Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written c.1595 (Annals) comedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint · 540 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
A time me thinks too short, To make a world-without-end bargain in; No, no my Lord, your Grace is perjured much, Full of dear guiltiness, and therefore this: If for my Love (as there is no such cause) You will do aught, this shall you do for me. Your oath I will not trust: but go with speed To some forlorn and naked Hermitage, Remote from all the pleasures of the world: There stay, until the twelve Celestial Signs Have brought about their annual reckoning. If this austere insociable life, Change not your offer made in heat of blood: If frosts, and fasts, hard lodging, and thin weeds Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your Love, But that it bear this trial, and last love: Then at the expiration of the year, Come challenge me, challenge me by these deserts, And by this Virgin palm, now kissing thine, I will be thine: and till that instant shut My woeful self up in a mourning house, Raining the tears of lamentation, For the remembrance of my Father's death. If this thou do deny, let our hands part, Neither entitled in the others hart. If this, or more than this, I would deny, To flatter up these powers of mine with rest, The sudden hand of death close up mine eye. Hence ever then, my heart is in thy breast. And what to me my Love? and what to me? You must be purged too, your sins are racked. You are attaint with faults and perjury: Therefore if you my favour mean to get, A twelvemonth shall you spend, and never rest, But seek the weary beds of people sick. But what to me my love? but what to me? A wife? a beard, fair health, and honesty, With threefold love, I wish you all these three. O shall I say, I thank you gentle wife? Not so my Lord, a twelvemonth and a day, I'll mark no words that smoothfaced wooers say. Come when the King doth to my Lady come: Then if I have much love, I'll give you some. I'll serve thee true and faithfully till then. Yet swear not, lest ye be forsworn again. What says Maria? At the twelvemonth's end, I'll change my black Gown, for a faithful friend. I'll stay with patience: but the time is long. The liker you, few taller are so young. Studies my Lady? Mistress, look on me, Behold the window of my heart, mine eye: What humble suit attends thy answer there, Impose some service on me for my love. Oft have I heard of you my Lord Berowne, Before I saw you: and the world's large tongue Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks, Full of comparisons, and wounding flouts: Which you on all estates will execute, That lie within the mercy of your wit. To weed this Wormwood from your fruitful brain, And therewithal to win me, if you please, Without the which I am not to be won: You shall this twelvemonth term from day to day, Visit the speechless sick, and still converse With groaning wretches: and your task shall be, With all the fierce endeavour of your wit, To enforce the pained impotent to smile.
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)
A time me thinkes too ſhort, To make a world-without-end bargaine in; No, no my Lord, your Grace is periur'd much, Full of deare guiltineſſe, and therefore this: If for my Loue (as there is no ſuch cauſe) You will do ought, this ſhall you do for me. Your oth I will not truſt: but go with ſpeed To ſome forlorne and naked Hermitage, Remote from all the pleaſures of the world: There ſtay, vntill the twelue Celeſtiall Signes Haue brought about their annuall reckoning. If this auſtere inſociable life, Change not your offer made in heate of blood: If froſts, and faſts, hard lodging, and thin weeds Nip not the gaudie bloſſomes of your Loue, But that it beare this triall, and laſt loue: Then at the expiration of the yeare, Come challenge me, challenge me by theſe deſerts, And by this Virgin palme, now kiſſing thine, I will be thine: and till that inſtant ſhut My wofull ſelfe vp in a mourning houſe, Raining the teares of lamentation, For the remembrance of my Fathers death. If this thou do denie, let our hands part, Neither intitled in the others hart. If this, or more then this, I would denie, To flatter vp theſe powers of mine with reſt, The ſodaine hand of death cloſe vp mine eie. Hence euer then, my heart is in thy breſt. And what to me my Loue? and what to me? You muſt be purged too, your ſins are rack'd. You are attaint with faults and periurie: Therefore if you my fauor meane to get, A tweluemonth ſhall you ſpend, and neuer reſt, But ſeeke the wearie beds of people ſicke. But what to me my loue? but what to me? A wife? a beard, faire health, and honeſtie, With three-fold loue, I wiſh you all theſe three. O ſhall I ſay, I thanke you gentle wife? Not ſo my Lord, a tweluemonth and a day, Ile marke no words that ſmoothfac'd wooers ſay. Come when the King doth to my Ladie come: Then if I haue much loue, Ile giue you ſome. Ile ſerue thee true and faithfully till then. Yet ſweare not, leaſt ye be forſworne agen▪ What ſaies Maria? At the tweluemonths end, Ile change my blacke Gowne, for a faithfull friend. Ile ſtay with patience: but the time is long. The liker you, few taller are ſo yong. Studies my Ladie? Miſtreſſe, looke on me, Behold the window of my heart, mine eie: What humble ſuite attends thy anſwer there, Impoſe ſome ſeruice on me for my loue. Oft haue I heard of you my Lord Berowne, Before I ſaw you: and the worlds large tongue Proclaimes you for a man repleate with mockes, Full of compariſons, and wounding floutes: Which you on all eſtates will execute, That lie within the mercie of your wit. To weed this Wormewood from your fruitfull braine, And therewithall to win me, if you pleaſe, Without the which I am not to be won: You ſhall this tweluemonth terme from day to day, Viſite the ſpeechleſſe ſicke, and ſtill conuerſe With groaning wretches: and your taske ſhall be, With all the fierce endeuour of your wit, To enforce the pained impotent to ſmile.