Davenant, William · published 1635 · first performed or written 1636 [Feb 23 or 24] (Annals) masque · before the Court unassigned nearest T24 Apollo, Phoebus and the Muses · 537 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T24: apollo, phoebus, midas, muses, ears, play, hedone, gods, siren, time.
Hark! hark! some groan, and curse uncertain Fate, Which us for blood and ruin, doth create. Whither so gladly, and so fast, As if you knew all danger passed Of Combat, and of War? As you believed my arms were bound, Or when I shoot, still every wound. I make, is but a scar. Arm now your breasts with shields of steel, And plates of Brass, yet you shall feel My arrows are so keen, Like lightning that not hurts the skin, Yet melts the solid parts within, They'll wound, although unseen. My Mother taught me long ago To aim my shafts, and draw my Bow When Mars she did subdue. And now you must resign to Love, Your warlike hearts, that she may prove Those antic Stories true. Unarm, unarm! no more your fights Must cause the virgin's tears, But such as in the silent nights, Spring rather from their fears, Such difference as when Doves do bill, Must now be all your strife: For all the blood that you shall spill, Will usher in a life. And when your Ladies falsely coy Shall timorous appear, Believe, they then would fain enjoy What they pretend to fear. Breath then each others breath, and kiss Your souls to union: And whilst they shall enjoy this bliss, Your bodies too, are one. Too morrow will the hasty Sun Be feared more of each Lover, For hindering to repeat what's done, Than what it may discover. Make room for our God too, make room, For now surprised, and ravished with delight, Apollo is from Delphos come, T'inspire, and breath himself in every Knight. His Godhead is inclined to prove How justly proud, and happy you will be, When with the powers of War and Love, He shall unite his wiser Deity. Then still, as if not made of Earth, Express your thankfuluesse in active pleasure. Whilst you design your hearts to Mirth, Your ears to numbers, & your feet to measure. Behold, how this conjunction thrives! His radiant beams Apollo strives So much to strengthen and increase, As growth and verdure ne'er should cease. Come you industrious slaves of plenty, bring All that is hoped for in an Eastern Spring: Or all that Autumn yields, when she doth pay Those promised hopes where 'tis perpetual day. Come strew this ground (delay us not with sloth) Strew till we walk on sweet Cecillian Flowers, To prove how Seeds have hastened in their growth, Drop Indian fruits, as thick as April showers. The furious Steed, the Phyph and Drum Invite you still to Triumphs of the War, Till you as glorious shall become On Earth as Mars, in Heaven as bright a Star. The Balms rich sweat, the Myrrhs sweet tears Perfume your breath when you would Passion move: And may her heart, that you endears, the centre be, her Eye the sphere of Love! And may your Language be of force To body winds, and animate the Trees, So full of wonder your discourse, Till all your guesses shall be Prophecies. May our three Gods so long conjoin, To raise your soul, and rarefie your sense, Till you are rendered so Divine, 'Twill be no Sin t' implore your Influence.
seed 43: T53 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Heark! heark! ſome groane, and curſe uncertaine Fate, Which vs for blood and ruine, doth create. Whither ſo gladly, and ſo faſt, As if you knew all danger paſt Of Combat, and of War? As you believ'd my armes were bound, Or when I ſhoot, ſtill ev'ry wound. I make, is but a ſcar. Arme now your breſts with ſhields of ſteele, And plates of Braſſe, yet you ſhall feele My arrowes are ſo keene, Like lightning that not hurts the skin, Yet melts the ſolid parts within, They'l wound, although unſeene. My Mother taught mee long agoe To ayme my ſhafts, and draw my Bow When Mars ſhee did ſubdue. And now you muſt reſigne to Love, Your warlike hearts, that ſhee may prove Thoſe antick Stories true. Vnarme, unarme! no more your fights Muſt cauſe the virgins teares, But ſuch as in the ſilent nights, Spring rather from their feares, Such diff'rence as when Doves do bill, Muſt now be all your ſtrife: For all the blood that you ſhall ſpill, Will uſher in a life. And when your Ladies falſly coy Shall timerous appeare, Believe, they then would faine enjoy What they pretend to feare. Breath then each others breath, and kiſſe Your ſoules to union: And whilst they ſhall injoy this bliſſe, Your bodies too, are one. Too morrow will the haſty Sun Be fear'd more of each Lover, For hindring to repeat what's done, Than what it may diſcover. Make roome for our God too, make roome, For now ſurpriz'd, and raviſh'd with delight, Apollo is from Delphos come, T'inſpire, and breath himſelf in every Knight. His God-head is inclin'd to prove How justly proud, and happy you will be, When with the powers of War and Love, Hee ſhall unite his wiſer Deity. Then ſtill, as if not made of Earth, Expreſſe your thankfulueſſe in active pleaſure. Whilſt you deſigne your hearts to Mirth, Your eares to numbers, & your feet to meaſure. Behold, how this conjunction thrives! His radiant beames Apollo ſtrives So much to ſtrengthen and increaſe, As growth and verdure nere ſhould ceaſe. Come you induſtrious ſlaves of plenty, bring All that is hop'd for in an Eaſtern Spring: Or all that Autumne yields, when ſhe doth pay Thoſe promis'd hopes where 'tis perpetuall day. Come ſtrew this ground (delay us not with ſlowth) Strew till we walke on ſweet Cecillian Flowres, To prove how Seeds have haſtned in their growth, Drop Indian fruits, as thick as Aprill ſhowres. The furious Steed, the Phyph and Drum Invite you ſtill to Triumphs of the War, Till you as glorious ſhall become On Earth as Mars, in Heaven as bright a Star. The Balmes rich ſwet, the Myrrhs ſweet teares Perfume your breath when you would Paſsion move: And may her heart, that you indeeres, the center be, her Eye the ſphaere of Love! And may your Language be of force To body winds, and animate the Trees, So full of wonder your diſcourſe, Till all your gueſſes ſhall be Prophecies. May our three Gods ſo long conjoyne, To raiſe your ſoule, and rarefie your ſenſe, Till you are render'd ſo Divine, 'Twill be no Sin t' implore your Influence.