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 · 503 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death, I am content, so thou wilt have it so. I'll say you grey is not the morning's eye, 'Tis but the pale reflex of Cinthia's brow. Nor that is not Lark whose notes do beat The vaulty heaven so high above our heads, I have more care to stay, then will to go: Come death and welcome, Iuliet will it so. How is't my soul, let's talk, it is not day. It is, it is, hie hence be gone away: It is the Lark that sings so out of tune, Straining harsh Discords, and unpleasing Sharpes. Some say the Lark makes sweet Division; This doth not so: for she divideth us. Some say, the Lark and loathed Toad change eyes, O now I would they had changed voices too: Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray, Hunting thee hence, with Hunts-up to the day, O now be gone, more light and it light grows. More light & light, more dark & dark our woes. Madam. Nurse. Your Lady Mother is coming to your chamber, The day is broke, be wary, look about. Then window let day in, and let life out. Farewell, farewell, one kiss and I'll descend. Art thou gone so? Love, Lord, ay Husband, Friend, I must hear from thee every day in the hour, For in a minute there are many days, O by this count I shall be much in years, Ere I again behold my Romeo. Farewell: I will omit no opportunity, That may convey my greetings Love, to thee. O thinkest thou we shall ever meet again? I doubt it not, and all these woes shall serve For sweet discourses in our time to come. O God! I have an ill Divining soul, Me thinks I see thee now, thou art so low, As one dead in the bottom of a Tomb, Either my eyesight fails, or thou look'st pale. And trust me Love, in my eye so do you: Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu. O Fortune, Fortune, all men call thee fickle, If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him That is renowned for faith? be fickle Fortune: For than I hope thou wilt not keep him long, But send him back. Ho Daughter, are you up? Who is't that calls? Is it my Lady Mother. Is she not down so late, or up so early? What unaccustomed cause procures her hither? Why how now Iuliet? Madam I am not well. Evermore weeping for your Cousins death? What wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears? And if thou couldst, thou couldst not make him live: Therefore have done, some grief shows much of Love, But much of grief, shows still some want of wit. Yet let me weep, for such a feeling loss. So shall you feel the loss, but not the Friend Which you weep for. Feeling so the loss, I cannot choose but ever weep the Friend.
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)
Let me be tane, let me be put to death, I am content, ſo thou wilt haue it ſo. Ile ſay you gray is not the mornings eye, 'Tis but the pale reflexe of Cinthias brow. Nor that is not Larke whoſe noates do beate The vaulty heauen ſo high aboue our heads, I haue more care to ſtay, then will to go: Come death and welcome, Iuliet wills it ſo. How iſt my ſoule, lets talke, it is not day. It is, it is, hie hence be gone away: It is the Larke that ſings ſo out of tune, Straining harſh Diſcords, and vnpleaſing Sharpes. Some ſay the Larke makes ſweete Diuiſion; This doth not ſo: for ſhe diuideth vs. Some ſay, the Larke and loathed Toad change eyes, O now I would they had chang'd voyces too: Since arme from arme that voyce doth vs affray, Hunting thee hence, with Huntſ-vp to the day, O now be gone, more light and it light growes. More light & light, more darke & darke our woes. Madam. Nurſe. Your Lady Mother is comming to your chamber, The day is broke, be wary, looke about. Then window let day in, and let life out. Farewell, farewell, one kiſſe and Ile deſcend. Art thou gone ſo? Loue, Lord, ay Husband, Friend, I muſt heare from thee euery day in the houre, For in a minute there are many dayes, O by this count I ſhall be much in yeares, Ere I againe behold my Romeo. Farewell: I will omit no oportunitie, That may conuey my greetings Loue, to thee. O thinkeſt thou we ſhall euer meet againe? I doubt it not, and all theſe woes ſhall ſerue For ſweet diſcourſes in our time to come. O God! I haue an ill Diuining ſoule, Me thinkes I ſee thee now, thou art ſo lowe, As one dead in the bottome of a Tombe, Either my eye-ſight failes, or thou look'ſt pale. And truſt me Loue, in my eye ſo do you: Drie ſorrow drinkes our blood. Adue, adue. O Fortune, Fortune, all men call thee fickle, If thou art fickle, what doſt thou with him That is renown'd for faith? be fickle Fortune: For then I hope thou wilt not keepe him long, But ſend him backe. Ho Daughter, are you vp? Who iſt that calls? Is it my Lady Mother. Is ſhe not downe ſo late, or vp ſo early? What vnaccuſtom'd cauſe procures her hither? Why how now Iuliet? Madam I am not well. Euermore weeping for your Cozins death? What wilt thou waſh him from his graue with teares? And if thou could'ſt, thou could'ſt not make him liue: Therefore haue done, ſome griefe ſhewes much of Loue, But much of griefe, ſhewes ſtill ſome want of wit. Yet let me weepe, for ſuch a feeling loſſe. So ſhall you feele the loſſe, but not the Friend Which you weepe for. Feeling ſo the loſſe, I cannot chuſe but euer weepe the Friend.