Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1601 [1601-1602] (Annals) comedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint · 507 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
I see you what you are, you are too proud: But if you were the devil, you are fair: My Lord, and master loves you: O such love Can be but recompensed, though you were crowned The non-pareil of beauty. How does he love me? With adorations, fertile tears, With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire. Your Lord does know my mind, I cannot love him Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble, Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth; In voices well divulged, free, learned, and valiant, And in dimension, and the shape of nature, A gracious person; But yet I cannot love him: He might have took his answer long ago. If I did love you in my master's flame, With such a suffering, such a deadly life: In your denial, I would find no sense, I would not understand it. Why, what would you? Make me a willow Cabin at your gate, And call upon my soul within the house, Writ loyal Cantons of contemned love, And sing them loud even in the dead of night: Hollow your name to the reverberate hills, And make the babbling Gossip of the air, Cry out Olivia: O you should not rest Between the elements of air, and earth, But you should pity me. You might do much: What is your Parentage? Above my fortunes, yet my state is well: I am a Gentleman. Get you to your Lord: I cannot love him: let him send no more, Unless (perchance) you come to me again, To tell me how he takes it: Far you well: I thank you for your pains: spend this for me. I am no feed post, Lady; keep your purse, My Master, not myself, lacks recompense. Love make his heart of flint, that you shall love, And let your fervour like my masters be, Placed in contempt: Farewell fair cruelty. What is your Parentage? Above my fortunes, yet my state is well; I am a Gentleman. I'll be sworn thou art, Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit. Do give thee fivefold blazon: not too fast: soft, soft, Unless the Master were the man. How now? Even so quickly may one catch the plague? Me thinks I feel this youths perfections With an invisible, and subtle stealth To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be. What hoa, Maluolio. here Madam, at your service. Run after that same peevish Messenger The Countess' man: he left this Ring behind him Would I, or not: tell him, I'll none of it. Desire him not to flatter with his Lord, Nor hold him up with hopes, I am not for him: If that the youth will come this way to morrow, I'll give him reasons for't: hie thee Maluolio. Madam, I will. I do I know not what, and fear to find Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind: Fate, show thy force, ourselves we do not owe, What is decreed, must be: and be this so.
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)
I ſee you what you are, you are too proud: But if you were the diuell, you are faire: My Lord, and maſter loues you: O ſuch loue Could be but recompenc'd, though you were crown'd The non-pareil of beautie. How does he loue me? With adorations, fertill teares, With groanes that thunder loue, with ſighes of fire. Your Lord does know my mind, I cannot loue him Yet I ſuppoſe him vertuous, know him noble, Of great eſtate, of freſh and ſtainleſſe youth; In voyces well divulg'd, free, learn'd, and valiant, And in dimenſion, and the ſhape of nature, A gracious perſon; But yet I cannot loue him: He might haue tooke his anſwer long ago. If I did loue you in my maſters flame, With ſuch a ſuffring, ſuch a deadly life: In your deniall, I would finde no ſence, I would not vnderſtand it. Why, what would you? Make me a willow Cabine at your gate, And call vpon my ſoule within the houſe, Write loyall Cantons of contemned loue, And ſing them lowd euen in the dead of night: Hallow your name to the reuerberate hilles, And make the babling Goſsip of the aire, Cry out Oliuia: O you ſhould not reſt Betweene the elements of ayre, and earth, But you ſhould pittie me. You might do much: What is your Parentage? Aboue my fortunes, yet my ſtate is well: I am a Gentleman. Get you to your Lord: I cannot loue him: let him ſend no more, Vnleſſe (perchance) you come to me againe, To tell me how he takes it: Fare you well: I thanke you for your paines: ſpend this for mee. I am no feede poaſt, Lady; keepe your purſe, My Maſter, not my ſelfe, lackes recompence. Loue make his heart of flint, that you ſhal loue, And let your feruour like my maſters be, Plac'd in contempt: Farwell fayre crueltie. What is your Parentage? Aboue my fortunes, yet my ſtate is well; I am a Gentleman. Ile be ſworne thou art, Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbes, actions, and ſpirit. Do giue thee fiue-fold blazon: not too faſt: ſoft, ſoft, Vnleſſe the Maſter were the man. How now? Euen ſo quickly may one catch the plague? Me thinkes I feele this youths perfections With an inuiſible, and ſubtle ſtealth To creepe in at mine eyes. Well, let it be. What hoa, Maluolio. Heere Madam, at your ſeruice. Run after that ſame peeuiſh Meſſenger The Countes man: he left this Ring behinde him Would I, or not: tell him, Ile none of it. Deſire him not to flatter with his Lord, Nor hold him vp with hopes, I am not for him: If that the youth will come this way to morrow, Ile giue him reaſons for't: hie thee Maluolio. Madam, I will. I do I know not what, and feare to finde Mine eye too great a flatterer for my minde: Fate, ſhew thy force, our ſelues we do not owe, What is decreed, muſt be: and be this ſo.