Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1592 [c.1590-1593] (Annals) comedy · Pembroke's Men (?) unassigned nearest T49 Wooing a mistress: suitors, go-betweens · 492 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T49: mistress, gentleman, love, lady, woman, pray, gentlewoman, hear, honest, way.
Sweet Mistress, what your name is else I know not; Nor by what wonder you do hit of mine: Less in your knowledge, and your grace you show not, Then our earth's wonder, more than earth divine. Teach me dear creature how to think and speak: Lay open to my earthy gross conceit: Smothered in errors, feeble, shallow, weak, The folded meaning of your words deceit: Against my souls pure truth, why labour you, To make it wander in an unknown field? Are you a god? would you create me new? Transform me then, and to your power I'll yield. But if that I am I, then well I know, Your weeping sister is no wife of mine, Nor to her bed no homage do I owe: far more, far more, to you do I decline: Oh train me not sweet Mermaid with thy note, To drown me in thy sister flood of tears: Sing Siren for thyself, and I will dote: Spread over the silver waves thy golden hairs; And as a bud I'll take thee, and there lie: And in that glorious supposition think, He gains by death, that hath such means to die: Let Love, being light, be drowned if she sink. What are you mad, that you do reason so? Not mad, but mated, how I do not know. It is a fault that springeth from your eye. For gazing on your beams fair sun being by. Gaze when you should, and that will clear your sight. As good to wink sweet love, as look on night. Why call you me love? Call my sister so. Thy sister's sister. That's my sister. No: it is thyself, mine own selves better part: Mine eyes clear eye, my dear hearts dearer heart; My food, my fortune, and my sweet hopes aim; My sole earth's heaven, and my heaven's claim. All this my sister is, or else should be. Call thyself sister sweet, for I am thee: Thee will I love, and with thee lead my life; Thou hast no husband yet, nor I no wife: Give me thy hand. Oh soft sir, hold you still: I'll fetch my sister to get her good will. Why how now Dromio, where runnest thou so fast? Do you know me sir? Am I Dromio? Am I your man? Am I myself? Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, thou art thyself. I am an ass, I am a woman's man, and besides myself. What woman's man? and how besides thyself? Marry sir, besides myself, I am due to a woman: One that claims me, one that haunts me, one that will have me. What claim lays she to thee? Marry sir, such claim as you would lay to your horse, and she would have me as a beast, not that I being a beast she would have me, but that she being a very beastly creature lays claim to me. What is she?
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)
Sweete Miſtris, what your name is elſe I know not; Nor by what wonder you do hit of mine: Leſſe in your knowledge, and your grace you ſhow not, Then our earths wonder, more then earth diuine. Teach me deere creature how to thinke and ſpeake: Lay open to my earthie groſſe conceit: Smothred in errors, feeble, ſhallow, weake, The foulded meaning of your words deceit: Againſt my ſoules pure truth, why labour you, To make it wander in an vnknowne field? Are you a god? would you create me new? Transforme me then, and to your powre Ile yeeld. But if that I am I, then well I know, Your weeping ſiſter is no wife of mine, Nor to her bed no homage doe I owe: Farre more, farre more, to you doe I decline: Oh traine me not ſweet Mermaide with thy note, To drowne me in thy ſiſter floud of teares: Sing Siren for thy ſelfe, and I will dote: Spread ore the ſiluer waues thy golden haires; And as a bud Ile take thee, and there lie: And in that glorious ſuppoſition thinke, He gaines by death, that hath ſuch meanes to die: Let Loue, being light, be drowned if ſhe ſinke. What are you mad, that you doe reaſon ſo? Not mad, but mated, how I doe not know. It is a fault that ſpringeth from your eie. For gazing on your beames faire ſun being by. Gaze when you ſhould, and that will cleere your ſight. As good to winke ſweet loue, as looke on night. Why call you me loue? Call my ſiſter ſo. Thy ſiſters ſiſter. That's my ſiſter. No: it is thy ſelfe, mine owne ſelfes better part: Mine eies cleere eie, my deere hearts deerer heart; My foode, my fortune, and my ſweet hopes aime; My ſole earths heauen, and my heauens claime. All this my ſiſter is, or elſe ſhould be. Call thy ſelfe ſiſter ſweet, for I am thee: Thee will I loue, and with thee lead my life; Thou haſt no husband yet, nor I no wife: Giue me thy hand. Oh ſoft ſir, hold you ſtill: Ile fetch my ſiſter to get her good will. Why how now Dromio, where run'ſt thou ſo faſt? Doe you know me ſir? Am I Dromio? Am I your man? Am I my ſelfe? Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, thou art thy ſelfe. I am an aſſe, I am a womans man, and beſides my ſelfe. What womans man? and how beſides thy ſelfe? Marrie ſir, beſides my ſelfe, I am due to a woman: One that claimes me, one that haunts me, one that will haue me. What claime laies ſhe to thee? Marry ſir, ſuch claime as you would lay to your horſe, and ſhe would haue me as a beaſt, not that I beeing a beaſt ſhe would haue me, but that ſhe being a verie beaſtly creature layes claime to me. What is ſhe?