Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1591 [1590-1591] (Annals) history · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint · 508 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
If I talk to him, with his innocent prate He will awake my mercy, which lies dead: Therefore I will be sudden, and dispatch. Are you sick Hubert? you look pale to day, Insooth I would you were a little sick, That I might sit all night, and watch with you. I warrant I love you more than you do me. His words do take possession of my bosom. Read here young Arthur. How now foolish rheum? Turning dispitious torture out of door? I must be brief, lest resolution drop Out at mine eyes, in tender womanish tears. Can you not read it? Is it not fair writ? Too fairly Hubert, for so foul effect, Must you with hot Irons, burn out both mine eyes? Young Boy, I must. And will you? And I will. Have you the heart? When your head did but ache, I knit my hand-kercher about your brows (The best I had, a Princess wrought it me) And I did never ask it you again: And with my hand, at midnight held your head; And like the watchful minutes, to the hour, Still and anon cheered up the heavy time; Saying, what lack you? and where lies your grief? Or what good love may I perform for you? Many a poor man's son would have lain still, And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you: But you, at your sick service had a Prince: Nay, you may think my love was crafty love, And call it cunning. Do, and if you will, If heaven be pleased that you must use me ill, Why then you must. Will you put out mine eyes? These eyes, that never did, nor never shall So much as frown on you. I have sworn to do it: And with hot Irons must I burn them out. Ah, none but in this Iron Age, would do it: The Iron of itself, though heat red hot, Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears, And quench this fiery indignation, Even in the matter of mine innocence: Nay, after that, consume away in rust, But for containing fire to harm mine eye: Are you more stubborn hard, then hammered Iron? And if an Angel should have come to me, And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes, I would not have believed him: no tongue but Hubert's. Come forth: Do as I bid you do. O save me Hubert, save me: my eyes are out Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men. Give me the Iron I say, and bind him here. Alas, what need you be so boisterous rough? I will not struggle, I will stand stone still: For heaven sake Hubert let me not be bound: Nay hear me Hubert, drive these men away, And I will sit as quiet as a Lamb. I will not stir, nor winch, nor speak a word, Nor look upon the Iron angrily: Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you, What ever torment you do put me too.
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)
If I talke to him, with his innocent prate He will awake my mercie, which lies dead: Therefore I will be ſodaine, and diſpatch. Are you ſicke Hubert? you looke pale to day, Inſooth I would you were a little ſicke, That I might ſit all night, and watch with you. I warrant I loue you more then you do me. His words do take poſſeſſion of my boſome. Reade heere yong Arthur. How now fooliſh rheume? Turning diſpitious torture out of doore? I muſt be breefe, leaſt reſolution drop Out at mine eyes, in tender womaniſh teares. Can you not reade it? Is it not faire writ? Too fairely Hubert, for ſo foule effect, Muſt you with hot Irons, burne out both mine eyes? Yong Boy, I muſt. And will you? And I will. Haue you the heart? When your head did but ake, I knit my and-kercher about your browes (The beſt I had, a Princeſſe wrought it me) And I did neuer aske it you againe: And with my hand, at midnight held your head; And like the watchfull minutes, to the houre, Still and anon cheer'd vp the heauy time; Saying, what lacke you? and where lies your greefe? Or what good loue may I performe for you? Many a poore mans ſonne would haue lyen ſtill, And nere haue ſpoke a louing word to you: But you, at your ſicke ſeruice had a Prince: Nay, you may thinke my loue was craftie loue, And call it cunning. Do, and if you will, If heauen be pleas'd that you muſt vſe me ill, Why then you muſt. Will you put out mine eyes? Theſe eyes, that neuer did, nor neuer ſhall So much as frowne on you. I haue ſworne to do it: And with hot Irons muſt I burne them out. Ah, none but in this Iron Age, would do it: The Iron of it ſelfe, though heate red hot, Approaching neere theſe eyes, would drinke my teares, And quench this fierie indignation, Euen in the matter of mine innocence: Nay, after that, conſume away in ruſt, But for containing fire to harme mine eye: Are you more ſtubborne hard, then hammer'd Iron? And if an Angell ſhould haue come to me, And told me Hubert ſhould put out mine eyes, I would not haue beleeu'd him: no tongue but Huberts. Come forth: Do as I bid you do. O ſaue me Hubert, ſaue me: my eyes are out Euen with the fierce lookes of theſe bloody men. Giue me the Iron I ſay, and binde him heere. Alas, what neede you be ſo boiſtrous rough? I will not ſtruggle, I will ſtand ſtone ſtill: For heauen ſake Hubert let me not be bound: Nay heare me Hubert, driue theſe men away, And I will ſit as quiet as a Lambe. I will not ſtirre, nor winch, nor ſpeake a word, Nor looke vpon the Iron angerly: Thruſt but theſe men away, and Ile forgiue you, What euer torment you do put me too.