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 · 501 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
As much as I can do, I will effect: But you sir Thurio, are not sharp enough: You must lay Lime, to tangle her desires By walefull Sonnets, whose composed Rhymes Should be full fraught with serviceable vows. I, much is the force of heaven-bred Poesy. Say that upon the altar of her beauty You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart: Writ till your ink be dry, and with your tears Moist it again: and frame some feeling line, That may discover such integrity: For Orpheus' Lute, was strung with Poet's sinews, Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones; Make Tigers tame, and huge Leviathans Forsake unsounded deeps, to dance on Sands. After your dire-lamenting Elegies, Visit by night your Lady's chamber-window With some sweet Consort; To their Instruments Tune a deploring dump: the night's dead silence Will well become such sweet complaining grievance: This, or else nothing, will inherit her. This discipline, shows thou hast been in love. And thy advice, this night, i'll put in practice: Therefore, sweet Protheus, my direction-giver, Let us into the City presently To sort some Gentlemen, well skilled in Music. I have a Sonnet, that will serve the turn To give the onset to thy good advice. About it Gentlemen. We'll wait upon your Grace, till after Supper, And afterward determine our proceed. Even now about it, I will pardon you. Fellows, stand fast: I see a passenger. If there be ten, shrink not, but down with 'em. Stand sir, and throw us that you have about ' ye. If not: we'll make you sit, and rifle you. Sir we are undone; these are the Villains That all the travelers do fear so much. My friends. That's not so, sir: we are your enemies. Peace: we'll hear him. I by my beard will we: for he is a proper man. Then know that I have little wealth to lose; A man I am, crossed with adversity: My riches, are these poor habiliments, Of which, if you should here disfurnish me, You take the sum and substance that I have. Whether travel you? To Verona. Whence came you? From Milan. Have you long sojourned there? Some sixteen months, and longer might have stayed, If crooked fortune had not thwarted me. What, were you banished thence? I was. For what offence? For that which now torments me to rehearse; I killed a man, whose death I much repent, But yet I slew him manfully, in fight, Without false vantage, or base treachery. Why ne'er repent it, if it were done so; But were you banished for so small a fault? I was, and held me glad of such a doom. Have you the Tongues? My youthful travail, therein made me happy, Or else I often had been often miserable. By the bare scalp of Robin Hoods fat Friar, This fellow were a King, for our wild faction. We'll have him: Sirs, a word. Master, be one of them: It's an honourable kind of thievery.
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)
As much as I can doe, I will effect: But you ſir Thurio, are not ſharpe enough: You muſt lay Lime, to tangle her deſires By walefull Sonnets, whoſe compoſed Rimes Should be full fraught with ſeruiceable vowes. I, much is the force of heauen-bred Poeſie. Say that vpon the altar of her beauty You ſacrifice your teares, your ſighes, your heart: Write till your inke be dry▪ and with your teares Moiſt it againe: and frame ſome feeling line, That may diſcouer ſuch integrity: For Orpheus Lute, was ſtrung with Poets ſinewes, Whoſe golden touch could ſoften ſteele and ſtones; Make Tygers tame, and huge Leuiathans Forſake vnſounded deepes, to dance on Sands. After your dire-lamenting Elegies, Viſit by night your Ladies chamber-window With ſome ſweet Conſort; To their Inſtruments Tune a deploring dumpe: the nights dead ſilence Will well become ſuch ſweet complaining grieuance: This, or elſe nothing, will inherit her. This diſcipline, ſhowes thou haſt bin in loue. And thy aduice, this night, ile put in practiſe: Therefore, ſweet Protheus, my direction-giuer, Let vs into the City preſently To ſort ſome Gentlemen, well skil'd in Muſicke. I haue a Sonnet, that will ſerue the turne To giue the on-ſet to thy good aduiſe. About it Gentlemen. We'll wait vpon your Grace, till after Supper, And afterward determine our proceedings. Euen now about it, I will pardon you. Fellowes, ſtand faſt: I ſee a paſſenger. If there be ten, ſhrinke not, but down with 'em. Stand ſir, and throw vs that you haue about 'ye. If not: we'll make you ſit, and rifle you. Sir we are vndone; theſe are the Villaines That all the Trauailers doe feare ſo much. My friends. That's not ſo, ſir: we are your enemies. Peace: we'll heare him. I by my beard will we: for he is a proper man. Then know that I haue little wealth to looſe; A man I am, croſs'd with aduerſitie: My riches, are theſe poore habiliments, Of which, if you ſhould here disfurniſh me, You take the ſum and ſubſtance that I haue. Whether trauell you? To Verona. Whence came you? From Millaine. Haue you long ſoiourn'd there? Some ſixteene moneths, and longer might haue ſtaid, If crooked fortune had not thwarted me. What, were you baniſh'd thence? I was. For what offence? For that which now torments me to rehearſe; I kil'd a man, whoſe death I much repent, But yet I ſlew him manfully, in fight, Without falſe vantage, or baſe treachery. Why nere repent it, if it were done ſo; But were you baniſht for ſo ſmall a fault? I was, and held me glad of ſuch a doome. Haue you the Tongues? My youthfull trauaile, therein made me happy, Or elſe I often had beene often miſerable. By the bare ſcalpe of Robin Hoods fat Fryer, This fellow were a King, for our wilde faction. We'll haue him: Sirs, a word. Maſter, be one of them: It's an honourable kinde of theeuery.