Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1609 [c.1608-1611] (Annals) romance · King's Men unassigned nearest T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint · 502 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
Still I swear I love you. If you but said so, 'twere as deep with me: If you swear still, your recompense is still That I regard it not. This is no answer. But that you shall not say, I yield being silent, I would not speak. I pray you spare me, i'faith I shall unfold equal discourtesy To your best kindness: one of your great knowing Should learn (being taught) forbearance. To leave you in your madness, 'twere my sin, I will not. Fools are not mad Folks. Do you call me Fool? As I am mad I do: If you'll be patiented, I'll no more be mad, That cures us both. I am much sorry (Sir) You put me to forget a Lady's manners By being so verbal: and learn now, for all, That I which know my heart, do here pronounce By th' very truth of it, I care not for you, And am so near the lack of Charity To accuse myself, I hate you: which I had rather You felt, then make't my boast. You sin against Obedience, which you own your Father, for The Contract you pretend with that base Wretch, One, bred of Alms, and fostered with cold dishes, With scraps o' th' Court: It is no Contract, none; And though it be allowed in meaner parties (Yet who then he more mean) to knit their souls (On whom there is no more dependency But Brats and Beggary) in selfe-figured knot, Yet you are curbed from that enlargement, by The consequence o' th' Crown, and must not foil The precious note of it; with a base Slave, A Hilding for a Livery, a Squire's Cloth, A Pantler; not so eminent. Profane Fellow: Wert thou the Son of Iupiter, and no more, But what thou art besides: thou were't too base, To be his Groom: thou were't dignified enough Even to the point of Envy. If 'twere made Comparative for your Virtues, to be styled The under Hangman of his Kingdom; and hated For being preferred so well. The South-Fog rot him. He never can meet more mischance, then come To be but named of thee. His meanest Garment That ever hath but clipped his body; is dearer In my respect, than all the Heirs above thee, Were they all made such men: How now Pisanio? His Garments? Now the devil. To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently. His Garment? I am sprighted with a Fool, Frighted, and angered worse: Go bid my woman Search for a jewel, that too casually Hath left mine Arm: it was thy Masters. Shrew me If I would lose it for a Revenue, Of any Kings in Europe. I do think, I saw't this morning: Confident I am. Last night 'twas on mine Arm; I kissed it, I hope it be not gone, to tell my Lord That I kiss aught but he. 'Twill not be lost. I hope so: go and search. You have abused me: His meanest Garment?
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)
Still I ſweare loue you. If you but ſaid ſo, 'twere as deepe with me: If you ſweare ſtill, your recompence is ſtill That I regard it not. This is no anſwer. But that you ſhall not ſay, I yeeld being ſilent, I would not ſpeake. I pray you ſpare me, 'faith I ſhall vnfold equall diſcourteſie To your beſt kindneſſe: one of your great knowing Should learne (being taught) forbearance. To leaue you in your madneſſe, 'twere my ſin, I will not. Fooles are not mad Folkes. Do you call me Foole? As I am mad I do: If you'l be patient, Ile no more be mad, That cures vs both. I am much ſorry (Sir) You put me to forget a Ladies manners By being ſo verball: and learne now, for all, That I which know my heart, do heere pronounce By th' very truth of it, I care not for you, And am ſo neere the lacke of Charitie To accuſe my ſelfe, I hate you: which I had rather You felt, then make't my boaſt. You ſinne againſt Obedience, which you owe your Father, for The Contract you pretend with that baſe Wretch, One, bred of Almes, and foſter'd with cold diſhes, With ſcraps o' th' Court: It is no Contract, none; And though it be allowed in meaner parties (Yet who then he more meane) to knit their ſoules (On whom there is no more dependancie But Brats and Beggery) in ſelfe-figur'd knot, Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement, by The conſequence o' th' Crowne, and muſt not foyle The precious note of it; with a baſe Slaue, A Hilding for a Liuorie, a Squires Cloth, A Pantler; not ſo eminent. Prophane Fellow: Wert thou the Sonne of Iupiter, and no more, But what thou art beſides: thou wer't too baſe, To be his Groome: thou wer't dignified enough Euen to the point of Enuie. If 'twere made Comparatiue for your Vertues, to be ſtil'd The vnder Hangman of his Kingdome; and hated For being prefer'd ſo well. The South-Fog rot him. He neuer can meete more miſchance, then come To be but nam'd of thee. His mean'ſt Garment That euer hath but clipt his body; is dearer In my reſpect, then all the Heires aboue thee, Were they all made ſuch men: How now Piſanio? His Garments? Now the diuell. To Dorothy my woman hie thee preſently. His Garment? I am ſprighted with a Foole, Frighted, and angred worſe: Go bid my woman Search for a Iewell, that too caſually Hath left mine Arme: it was thy Maſters. Shrew me If I would looſe it for a Reuenew, Of any Kings in Europe. I do think, I ſaw't this morning: Confident I am. Laſt night 'twas on mine Arme; I kiſs'd it, I hope it be not gone, to tell my Lord That I kiſſe aught but he. 'Twill not be loſt. I hope ſo: go and ſearch. You haue abus'd me: His meaneſt Garment?