Rutter, Joseph · published 1635 · first performed or written 1634 [1633-1635] (Annals) pastoral · Queen Henrietta Maria's Men · before the Court unassigned nearest T22 Shepherds, flocks and Pan · 468 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T22: shepherd, pan, shepherds, love, sheep, flocks, fair, shepherdess, swain, away.
Alas poor shepherd! It shall afford no shade to any thing That hither used to come for its relief; But henceforth be for ever infamous: That when some gentle shepherd passes by, And sees this ground rent with the crooked plough, Here, he may say, here 'twas that Sylvia Was lost, and then shall turn another way. Good Thyrsis, do not make so much of grief, Y'have fed it with too many tears already, Take comfort now. What has my present state To do with comfort? if you see the trees Widowed of leaves, the earth grown hard, and spoilt Of the green mantles which she wont to wear, You wonder not if winter then appear. By these we know that season. And must I, When she is gone, whose Sunlike eyes did cherish An everlasting Summer in my life, Feel any spring of joy to comfort me? No father, grief with me is best in season. But whilst you mourn thus, who looks to your flock? All as the shepherd is, such be his flocks, So pine and languish, they, as in despair He pines and languishes, their fleecy locks Let hang disordered, as their Master's hair, Since she is gone that decked both him, and them. And now what beauty can there be to live When she is lost that did all beauty give? But yet, methinks, for one that is a stranger, Scarce known to any here, but by her name, These plaints are overmuch: beside there are In fruitful Arcady as fair as she, I'm sure more rich and wise, make out of them A choice. Nerina is as fair as she, Dorinda's flocks are more than Silvia's, And carry on their backs more wool than hers. Let such base Peasants, as the Gods, do hate, Admire their wealth, and them, for what they have, Their bodies, and their souls material Alike, of drossy substance are compounded, And can contemplate nothing but the earth. No, Silvia, whom some better God (perhaps For the reward of my well tuned pipe) Sent down to me made up of air, and fire, Though since, because I knew not how to use With fair respect a gift so great as she, Has justly reft her from me, is so much, So great a part of me, that in her absence, Amidst my grief I feel some little joy, To see how much of me each minute wasteth, And gives me hope that when I shall dissolve This earthly substance, and be pure as she (For sure the Gods have taken her undefiled) I may enjoy her looks, and though it be Profane to touch a hallowed thing like her, I may adore her yet, and recompense With my religion the proud thoughts I had once to enjoy her.
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)
Alas poore ſhepheard! It ſhall affoord no ſhade to any thing That hither us'd to come for its releife; But henceforth be for ever infamous: That when ſome gentle ſhepheard paſſes by, And ſees this ground rent with the crooked plough, Here, he may ſay, here 'twas that Sylvia Was loſt, and then ſhall turne another way. Good Thyrſis, do not make ſo much of griefe, Y'have fed it with too many teares already, Take comfort now. What has my preſent ſtate To doe with comfort? if you ſee the trees Widdow'd of leaves, the earth growne hard, and ſpoild Of the greene mantles which ſhe wont to weare, You wonder not if winter then appeare. By theſe we know that ſeaſon. And muſt I, When ſhe is gone, whoſe Sun-like eyes did cheriſh An everlaſting Summer in my life, Feele any ſpring of joy to comfort me? No father, griefe with me is beſt in ſeaſon. But whilſt you mourne thus, who looks to your flock? All as the ſhepheard is, ſuch be his flocks, So pine and languiſh, they, as in deſpaire He pines and languiſhes, their fleecy locks Let hang diſorder'd, as their Maſters haire, Since ſhe is gone that deskt both him, and them. And now what beauty can there be to live When ſhe is loſt that did all beauty give? But yet, mee thinks, for one that is a ſtranger, Scarce knowne to any here, but by her name, Theſe plaints are overmuch: beſides there are In fruitfull Arcady as faire as ſhe, I'me ſure more rich and wiſe, make out of them A choiſe. Nerina is as faire as ſhe, Dorinda's flocks are more then Silvia's, And carry on their backs more wooll then hers. Let ſuch baſe Peſants, as the Gods, do hate, Admire their wealth, and them, for what they have, Their bodies, and their ſoules materiall Alike, of droſſie ſubſtance are compounded, And can contemplate nothing but the earth. No, Silvia, whom ſome better God (perhaps For the reward of my well tuned pipe) Sent downe to me made up of ayre, and fire, Though ſince, becauſe I knew not how to uſe With faire reſpect a gift ſo great as ſhe, Has juſtly reft her from me, is ſo much, So great a part of me, that in her abſence, Amidſt my griefe I feele ſome little joy, To ſee how much of me each minute waſteth, And gives me hope that when I ſhall diſſolve This earthly ſubſtance, and be pure as ſhe (For ſure the Gods have taken her undefil'd) I may injoy her lookes, and though it be Prophane to touch a hallowed thing like her, I may adore her yet, and recompence With my religion the proud thoughts I had once to injoy her.