Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written c.1595 (Annals) comedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint typicality 0.79 · 499 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
You are too hard for me. Warble child, make passionate my sense of hearing. Concolinel. Sweet Air, go tenderness of years: take this Key, give enlargement to the swain, bring him festinatly hither: I must employ him in a letter to my Love.. Will you win your love with a French brawl? How meanest thou, brawling in French? No my complete master, but to jig off a tune at the tongues end, canary to it with the feet, humour it with turning up your eye: sigh a note and sing a note, sometime through the throat: if you swallowed love with singing, love sometime through: nose as if you snuffed up love by smelling love with your hat penthouse-like o'er the shop of your eyes, with your arms crossed on your thinbellie doublet, like a Rabbit on a spit, or your hands in your pocket, like a man after the old painting, and keep not too long in one tune, but a snip and away: these are compliments, these are humours, these betray nice wenches that would be betrayed without these, and make them men of note: do you note men that most are affected to these? How hast thou purchased this experience? By my pen of observation. But O, but O. The Hobby-horse is forgot. Callest thou my love Hobby-horse. No Master, the Hobby-horse is but a Colt, and and your Love perhaps, a Hackney: But have you forgot your Love? Almost I had. Negligent student, learn her by heart. By heart, and in heart Boy. And out of heart Master: all those three I will prove. What wilt thou prove? A man, if I live (and this) by, in, and without, upon the instant: by heart you love her, because your heart cannot come by her: in heart you love her, because your heart is in love with her: and out of heart you love her, being out of heart that you cannot enjoy her. I am all these three. And three times as much more, and yet nothing at all. Fetch hither the Swain, he must carry me a letter. A message well simpathised, a Horse to be ambassador for an Ass. Ha', ha', What sayest thou? Marry sir, you must send the Ass upon the Horse for he is very slow gated: but I go. The way is but short, away. As swift as Led sir. Thy meaning pretty ingenious, is not Led a metal heavy, dull, and slow? Minnime honest Master, or rather Master no. I say Lead is slow. You are too swift sir to say so. Is that Led slow which is fired from a Gun? Sweet smoke of Rhetoric, He reputes me a Cannon, and the Bullet that's he: I shoot thee at the Swain. Thump then, and I flee. A most acute iwenall, voluble and free of grace, By thy favour sweet Welkin, I must sigh in thy face. Most rude melancholy, Valour gives thee place. My Herald is returned.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 602–642 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 12 of 42 in this edition
Length
499 words · 656 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T4 — Love-longing and the lover's complaintcross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.792 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
Other seeds
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)
You are too hard for me. Warble childe, make paſſionate my ſenſe of hearing. Concolinel. Sweete Ayer, go tenderneſſe of yeares: take this Key, giue enlargement to the ſwaine, bring him feſtinatly hither: I muſt imploy him in a letter to my Loue. Will you win your loue with a French braule? How meaneſt thou, brauling in French? No my compleat maſter, but to Iigge off a tune at the tongues end, canarie to it with the feete, humour it with turning vp your eie: ſigh a note and ſing a note, ſometime through the throate: if you ſwallowed loue with ſinging, loue ſometime through: noſe as if you ſnuft vp loue by ſmelling loue with your hat penthouſe-like ore the ſhop of your eies, with your armes croſt on your thinbellie doublet, like a Rabbet on a ſpit, or your hands in your pocket, like a man after the old painting, and keepe not too long in one tune, but a ſnip and away: theſe are complements, theſe are humours, theſe betraie nice wenches that would be betraied without theſe, and make them men of note: do you note men that moſt are affected to theſe? How haſt thou purchaſed this experience? By my penne of obſeruation. But O, but O. The Hobbie-horſe is forgot. Cal'ſt thou my loue Hobbi-horſe. No Maſter, the Hobbie-horſe is but a Colt, and and your Loue perhaps, a Hacknie: But haue you forgot your Loue? Almoſt I had. Negligent ſtudent, learne her by heart. By heart, and in heart Boy. And out of heart Maſter: all thoſe three I will proue. What wilt thou proue? A man, if I liue (and this) by, in, and without, vpon the inſtant: by heart you loue her, becauſe your heart cannot come by her: in heart you loue her, becauſe your heart is in loue with her: and out of heart you loue her, being out of heart that you cannot enioy her. I am all theſe three. And three times as much more, and yet nothing at all. Fetch hither the Swaine, he muſt carrie mee a letter. A meſſage well ſimpathis'd, a Horſe to be embaſſadour for an Aſſe. Ha, ha, What ſaieſt thou? Marrie ſir, you muſt ſend the Aſſe vpon the Horſe for he is verie ſlow gated: but I goe. The way is but ſhort, away. As ſwift as Lead ſir. Thy meaning prettie ingenious, is not Lead a mettall heauie, dull, and ſlow? Minnime honeſt Maſter, or rather Maſter no. I ſay Lead is ſlow. You are too ſwift ſir to ſay ſo. Is that Lead ſlow which is fir'd from a Gunne? Sweete ſmoke of Rhetorike, He reputes me a Cannon, and the Bullet that's he: I ſhoote thee at the Swaine. Thump then, and I flee. A moſt acute iuuenall, voluble and free of grace, By thy fauour ſweet Welkin, I muſt ſigh in thy face. Moſt rude melancholie, Valour giues thee place. My Herald is return'd.