Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1601 [1601-1602] (Annals) comedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T48 Addressing a lady: love, desire and inti · 482 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T48: lady, love, heart, fair, eyes, la, lord, tears, fie, face.
And what's her history? A blank my Lord: she never told her love, But let concealment like a worm i' th' bud Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought, And with a green and yellow melancholy, She sat like Patience on a Monument, Smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed? We men may say more, swear more, but indeed Our shows are more than will: for still we prove Much in our vows, but little in our love. But died thy sister of her love my Boy? I am all the daughters of my Father's house, And all the brothers too: and yet I know not. Sir, shall I to this Lady? I that's the Theme, To her in haste: give her this jewel: say, My love can give no place, bide no denay. Come thy ways Signior Fabian. Nay I'll come: if I lose a scruple of this sport, let me be boiled to death with Melancholy. Wouldst thou not be glad to have the niggardly Rascally sheep-biter, come by some notable shame? I would exult man: you know he brought me out o' favour with my Lady, about a Bearbaiting here. To anger him we'll have the Bear again, and we will fool him black and blue, shall we not sir Andrew? And we do not, it is pity of our lives. here comes the little villain: How now my Mettle of India? Get ye all three into the box tree: Maluolio's coming down this walk, he has been yonder i' the Sun practising behaviour to his own shadow this half hour: observe him for the love of Mockery: for I know this Letter will make a contemplative Idiot of him. Close in the name of jesting, lie thou there: for here comes the Trout, that must be caught with tickling. 'Tis but Fortune, all is fortune. Maria once told me she did affect me, and I have heard herself come thus near, that should she fancy, it should be one of my complexion. Besides she uses me with a more exalted respect, than any one else that follows her. What should I think on't? here's an overweening rogue. Oh peace: Contemplation makes a rare Turkey Cock of him, how he jets under his advanced plumes. 'Slight I could so beat the Rogue. Peace I say. To be Count Maluolio. Ah Rogue. Pistol him, pistol him. Peace, peace. There is example for't: The Lady of the Strachy, married the yeoman of the wardrobe. Fie on him Iezabel. O peace, now he's deeply in: look how imagination blows him. Having been three months married to her, sitting in my state. O for a stone-bow to hit him in the eye. Calling my Officers about me, in my branched Velvet gown: having come from a day bed, where I have left Olivia sleeping. Fire and Brimstone. O peace, peace.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T44 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
And what's her hiſtory? A blanke my Lord: ſhe neuer told her loue, But let concealment like a worme i' th budde Feede on her damaske cheeke: ſhe pin'd in thought, And with a greene and yellow melancholly, She ſate like Patience on a Monument, Smiling at greefe. Was not this loue indeede? We men may ſay more, ſweare more, but indeed Our ſhewes are more then will: for ſtill we proue Much in our vowes, but little in our loue. But di'de thy ſiſter of her loue my Boy? I am all the daughters of my Fathers houſe, And all the brothers too: and yet I know not. Sir, ſhall I to this Lady? I that's the Theame, To her in haſte: giue her this Iewell: ſay, My loue can giue no place, bide no denay. Come thy wayes Signior Fabian. Nay Ile come: if I looſe a ſcruple of this ſport, let me be boyl'd to death with Melancholly. Wouldſt thou not be glad to haue the niggardly Raſcally ſheepe-biter, come by ſome notable ſhame? I would exult man: you know he brought me out o' fauour with my Lady, about a Beare-baiting heere. To anger him wee'l haue the Beare againe, and we will foole him blacke and blew, ſhall we not ſir Andrew? And we do not, it is pittie of our liues. Heere comes the little villaine: How now my Mettle of India? Get ye all three into the box tree: Maluolio's comming downe this walke, he has beene yonder i' the Sunne practiſing behauiour to his own ſhadow this halfe houre: obſerue him for the loue of Mockerie: for I know this Letter wil make a contemplatiue Ideot of him. Cloſe in the name of ieaſting, lye thou there: for heere comes the Trowt, that muſt be caught with tickling. 'Tis but Fortune, all is fortune. Maria once told me ſhe did affect me, and I haue heard her ſelf come thus neere, that ſhould ſhee fancie, it ſhould bee one of my complection. Beſides ſhe vſes me with a more exalted reſpect, then any one elſe that followes her. What ſhould I thinke on't? Heere's an ouer-weening rogue. Oh peace: Contemplation makes a rare Turkey Cocke of him, how he iets vnder his aduanc'd plumes. Slight I could ſo beate the Rogue. Peace I ſay. To be Count Maluolio. Ah Rogue. Piſtoll him, piſtoll him. Peace, peace. There is example for't: The Lady of the Strachy, married the yeoman of the wardrobe. Fie on him Iezabel. O peace, now he's deepely in: looke how imagination blowes him. Hauing beene three moneths married to her, ſitting in my ſtate. O for a ſtone-bow to hit him in the eye. Calling my Officers about me, in my branch'd Veluet gowne: hauing come from a day bedde, where I haue left Oliuia ſleeping. Fire and Brimſtone. O peace, peace.