Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1596 [1594-1596] (Annals) tragedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint · 506 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget, Forgetting any other home but this. 'Tis almost morning, I would have thee gone, And yet no further than a wantoness Bird, That let's it hop a little from his hand, Like a poor prisoner in his twisted Gyves, And with a silken thread plucks it back again, So loving jealous of his liberty. I would I were thy Bird. Sweet so would I, Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing: Good night, good night. Parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say goodnight, till it be morrow. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast. Would I were sleep and peace so sweet to rest, The grey eyed morn smiles on the frowning night, Checkring the Eastern Clouds with streaks of light, And darkness fleckeled like a drunkard reels, From forth day's pathway, made by Titan's wheels. Hence will I to my ghostly Fries close Cell, His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell. The grey eyed morn smiles on the frowning night, Checkring the Eastern Clouds with streaks of light. And fleckled darkness like a drunkard reels, From forth day's path, and Titan's burning wheels: Now ere the Sun advance his burning eye, The day to cheer, and nights dank dew to dry, I must upfill this Osier Cage of ours, With baleful weeds, and precious juiced flowers, The earth that's Nature's mother, is her Tomb, What is her burying grave that is her womb: And from her womb children of diverse kind We sucking on her natural bosom find: Many for many virtues excellent: None but for some, and yet all different. O mickle is the powerful grace that lies In Plants, Herbs, stones, and their true qualities: For nought so vile, that on the earth doth live, But to the earth some special good doth give. Nor ought so good, but strained from that fair use, Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse. Virtue itself turns vice being misapplied, And vice sometime by action dignified. Within the infant rined of this weak flower, Poison hath residence, and medicine power: For this being smelled, with that part cheers each part, Being tasted slays all senses with the heart. Two such opposed Kings encamp them still, In man as well as Herbs, grace and rude will: And where the worse is predominant, Full soon the Canker death eats up that Plant. Good morrow Father. Benedecite. What early tongue so sweet saluteth me? Young Son, it argues a distempered head, So soon to bid good-morrow to thy bed; Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye, And where Care lodges, sleep will never lie: But where unbrused youth with unstuft brain Doth couch his limbs, there, golden sleep doth reign; Therefore thy earliness doth me assure, Thou art vproused with some diftemprature; Or if not so, then here I hit it right. Our Romeo hath not been in bed to night. That last is true, the sweeter rest was mine.
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 Ile ſtill ſtay, to haue thee ſtill forget, Forgetting any other home but this. 'Tis almoſt morning, I would haue thee gone, And yet no further then a wantons Bird, That let's it hop a little from his hand, Like a poore priſoner in his twiſted Gyues, And with a ſilken thred plucks it backe againe, So louing Iealous of his liberty. I would I were thy Bird. Sweet ſo would I, Yet I ſhould kill thee with much cheriſhing: Good night, good night. Parting is ſuch ſweete ſorrow, That I ſhall ſay goodnight, till it be morrow. Sleepe dwell vpon thine eyes, peace in thy breſt. Would I were ſleepe and peace ſo ſweet to reſt, The gray ey'd morne ſmiles on the frowning night, Checkring the Eaſterne Clouds with ſtreakes of light, And darkneſſe fleckel'd like a drunkard reeles, From forth dayes pathway, made by Titans wheeles. Hence will I to my ghoſtly Fries cloſe Cell, His helpe to craue, and my deare hap to tell. The gray ey'd morne ſmiles on the frowning night, Checkring the Eaſterne Cloudes with ſtreaks of light. And fleckled darkneſſe like a drunkard reeles, From forth daies path, and Titans burning wheeles: Now ere the Sun aduance his burning eye, The day to cheere, and nights danke dew to dry, I muſt vpfill this Oſier Cage of ours, With balefull weedes, and precious Iuiced flowers, The earth that's Natures mother, is her Tombe, What is her burying graue that is her wombe: And from her wombe children of diuers kind We ſucking on her naturall boſome find: Many for many vertues excellent: None but for ſome, and yet all different. Omickle is the powerfull grace that lies In Plants, Hearbs, ſtones, and their true qualities: For nought ſo vile, that on the earth doth liue, But to the earth ſome ſpeciall good doth giue. Nor ought ſo good, but ſtrain'd from that faire vſe, Reuolts from true birth, ſtumbling on abuſe. Vertue it ſelfe turnes vice being miſapplied, And vice ſometime by action dignified. Within the infant rin'd of this weake flower, Poyſon hath reſidence, and medicine power: For this being ſmelt, with that part cheares each part, Being taſted ſlayes all ſences with the heart. Two ſuch oppoſed Kings encampe them ſtill, In man as well as Hearbes, grace and rude will: And where the worſer is predominant, Full ſoone the Canker death eates vp that Plant. Good morrow Father. Benedecite. What early tongue ſo ſweet ſaluteth me? Young Sonne, it argues a diſtempered head, So ſoone to bid goodmorrow to thy bed; Care keepes his watch in euery old mans eye, And where Care lodges, ſleepe will neuer lye: But where vnbruſed youh with vnſtuft braine Doth couch his lims, there, golden ſleepe doth raigne; Therefore thy earlineſſe doth me aſſure, Thou art vprous'd with ſome diftemprature; Or if not ſo, then here I hit it right. Our Romeo hath not beene in bed to night. That laſt is true, the ſweeter reſt was mine.