Shakespeare, William · published 1609 · first performed or written 1602 [1602-1603] (Annals) tragedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men · Globe T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint typicality 0.75 · 505 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.
Love, love, nothing but love, still love still more For o loves bow. Shoots Buck and do. The shafts confound not that it wounds But ticles still the sore: These lovers cry, oh ho they die, Yet that which seems the wound to kill, Doth turn oh ho, to ha ha he, So dying love lives still, O ho a while, but ha ha ha, O ho groans out for ha ha ha— hay ho, In love i'faith to the very tip of the nose. He eats nothing but doves love, and that breeds hot blood, and hot blood begets hot thoughts, and hot thoughts beget hot deeds, and hot deeds is love. Is this the generation of love: hot blood hot thoughts and hot deeds, why they are vipers, is love a generation of vipers: Sweet Lord whose afield to day? Hector, Deiphobus, Helenus', Anthenor, and all the gallantry of Troy. I would fain have armed to day, but my Nell would not have it so. How chance my brother Troilus went not? He hangs the lip at something, you know all Lord Pandarus. Not I honey-sweet Queen, I long to hear how they sped to day: You'll remember your brother's excuse? To a hair. Farewell sweet Queen. Commend me to your niece. I will sweet Queen. Their come from the field: let vs to Priam's Hall To greet the warriors. Sweet Hellen I must woe you, To help unarm our Hector: his stubborn buckles With this your white enchanting fingers touched; Shall more obey then to the edge of steel, Or force of Greekish sinews: you shall do more Than all the island Kings, disarm great Hector. 'twil make us proud to be his servant Paris ?! Yea what he shall receive of us in duty, Gives us more palm in beauty than we have. Yea over shines ourself. Sweet above thought I love her? How now where's thy master, at my Cousin Cressida's? No sir stays for you to conduct him thither. O here he comestcomes: how now, how now? Sirrah walk off. Have you seen my Cousin? No Pandarus, I stalk about her door Like to a strange soul upon the Stygian banks Staying for wastage. O be thou my Charon. And give me swift transportance to these fields, Where I may wallow in the lily bed's proposed for the deserver. O gentle Pander, From Cupids shoulder pluck his painted wings, And fly with me to Cressid. Walk here ith'Orchard, Ile bring her strait. I am giddy; expectation whirls me round, Th'imaginary relish is so sweet, That it enchants my sense: what will it be When that the watery palates taste indeed loves thrice reputed Nectar? Death I fear me Sounding destruction, or some joy to fine, too subtle, potent, tuned to sharp in sweetness For the capacity of my ruder powers; I fear it much, and I do fear besides That I shall lose distinction in my joys As doth a battle, when they charge on heaps The enemy flying.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 1199–1259 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 23 of 50 in this edition
Length
505 words · 687 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T4 — Love-longing and the lover's complaintcross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.752 (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)
Loue, loue, nothing but loue, still loue still more For o loues bow. Shoots Bucke and Doe. The shafts confound not that it wounds But ticles still the sore: These louers cry, o ho they dye, Yet that which seemes the wound to kill, Doth turne oh ho, to ha ha he, So dying loue liues still, O ho a while, but ha ha ha, O ho grones out for ha ha ha—hey ho, In loue I faith to the very tip of the nose. He eates nothing but doues loue, and that breeds hot blood, and hot bloud begets hot thoughts, and hot thoughts beget hot deedes, and hot deeds is loue. Is this the generation of loue: hot bloud hot thoughts and hot deedes, why they are vipers, is loue a generation of vipers: Sweete Lord whose a field to day? Hector, Deiphobus, Helenus, Athenor, and all the gallantry of Troy. I would faine haue arm'd to day, but my Nell would not haue it so. How chance my brother Troylus went not? He hangs the lippe at something, you know al Lord Pandarus. Not I hony sweete Queene, I long to heare how they sped to day: Youle remember your brothers excuse? To a hayre. Farewell sweete Queene. Commend me to your neece. I will weet Queene. Their come from the field: let v to Priames Hall To greete the warriers. Sweet Helen I must woe you, To helpe v-arme our Hector: his stubborne bucle With this your white enchaunting fingers toucht; Sha more obey then to the edge of steele▪ Or force of Greekish sinewes: you shall do more Then all the Hand Kinges, disarme great Hector▪ Twil make vs proud to be his seruant Paris Yea what he shall receiue of vs in duty, Giues vs more palme in beauty then we haue. Yea ouer shines our selfe. Sweet above thought I loue her? How now wher's thy maister, at my Cousin Cressdas? No sir stayes for you to conduct him thether. O heere he comes how now, how now? Sirra walke off. Haue you seene my Cousine? No Pandarus, I stalke about her dor Like to a strange soule vpon the Stigian banke Staying for waftage. O be thou my Charn. And giue me swift transportance to these fieldes, VVhere I may wallow in the lilly beds Proposd for the deseruer. O gentle Pandar, From Cupis shoulder plucke his pained wings, And flye with me to Cresid. VValke heere ith'Orchard, le bring her straight▪ I am giddy; expectation whirles me round, Th'ymaginary relish is so sweee, That it inchaunts my sence: what will it be When that the wary pallats aste indeed Loues thrice repured Nectar? Death I feare me Sounding distruction, or some ioy to fyne, To subtill, potent, tun'd to sharp in sweetnesse For the capacity of my ruder powers; I feae it much, and I do feare beside That I shall loose distinction in my ioyes As doth a battaile, when they charge on heapes The enemy flying.