Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1599 [1598-1599] (Annals) comedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint · 486 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God mend me, and by all pretty oaths that are not dangerous, if you break one jot of your, promise, or come one minute behind your hour, I will think you the most pathetical breake-promise, and the most hollow lover, and the most unworthy of her you call Rosalinde, that may be chosen out of the gross band of the unfaithful: therefore beware my censure, and keep your promise. With no less religion, then if thou wert indeed my Rosalind: so adieu. Well, Time is the old justice that examines all such offenders, and let time try: adieu. You have simply misused our sex in your loue-prate: we must have your doublet and hose plucked over your head, and show the world what the bird hath done to her own nest. O coz, coz, coz: my pretty little coz, that thou didst know how many fathom deep I am in love: but it cannot be sounded: my affection hath an unknown bottom, like the Bay of Portugal. Or rather bottomless, that as fast as you pour affection in, in runs out. No, that same wicked Bastard of Venus, that was begot of thought, conceived of spleen, and borne of madness, that blind rascally boy, that abuses every one's eyes, because his own are out, let him be judge, how deep I am in love: i'll tell thee Aliena, I cannot be out of the sight of Orlando: I'll go find a shadow, and sigh till he come. And I'll sleep. Which is he that killed the Dear? Sir, it was I. Let's present him to the Duke like a Roman Conqueror, and it would do well to set the deer's horns upon his head, for a branch of victory; have you no song Forester for this purpose? Yes Sir. Sing it: 'tis no matter how it be in tune, so it make noise enough. What shall he have that killed the Dear? His Leather skin, and bornes to wear: Then sing him home, the rest shall bear this burden; Take thou no scorn to wear the horn, It was a crest ere thou wast borne, Thy father's father wore it, And thy father bore it, The horn, the horn, the lusty horn, Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. How say you now, is it not past two a clock? And here much Orlando. I warrant you, with pure love, & troubled brain, He hath taken his bow and arrows, and is gone forth To sleep: look who comes here. My errand is to you, fair youth, My gentle Phebe, did bid me give you this: I know not the contents, but as I guess By the stern brow, and waspish action Which she did use, as she was writing of it, It bears an angry tenure; pardon me, I am but as a guiltless messenger.
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)
By my troth, and in good earneſt, and ſo God mend mee, and by all pretty oathes that are not dangerous, if you breake one iot of your, promiſe, or come one minute behinde your houre, I will thinke you the moſt patheticall breake-promiſe, and the moſt hollow louer, and the moſt vnworthy of her you call Roſalinde, that may bee choſen out of the groſſe band of the vnfaithfull: therefore beware my cenſure, and keep your promiſe. With no leſſe religion, then if thou wert indeed my Roſalind: ſo adieu. Well, Time is the olde Iuſtice that examines all ſuch offenders, and let time try: adieu. You haue ſimply miſus'd our ſexe in your loue-prate: we muſt haue your doublet and hoſe pluckt ouer your head, and ſhew the world what the bird hath done to her owne neaſt. O coz, coz, coz: my pretty little coz, that thou didſt know how many fathome deepe I am in loue: but it cannot bee ſounded: my affection hath an vnknowne bottome, like the Bay of Portugall. Or rather bottomleſſe, that as faſt as you poure affection in, in runs out. No, that ſame wicked Baſtard of Venus, that was begot of thought, conceiu'd of ſpleene, and borne of madneſſe, that blinde raſcally boy, that abuſes euery ones eyes, becauſe his owne are out, let him bee iudge, how deepe I am in loue: ile tell thee Aliena, I cannot be out of the ſight of Orlando: Ile goe finde a ſhadow, and ſigh till he come. And Ile ſleepe. Which is he that killed the Deare? Sir, it was I. Let's preſent him to the Duke like a Romane Conquerour, and it would doe well to ſet the Deares horns vpon his head, for a branch of victory; haue you no ſong Forreſter for this purpoſe? Yes Sir. Sing it: 'tis no matter how it bee in tune, ſo it make noyſe enough. What ſhall he haue that kild the Deare? His Leather skin, and bornes to weare: Then ſing him home, the reſt ſhall beare this burthen; Take thou no ſcorne to weare the horne, It was a creſt ere thou waſt borne, Thy fathers father wore it, And thy father bore it, The horne, the horne, the luſty horne, Is not a thing to laugh to ſcorne. How ſay you now, is it not paſt two a clock? And heere much Orlando. I warrant you, with pure loue, & troubled brain, He hath t'ane his bow and arrowes, and is gone forth To ſleepe: looke who comes heere. My errand is to you, faire youth, My gentle Phebe, did bid me giue you this: I know not the contents, but as I gueſſe By the ſterne brow, and waſpiſh action Which ſhe did vſe, as ſhe was writing of it, It beares an angry tenure; pardon me, I am but as a guiltleſſe meſſenger.