kind of Fruit, As Maids call Meddlers when they laugh alone, O Romeo that she were, O that she were An open, or thou a Poprin Pear, Romeo good-night, I'll to my Truckle bed, This Field-bed is to cold for me to sleep, Come shall we go? Go then, for 'tis in vain to seek him here That means not to be found. He jests at Scars that never felt a wound, But soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the East, and Iuliet is the Sun, Arise fair Sun and kill the envious Moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou her Maid art far more fair than she: Be not her Maid since she is envious, Her Vestal livery is but sick and green, And none but fools do wear it, cast it off: It is my Lady, O it is my Love, O that she knew she were, She speaks, yet she says nothing, what of that? Her eye discourses, I will answer it: I am too bold 'tis not to me she speaks: Two of the fairest stars in all the Heaven, Having some business do entreat her eyes, To twinkle in their Spheres till they return. What if her eyes were there, they in her head, The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars, As daylight doth a Lamp, her eye in heaven, Would through the airy Region stream so bright, That Birds would sing, and think it were not night: See how she leans her cheek upon her hand. O that I were a Glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek. Ay me. She speaks. Oh speak again bright Angel, for thou art As glorious to this night being o'er my head, As is a winged messenger of heaven Unto the white upturned wondering eyes Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him, When he bestrides the lazy puffing Clouds, And sails upon the bosom of the air. O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy Father and refuse thy name: Or if thou wilt not, be but sworn my Love, And I'll no longer be a Capulet. Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this? 'Tis but thy name that is my Enemy: Thou art thyself, though not a Montague, What's Montague? it is nor hand nor foot, Nor arm, nor face, O be some other name Belonging to a man. What? in a names that which we call a Rose, By any other word would smell as sweet, So Romeo would, were he not Romeo called, Retain that dear perfection which he owes, Without that title Romeo, doff thy name, And for thy name which is no part of thee, Take all myself. I take thee at thy word: Call me but Love, and I'll be new baptized, Hence forth I never will be Romeo.
seed 43: T2 · seed 44: T3 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
If Loue be blind, Loue cannot hit the marke, Now will he ſit vnder a Medler tree, And wiſh his Miſtreſſe were that kind of Fruite, As Maides call Medlers when they laugh alone, O Romeo that ſhe were, O that ſhe were An open, or thou a Poprin Peare, Romeo goodnight, Ile to my Truckle bed, This Field-bed is to cold for me to ſleepe, Come ſhall we go? Go then, for 'tis in vaine to ſeeke him here That meanes not to be found. He ieaſts at Scarres that neuer felt a wound, But ſoft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the Eaſt, and Iuliet is the Sunne, Ariſe faire Sun and kill the enuious Moone, Who is already ſicke and pale with griefe, That thou her Maid art far more faire then ſhe: Be not her Maid ſince ſhe is enuious, Her Veſtal liuery is but ſicke and greene, And none but fooles do weare it, caſt it off: It is my Lady, O it is my Loue, O that ſhe knew ſhe were, She ſpeakes, yet ſhe ſayes nothing, what of that? Her eye diſcourſes, I will anſwere it: I am too bold 'tis not to me ſhe ſpeakes: Two of the faireſt ſtarres in all the Heauen, Hauing ſome buſineſſe do entreat her eyes, To twinckle in their Spheres till they returne. What if her eyes were there, they in her head, The brightneſſe of her cheeke would ſhame thoſe ſtarres, As day-light doth a Lampe, her eye in heauen, Would through the ayrie Region ſtreame ſo bright, That Birds would ſing, and thinke it were not night: See how ſhe leanes her cheeke vpon her hand. O that I were a Gloue vpon that hand, That I might touch that cheeke. Ay me. She ſpeakes. Oh ſpeake againe bright Angell, for thou art As glorious to this night being ore my head, As is a winged meſſenger of heauen Vnto the white vpturned wondring eyes Of mortalls that fall backe to gaze on him, When he beſtrides the lazie puffing Cloudes, And ſailes vpon the boſome of the ayre. O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo? Denie thy Father and refuſe thy name: Or if thou wilt not, be but ſworne my Loue, And Ile no longer be a Capulet. Shall I heare more, or ſhall I ſpeake at this? 'Tis but thy name that is my Enemy: Thou art thy ſelfe, though not a Mountague, What's Mountague? it is nor hand nor foote, Nor arme, nor face, O be ſome other name Belonging to a man. What? in a names that which we call a Roſe, By any other word would ſmell as ſweete, So Romeo would, were he not Romeo cal'd, Retaine that deare perfection which he owes, Without that title Romeo, doffe thy name, And for thy name which is no part of thee, Take all my ſelfe. I take thee at thy word: Call me but Loue, and Ile be new baptiz'd, Hence foorth I neuer will be Romeo.