Rutter, Joseph · published 1635 · first performed or written 1634 [1633-1635] (Annals) pastoral · Queen Henrietta Maria's Men · before the Court unassigned nearest T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint · 468 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
More fool you; It may be if you had, it needed not Ha' come to this. Yes, yes, you may remember, I blush to tell it you, when first my thoughts Were pure and simple, (as I hope they are Still, and will so continue, whilst I fly Such company as you) I thought you one Whom never any flame impure had touched: Then we conversed without suspect together. And am I not so still? why do you now Fly from me thus? The cause I shall tell you, Since you will not remember; though it be Unfit for me to speak, yet you shall know How just my anger is. Ay me! most wretched! What have I done? When tending of my flocks Under the shade of yonder Myrtle tree. (Which bears the guilt of your soul misdemeanour) My maid Corisca cried out for my help, Because a bee had stung her in the face: You heard me speak in pity of her smart, A charm, my mother taught me, (that being said Close to the place affected, takes away The pain) which gave her ease, but you uncivil, Turning my courtesy to your vile ends, Feigned you were stung too, and cried out, your lips Had from the same sharp point received a wound; Prayed me to say the same charm over there. I charitably lent my help to you, Mistrusting nothing of your purposes, When with ungentle hands you held me fast, And for my thanks gave me a lustful kiss, Canst thou remember this, and yet not blush? O impudence! You will excuse the heat Of my desires; still I feel that sting But dare not ask the cure, nor did I then Do any hurt, but since you think it was A fault, I do repent it, and am sorry I did offend you so. Better, and better He'll cry anon, he has already asked Forgiveness of her. Well shepherd look You never see me more, I cannot love At all, or if at all, not you: let this Settle your thoughts. Oh, it distracts them more: But since my presence is offensive to you, I must obey, yet if I thought you would, When I am dead, the Martyr of your beauty, Shed one poor tear on my untimely grave, And say that Hylas was unfortunate To love, where he might not be loved again, My ashes would find rest, and so farewell The fairest, but the cruelest Nymph alive. What will you leave her thus? I prithee, come, The sentence of my banishment is past, Never to be recalled. Are these the hopes You fed upon? O what a thing in Nature Is a coy woman! or how great a fool The man is, that will give her leave to rule.
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)
More foole you; It may be if you had, it needed not Ha' come to this. Yes, yes, you may remember, I bluſh to tell it you, when firſt my thoughts Were pure and ſimple, (as I hope they are Still, and will ſo continue, whilſt I flie Such companie as you) I thought you one Whom never any flame impure had toucht: Then we converſt without ſuſpect together. And am I not ſo ſtill? why do you now Flie from me thus? The cauſe I ſhall tell you, Since you will not remember; though it be Unfit for me to ſpeake, yet you ſhall know How juſt my anger is. Ay me! moſt wretched! What have I don? When tending of my flocks Under the ſhade of yonder Mirtle tree. (Which beares the guilt of your ſoule miſdemeanour) My maide Coriſca cried out for my helpe, Becauſe a bee had ſtung her in the face: You heard me ſpeake in pittie of her ſmart, A charme, my mother taught me, (that being ſaid Cloſe to the place affected, takes away The paine) which gave her eaſe, but you uncivill, Turning my courteſie to your vile ends, Fain'd you were ſtung too, and cried out, your lips Had from the ſame ſharpe point receiv'd a wound; Prayd me to ſay the ſame charme over there. I charitably lent my helpe to you, Miſtruſting nothing of your purpoſes, When with ungentle hands you held me faſt, And for my thanks gave me a luſtfull kiſſe, Canſt thou remember this, and yet not bluſh? O impudence! You will excuſe the heate Of my deſires; ſtill I feele that ſting But dare not aske the cure, nor did I then Do any hurt, but ſince you thinke it was A fault, I do repent it, and am ſorry I did offend you ſo. Better, and better He'le cry anon, he has already askt Forgiveneſſe of her. Well ſhepheard looke You never ſee me more, I cannot love At all, or if at all, not you: let this Settle your thoughts. Oh, it diſtracts them more: But ſince my preſence is offenſive to you, I muſt obey, yet if I thought you would, When I am dead, the Martyr of your beautie, Shed one poore teare on my untimely grave, And ſay that Hylas was unfortunate To love, where he might not be lov'd againe, My aſhes would find reſt, and ſo farewell The faireſt, but the cruellſt Nymph alive. What will you leave her thus? I prithee, come, The ſentence of my baniſhment is paſt, Never to be recall'd. Are theſe the hopes You fed upon? O what a thing in Nature Is a coy woman! or how great a foole The man is, that will give her leave to rule.