Shirley, James · published 1633 · first performed or written 1634 [Feb 3] (Annals) masque · before the Court unassigned nearest T12 Olympian gods: Jupiter, Juno, Venus and · 538 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T12: iupiter, saturn, iuno, venus, gods, mars, earth, titan, love, fair.
swiftly, oh swiftly, I do move too slow, What holds my wing from making haste When every Cloud sails by so fast? I heard my sister's voice, and know They have forsaken Heavens bright gate, To attend another State, of gods below. Irene chaste Eunomia. we Diche, have stayed expecting thee, Thou giv'st perfection to our glory, And seal to this night's story. Astrea shake the cold dew from thy wing. Descend. Descend. Descend, and help us sing, The Triumph of Ioves upper Court abated And all the Deities translated. The Triumph of Ioves upper Court abated And all the Deities translated. Now gaze, and when thy wonder will allow, Tell what thou hast beheld. Never, till now, Was poor Astrea blind, oh strange surprise, That too much sight should take away my eyes, Am I in Earth or Heaven? What Throne is that, On which so many Stars do wait? My Eyes are blessed again, and now I see The Parents of us three. 'Tis Iove and Themis forward move, And sing to Themis, and to Iove. To you great King and Queen, whose smile. Doth scatter blessings through this I'll, To make it best And wonder of the rest, We pay the duty of our birth, Proud to wait upon that Earth Where on you move, Which shall be named And by your chaste embraces famed The Paradise of love. Irene plant thy Olives here, Thus warmed, at once, they'll bloom and bear, Eunomia pay thy light, While Diche, covetous to stay, Shall throw her silver Wings away, To dwell within your sight. No foreign persons I make known, But here present you with your own, The Children of your Reign, not blood Of age, when they are understood. Not seen by faction or Owls sight, Whose trouble is the clearest light, But treasures to their eye, and ear, That love good for itself, not fear. Oh smile on what yourselves have made, These have no form, no sun, no shade, But what your virtue doth create, Exalted by your glorious fate, they'll tower to heaven, next which, they know, And wish no blessedness but you. That very look into each eye Hath shot a soul, I saw it fly. Descend, move nimbly, and advance, Your joyful tribute in a dance. They that were never happy Hours Till now, return to thank the Powers that made them so The Island doth rejoice, And all her waves are Echo to our voice, Which in on ages past, hath known such treasures of her own. Live Royal pair, & when Your sands are spent with Heavens and Your consent, Though late, from Your high Bowers, Look down on what was Yours, For till old time his Glass hath hurled And lost it, in the ashes of the world, We Prophesy, You shall be read, and seen, In every Branch, a King or Queen. D''ee think to keep us out? Knock her down. Knock down my Wife, I'd see the tallest Beef-eater on you all, but hold up his Halberd in the way of knocking my Wife down, and i'll bring him a buttonhole lower. Nay, let 'em, let 'em Husband, at their peril. Complain to my Lord chamberlain.
seed 43: T53 · seed 44: T22 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Swifly, oh ſwiftly, I doe move to ſlow, What holds my wing from making haſt When every Cloud ſailes by ſo faſt? I heard my ſiſters voyce, and know They haue forſaken Heavens bright gate, To attend another State, of gods below. Irene chaſt Evnomia. Wee Diche, have ſtayd expecting thee, Thou giu'ſt perfection to our glory, And ſeale to this nights ſtory. Aſtrea ſhake the cold dew from thy wing. Deſcend. Deſcend. Deſcend, and helpe vs ſing, The Triumph of Ioves upper Court abated And all the Deities tranſlated. The Triumph of Ioves vpper Court abated And all the Deities tranſlated. Now gaze, and when thy wonder will allow, Tell what thou haſt beheld. Never, till now, Was poore Aſtrea blind, oh ſtrange ſurprize, That too much ſight ſhould take away my eyes, Am I in Earth or Heaven? What Throne is that, On which ſo many Starres do waite? My Eyes are bleſt agen, and now I ſee The Parents of vs three. 'Tis Iove and Themis forward move, And ſing to Themis, and to Iove. To you great King and Queene, whoſe ſmile. Doth ſcatter bleſſings through this Ile, To make it beſt And wonder of the reſt, We pay the duty of our birth, Proud to waite vpon that Earth Where on you moue, Which ſhall be nam'd And by your chaſt embraces fam'd The Paradiſe of loue. Irene plant thy Oliues here, Thus warm'd, at once, theile bloome and beare, Eunomia pay thy light, While Diche, covetous to ſtay, Shall throw her ſilver Wings away, To dwell within your ſight. No forraigne perſons I make knowne, But here preſent you with your owne, The Children of your Raigne, not blood Of age, when they are vnderſtood. Not ſeene by faction or Owles ſight, Whoſe trouble is the cleareſt light, But treaſures to their eye, and eare, That loue good for it ſelfe, not feare. Oh ſmile on what your ſelues have made, Theſe haue no forme, no ſunne, no ſhade, But what your vertue doth create, Exalted by your glorious fate, Thei'le towre to heaven, next which, they know, And wiſh no bleſſedneſſe but you. That very looke into each eye Hath ſhot a ſoule, I ſaw it flie. Deſcend, move nimbly, and advance, Your ioyfull tribute in a dance. They that were never happy Howers Till now, returne to thanke the Powers that made them ſo The Iland doth reioyce, And all her waves are Eccho to our voyce, Which in on ages paſt, hath knowne ſuch treaſures of her owne. Live Royall paire, & when Your ſands are ſpent with Heauens and Your conſent, Though late, from Your high Bowers, Looke downe on what was Yours, For till old time his Glaſſe hath hurl'd And loſt it, in the aſhes of the world, We Propheſie, You ſhall be read, and ſeene, In every Branch, a King or Queene. D'ee thinke to keepe vs out? Knocke her downe. Knocke downe my Wife, I'de ſee the talleſt Beefe-eater on you all, but hold vp his Halberd in the way of knocking my Wife downe, and ile bring him a button-hole lower. Nay, let 'em, let 'em Husband, at their perrill. Complaine to my Lord Chamberlaine.