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 · 476 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
Now (by my modesty) a goodly Broker: Dare you presume to harbour wanton lines? To whisper, and conspire against my youth? Now trust me, 'tis an office of great worth, And you an officer fit for the place: There: take the paper: see it be returned, Or else return no more into my sight. To plead for love, deserves more fee, than hate. Will ye be gone? That you may ruminate. And yet I would I had o'erlooked the Letter; It were a shame to call her back again, And pray her to a fault, for which I chid her. What ' fool is she, that knowes I am a Maid. And would not force the letter to my view? Since Maids, in modesty, say no, to that, Which they would have the profferer construe, I. Fie, fie: how wayward is this foolish love; That (like a testy Babe) will scratch the Nurse, And presently, all humbled kiss the Rod? How churlishly, I chid Lucetta hence, When willingly, I would have had her here? How angrily I taught my brow to frown, When inward joy enforced my heart to smile? My penance is, to call Lucetta back And ask remission, for my folly past. What ho: Lucetta. What would your Ladyship? Is't near dinner time? I would it were, That you might kill your stomach on your meat, And not upon your Maid. What is't that you took up so gingerly? Nothing. Why didst thou stoop then? To take a paper up, that I let fall. And is that paper nothing? Nothing concerning me. Then let it lie, for those that it concerns. Madam, it will not lie where it concerns, Unless it have a false Interpreter. Some love of yours, hath writ to you in Rhyme. That I might sing it (Madam) to a tune: Give me a Note, your Ladyship can set As little by such toys, as may be possible: Best sing it to the tune of Light O, Love.. It is too heavy for so light a tune. Heavy? belike it hath some burden then? I: and melodious were it, would you sing it, And why not you? I cannot reach so high. Let's see your Song: How now Minion? Keep tune there still; so you will sing it out: And yet me thinks I do not like this tune. You do not? No (Madam) 'tis too sharp. You (Minion) are too saucy. Nay, now you are too flat; And mar the concord, with too harsh a descant: There wanteth but a Mean to fill your Song. The mean is drowned with you unruly base. Indeed I bid the base for Protheus. This babble shall not henceforth trouble me; Here is a coil with protestation: Go, get you gone: and let the papers lie: You would be fingering them, to anger me.
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)
Now (by my modeſty) a goodly Broker: Dare you preſume to harbour wanton lines? To whiſper, and conſpire againſt my youth? Now truſt me, 'tis an office of great worth, And you an officer fit for the place: There: take the paper: ſee it be return'd, Or elſe returne no more into my ſight. To plead for loue, deſerues more fee, then hate. Will ye be gon? That you may ruminate. And yet I would I had ore-look'd the Letter; It were a ſhame to call her backe againe, And pray her to a fault, for which I chid her. What 'foole is ſhe, that knowe I am a Maid. And would not force the letter to my view? Since Maides, in modeſty, ſay no, to that, Which they would haue the profferer conſtrue, I. Fie, fie: how way-ward is this fooliſh loue; That (like a teſtie Babe) will ſcratch the Nurſe, And preſently, all humbled kiſſe the Rod? How churliſhly, I chid Lucetta hence, When willingly, I would haue had her here? How angerly I taught my brow to frowne, When inward ioy enforc'd my heart to ſmile? My pennance is, to call Lucetta backe And aske remiſſion, for my folly paſt. What hoe: Lucetta. What would your Ladiſhip? Is't neere dinner time? I would it were, That you might kill your ſtomacke on your meat, And not vpon your Maid. What is't that you Tooke vp ſo gingerly? Nothing. Why didſt thou ſtoope then? To take a paper vp, that I let fall. And is that paper nothing? Nothing concerning me. Then let it lye, for thoſe that it concernes. Madam, it will not lye where it concernes, Vnleſſe it haue a falſe Interpreter. Some loue of yours, hath writ to you in Rime. That I might ſing it (Madam) to a tune: Giue me a Note, your Ladiſhip can ſet As little by ſuch toyes, as may be poſſible: Beſt ſing it to the tune of Light O, Loue. It is too heauy for ſo light a tune. Heauy? belike it hath ſome burden then? I: and melodious were it, would you ſing it, And why not you? I cannot reach ſo high. Let's ſee your Song: How now Minion? Keepe tune there ſtill; ſo you will ſing it out: And yet me thinkes I do not like this tune. You doe not? No (Madam) tis too ſharpe. You (Minion) are too ſaucie. Nay, now you are too flat; And marre the concord, with too harſh a deſcant: There wanteth but a Meane to fill your Song. The meane is dround with you vnruly baſe. Indeede I bid the baſe for Protheus. This babble ſhall not henceforth trouble me; Here is a coile with proteſtation: Goe, get you gone: and let the papers lye: You would be fingring them, to anger me.