Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1593 [c.1593-1594] (Annals) comedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men (?) unassigned nearest T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint · 484 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
CEase to persuade, my loving Protheus; Home-keeping youth; have ever homely wits, Were't not affection chains thy tender days To the sweet glances of thy honoured Love, I rather would entreat thy company, To see the wonders of the world abroad, Then (living dully sluggardized at home) Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness. But since thou lov'st; love still, and thrive therein, Even as I would, when I to love begin. Wilt thou be gone? Sweet Valentine ad ewe, Think on thy Protheus, when thou (haply) seest Some rare noteworthy object in thy travail. With me partaker in thy happiness, When thou dost meet good hap; and in thy danger, (If ever danger do environ thee) Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers, For I will be thy beadsman, Valentine. And on a love-booke pray for my success? Upon some book I love, I'll pray for thee. That's on some shallow Story of deep love, How young Leander crossed the Hellespont. That's a deep Story, of a deeper love, For he was more than ouer-shooes in love. 'Tis true; for you are ouer-bootes in love, And yet you never swom the Hellespont. Over the Boots? nay give me not the Boots. No, I will not; for it boots thee not. What? To be in love; where scorn is bought with groans: Coy looks, with hart-sore sighs: one fading moment's mirth, With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights; If haply won, perhaps a hapless gain; If lost, why then a grievous labour won; How ever: but a folly bought with wit, Or else a wit, by folly vanquished. So, by your circumstance, you call me fool. So, by your circumstance, I fear you'll prove. 'Tis Love you cavil at, I am not Love.. Love is your master, for he masters you; And he that is so yoked by a fool, Me thinks should not be chronicled for wise. Yet Writers say; as in the sweetest Bud, The eating Canker dwells; so eating Love Inhabits in the finest wits of all. And Writers say; as the most forward Bud Is eaten by the Canker ere it blow, Even so by Love, the young, and tender wit Is turned to folly, blasting in the Bud, Losing his verdure, even in the prime, And all the fair effects of future hopes. But wherefore waste I time to counsel thee That art a votary to fond desire? Once more adieu: my Father at the Road Expects my coming, there to see me shipped. And thither will I bring thee Valentine. Sweet Protheus, no: Now let us take our leave: To Milan let me hear from thee by Letters Of thy success in love; and what news else Betideth here in absence of thy Friend: And I likewise will visit thee with mine. All happiness be chance to thee in Milan. As much to you at home: and so farewell.
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)
CEaſe to perſwade▪ my louing Protheus; Home-keeping youth; haue euer homely wits, Wer't not affection chaines thy tender dayes To the ſweet glaunces of thy honour'd Loue, I rather would entreat thy company, To ſee the wonders of the world abroad, Then (liuing dully ſluggardiz'd at home) Weare out thy youth with ſhapeleſſe idleneſſe. But ſince thou lou'ſt; loue ſtill, and thriue therein, Euen as I would, when I to loue begin. Wilt thou be gone? Sweet Valentine ad ew, Thinke on thy Protheus, when thou (hap'ly) ſeeſt Some rare note-worthy obiect in thy trauaile. With me partaker in thy happineſſe, When thou do'ſt meet good hap; and in thy danger, (If euer danger doe enuiron thee) Commend thy grieuance to my holy prayers, For I will be thy beadeſ-man, Valentine. And on a loue-booke pray for my ſucceſſe? Vpon ſome booke I loue, I'le pray for thee. That's on ſome ſhallow Storie of deepe loue, How yong Leander croſt the Helleſpont. That's a deepe Storie, of a deeper loue, For he was more then ouer-ſhooes in loue. 'Tis true; for you are ouer-bootes in loue, And yet you neuer ſwom the Helleſpont. Ouer the Bootes? nay giue me not the Boots. No, I will not; for it boots thee not. What? To be in loue; where ſcorne is bought with grones: Coy looks, with hart-ſore ſighes: one fading moments mirth, With twenty watchfull, weary, tedious nights; If hap'ly won, perhaps a hapleſſe gaine; If loſt, why then a grieuous labour won; How euer: but a folly bought with wit, Or elſe a wit, by folly vanquiſhed. So, by your circumſtance, you call me foole. So, by your circumſtance, I feare you'll proue. 'Tis Loue you cauill at, I am not Loue. Loue is your maſter, for he maſters you; And he that is ſo yoked by a foole, Me thinkes ſhould not be chronicled for wiſe. Yet Writers ſay; as in the ſweeteſt Bud, The eating Canker dwels; ſo eating Loue Inhabits in the fineſt wits of all. And Writers ſay; as the moſt forward Bud Is eaten by the Canker ere it blow, Euen ſo by Loue, the yong, and tender wit Is turn'd to folly, blaſting in the Bud, Looſing his verdure, euen in the prime, And all the faire effects of future hopes. But wherefore waſte I time to counſaile thee That art a votary to fond deſire? Once more adieu: my Father at the Road Expects my comming, there to ſee me ſhip'd. And thither will I bring thee Valentine. Sweet Protheus, no: Now let vs take our leaue: To Millaine let me heare from thee by Letters Of thy ſucceſſe in loue; and what newes elſe Betideth here in abſence of thy Friend: And I likewiſe will viſite thee with mine. All happineſſe be chance to thee in Millaine. As much to you at home: and ſo farewell.