Coelum Britannicum (The British Heaven) · chunk 12 of 15
Carew, Thomas · published 1640 · first performed or written 1634 [Feb 18] (Annals) masque · before the Court unassigned nearest T19 Virtue, Fortune and Vice as abstractions · 508 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T19: virtue, fortune, virtues, honour, fame, vice, envy, world, pride, great.
Be thou then only a deluding Phantom, At best a blind guide, leading blinder fools; Who, would they but survey their mutual wants, And help each other, there were left no room For thy vain aid▪ Wisdom, whose strong-built plots Leave nought to hazard, mocks thy futile power. Industrious labour drags thee by the locks, Bound to his toiling Car, and not attending Till thou dispense, reaches his own reward. Only the lazy sluggard yawning lies Before thy threshold, gaping for thy dole, And licks the easy hand that feeds his sloth. The shallow, rash, and unadvised man Makes thee his stale, disburdens all the follies Of his misguided actions, on thy shoulders. Vanish from hence, and seek those idiots out That thy santasticke god head hath allowed, And rule that giddy superstitious crowd, Pleasure, a young woman with a smiling face, in a light lascivious habit, adorned with silver and gold, her Temples crowned with a Garland of Roses, and over that a Rainbow circling her head down to her shoulders. What wanton's this? This is the sprightly Lady Hedone, a merry Gamester, this people call her Pleasure. The reasons (equal judges) here alleged By the dismissed Pretenders, all concur To strengthen my just title to the Sphere. Honour, or Wealth, or the contempt of both, Have in themselves no simple real good, But as they are the means to purchase pleasure; The paths that lead to my delicious Palace; They for my sake, I for mine own am prized. Beyond me nothing is, I am the Goal. The journeys end, to which the sweeting world, And wearied Nature travels. For this, the best And wisest sect of all Philosophers, Made me the seat of supreme happiness. And though some, more austere, upon my ruins Did to the prejudice of Nature, raise Some petty low-built virtues, 'twas because They wanted wings to reach my soaring pitch. Had they been Princes borne, themselves had proved Of all mankind the most luxurious. For those delights, which to their low condition Were obvious, they with greedy appetite Sucked and devoured: from offices of State, From cares of family, children, wife, hopes, fears Retired, the churlish cynic in his Tub Enjoyed those pleasures which his tongue defamed. Nor am I ranked amongst the supersluous goods; My necessary offices preserve Each single man, and propagate the kind. Then am I universal as the light, Or common Air we breathe; and since I am The general desire of all mankind, Civil Felicity must reside in me. Tell me what rate my choicest pleasures beat, When for the short delight of a poor draught Of cheap cold water, great Lysimachus Rendered himself slave to the Scythians. Should I the curious structure of my seats, The art and beauty of my several objects, Rehearse at large, your bounties would reserve For every sense a proper constellation; But I present their Persons to your eyes. Come forth my subtle Organs of delight, With changing figures please the curiouss eye, And charm the care with moving Harmony.
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)
Be thou then onely a deluding Phantome, At best a blind guide, leading blinder fooles; Who, would they but survay their mutuall wants, And helpe each other, there were left no roome For thy vaine ayd▪ Wisedome, whose strong-built plots Leave nought to hazard, mocks thy futile power. Industrious labour drags thee by the locks, Bound to his toyling Car, and not attending Till thou dispence, reaches his owne reward. Only the lazie sluggard yawning lyes Before thy threshold, gaping for thy dole, And licks the easie hand that feeds his sloath. The shallow, rash, and unadvised man Makes thee his stale, disburdens all the follies Of his mis-guided actions, on thy shoulders. Vanish from hence, and seeke those Idets out That thy santasticke god head hath allow'd, And rule that giddy superstitious crowd, Pleasure, a young woman with a smiling face, in a light lascivious habit, adorn'd with silver and gold, her Temples crown'd with a Garland of Roses, and over that a Rainbow circling her head downe to her shoulders. What wanton's this? This is the sprightly Lady Hedone, merry Gamester, this people call her Pleasure. The reasons (equall Iudges) here alleag'd By the dismist Pretenders, all concurre To strengthen my just title to the Spheare. Honour, or Wealth, or the contempt of both, Have in themselves no simple reall good, But as they are the meanes to purchase pleasure; The paths that lead to my delicious Palace; They for my sake, I for mine owne am priz'd. Beyond me nothing is, I am the Goale. The Iourneyes end, to which the sweating world, And wearied Nature travels. For this, the best And wisest sect of all Philosophers, Made me the seat of supreme happinesse. And though some, more austere, upon my ruines Did to the prejudice of Nature, raise Some petty low-built vertues, 'twas because They wanted wings to reach my soaring pitch. Had they beene Princes borne, themselves had prov'd Of all mankind the most luxurious. For those delights, which to their low condition Were obvious, they with greedy appetite Suck'd and devour'd: from offices of State, From cares of family, children, wife, hopes, feares Retir'd, the churlish in his Tub Enjoy'd those pleasures which his tongue defam'd. Nor am I rank'd 'mongst the supersluous goods; My necessary offices preserve Each single man, and propogate the kind. Then am I universall as the light, Or common Ayre we breath; and since I am The generall desire of all mankind, Civill Felicity must reside in me. Tell me what rate my choycest pleasures beate, When for the short delight of a poore draught Of cheape cold water, great Lysimachus Rendred himselfe slave to the Scythians. Should I the curious structure of my seats, The art and beauty of my seuerall objects, Rehearse at large, your bounties would reserve For every sense a proper consellation; But I present their Persons to your eyes. Come forth my subtle Organs of delight, With changing figures please the curiouss eye, And charme the care with moving Harmony.