Fisher, Jasper · published 1633 · first performed or written 1625 [c.1611-1633] (Annals) history · at University unassigned nearest T21 Cupid, Venus and the nymphs · 472 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T21: cupid, venus, love, ceres, diana, fair, nymphs, goddess, bow, damon.
Your words are earwigs to my vexed brain Like henbane juice, or Aconite diffused They strike me senseless. My kinsman, and Hirildas to my end: But I'll ne'er call you Counsellor, or Friend Adieu. Stay, stay. For now I mean with gentler breath. To waft you to your happy landing place. Seeing this Crocodile pursues me flying, Flies you pursuing: we'll catch her by a trick: With promise feigned, I'll appoint a Cupid's stage, But in the night, and secret, and disguised: Where thou, which art myself, shalt act my part; In Venus' games, all Cozening goes for Art. Blessed be these means, and happy the Success. Now 'gin I rear my crest above the Moon, And in those guilded books read Lectures of The Feminine Sex. There moves Cassiope, Whose garments shine with thirteen precious stones, Types of as many virtues: Then her Daughter, Whose Beauty without Perseus would have tamed The monstrous Fish, glides with a Starry Crown: Then Just Astraea combs her golden hair: And my Landora can become the skies, As well as They. Oh, how my joys do swell! He mounted not more proud, whose burning Throne Kindled the Cedar-tops, and quaffed whole fountains. fly then, ye winged hours, as swift as thought, Or my desires: Let days bright Waggoner Fall headlong, and lie buried in the deep, And dormouse-like Alcides' night outsleep. Good Tethys, quench his Beams, that He ne'er rise, To scorch the Moores, to suck up honeydews, Or to betray my person. But prithee tell, What Mistress you adore? The kind Cordella, Loving, and Beloved: Only some jar of late about a Favour Made me inveigh 'gainst women. Come, away, Our plots desire the night, not babbling day. We must give way: Here come our reverend bard To sing in synod, as their Custom is, With former chance comparing present deeds. At the Spring Birds do sing: Now with high, Then low cry: Flat, acute; And salute, The Sun borne, Every morn. he's no Bard that cannot sing: The praises of the flowery Spring. Flora Queen All in green, doth delight To paint white, Woods renew Hunter's hue. Shepherd's grey Crowned with bay, And to spread Cruel red, With a blue, Colour true. he's no bard, &c. With his pipe Care doth wipe, Till he dream By the stream. he's no bard, &c. Faithful loves, Turtle Doves, Sit and bill, On a bill. Country Swains On the plains, Run and leap, Turn and skip. he's no bard, &c. Pan doth play Care-away. Fairies small Two foot tall, With caps red On their head Dance around On the ground. he's no bard, Phyllis bright Cloth in white, With neck fair, Yellow hair: Rocks doth move With her love, And make mild, Tigers wild. he's no bard that cannot sing, The praises of the flowery spring.
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)
Your words are eare-awigges to my vexed braine Like henn-bane iuice, or Aconite diffus'd They strike me senselesse. My kinsman, and Hirildas to my end: But I'le neere call you Counsellor, or Friend Adieu. Stay, stay. For now I meane with gentler breath. To waft you to your happy landing place. Seeing this Crocodile pursues me flying, Flyes you pursuing: wee'l catch her by a tricke: With promise fain'd, I'le' point a Cupids stage, But in the night, and secret, and disguizd: Where thou, which art my selfe, shalt act my part; In Venus games, all Coosning goes for Art. Blest be these meanes, and happy the Successe. Now gin I reare my creast aboue the Moone, And in those guilded bookes read Leactures of The Faeminine Sexe. There moues Cassiope, Whose garments shine with thirteene pretious stones, Types of as many vertues: Then her Daughter, Whose Beauty without Perseus would haue tam'd The monstrous Fish, glides with a Starry Crowne: Then Iust Asttea kembes her golden haire: And my Landora can become the skies, As well as They. Oh, how my ioyes doe swell! He mounted not more proud, whose burning Throne Kindled the Cedar-toppes, and quafft whole fountaines. Flye then, ye winged houres, as swift as thought, Or my desires: Let dayes bright Waggoner Fall headlong, and lye buried in the deepe, And dor-mouse-like Alcides night out-sleep. Good Tethys, quench his Beames, that He nere rise, To scorch the Moores, to sucke vp hony-dewes, Or to betray my person. But prethee tell, What Mistresse you adore? The kind Cordella, Louing, and Belou'd: Onely some iarre of late about a Fauour Made me inueigh gainst women. Come, away, Our plottes desire the night, not babbling day. We must giue way: Here come our reuerend Barde To sing in Synode, as their Custome is, With former chance comparing present deedes. At the Spring Birdes doe sing: Now with high, Then low cry: Flat, acute; And salute, The Sunne borne, Euery morne. Hees no Bard that cannot sing: The praises of the flowry Spring. Flora Queene All in greene, doth delight To paint white, Woods renew Hunters hue. Shepheards gray Crownd with bay, And to spred Cruell redd, With a blew, Colour true. Hees no bard, &c. With his pipe Care doth wipe, Till he dreame By the streame. Hees no bard, &c. Faithfull loues, Turtle Doues, Sit and bill, On a bill. Country Swaynes On the plaines, Runne and leape, Turne and skip. Hees no bard, &c. Pan doth play Care-away. Fayries small Two foote tall, With caps red On their head Daunce around On the ground. Hees no bard, Phyllis bright Cloath in white, With necke faire, Yellow haire: Rockes doth moue With her loue, And make mild, Tygers wild. Hees no bard that cannot sing, The praises of the flowry spring.