Comus (The Masque at Ludlow Castle) · chunk 6 of 15
Milton, John · published 1637 · first performed or written 1634 [Sep 29] (Annals) pastoral; masque T11 Siblings, kin and confidants typicality 0.75 · 509 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T11: sister, brother, love, friend, heart, father, mother, woman, lord, hear.
Or if our eyes: Be barred that happiness, might we but hear The folded flocks penned in their wattled coats, Or sound of pastoral reed with oaten stops, Or whistle from the Lodge, or village cock Count the night watches to his feathery Dames, 'twould be some solace yet, some little cheering In this close dungeon of innumerous bows. But o that hapless virgin our lost sister Where may she wander now, whether betake her From the chill dew, amongst rude burrs and thistles? Perhaps some cold bank is her bolster now Or 'gainst the rugged bark of some broad Elm Leans her unpillowed head fraught with sad fears. What if in wild amazement, and affright Or while we speak within he direful grasp Of Savage hunger, or of Savage heat? Peace brother, be not over exquisite To cast the fashion of uncertain evils, For grant they be so, while they rest unknown What need a man forestall his date of grief And run to meet what he would most avoid? Or if they be but false alarms of Fear How bitter is such self-delusion? I do not think my sister so to seek Or so unprincipled in virtue's book And the sweet peace that goodness bosoms ever As that the single want of light, and noise (Not being in danger, as I trust she is not) Could stir the constant mood of her calm thoughts And pt them into mis becomming plight. Virtue could see to do what virtue would By her own radiant light, though Sun and Moon Were in the flat Sea sunk, and Wisdoms self Oft seeks to sweet retired Solitude Where with her best nurse Contemplation She plumes her feathers, and let's grow her wings That in the various bustle of resort Were all to ruffled, and sometimes impaired. He that has light within his own clear breast May sit i'th' centre, and enjoy bright day, But he that hides a dark soul, and foul thoughts Benighted walks under the midday Sun, Himself is his own dungeon. 'Tis most true That musing meditation most affects The Pensive secrecy of desert cell Far from the cheerful haunt of men, and herds, And sits as safe as in a Senate house For who would rob an Hermit of his weeds His few books, or his beads, or maple dish, Or do his grey hairs any violence? But beauty like the fair Hesperian tree Laden with blooming gold, had need the guard Of dragon watch with unenchanted eye To save her blossoms, and defend her fruit From the rash hand of bold Incontinence. You may as well spread out the unsunned heaps Of miser's treasure by an outlaw's den And tell me it is safe, as bid me hope Danger will wink on opportunity And let a single helpless maiden pass Uninjured in this wild surrounding waste. Of night, or loneliness it recks me not I fear the dread events that dog them both, I est some ill greeting touch attempt the person Of our unowned sister.
nodes 344–410 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 6 of 15 in this edition
Length
509 words · 630 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T11 — Siblings, kin and confidantscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.747 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T15 · seed 44: T12 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Or if our eyes: Be barr d that happinesse, might we but heare The folded flocks pen'd in their watled cotes, Or sound of pastoral reed with oaten stops, Or whistle from the Lodge, or village cock Count the night watches to his featherie Dames, T'would be some solace yet, some little chearing In this close dungeon of innumerous bowes. But ô that haplesse virgin our lost sister Where may she wander now, whether betake her From the chill dew, amongst rude burs and thistles? Perhaps some cold banke is her boulster now Or 'gainst the rugged barke of some broad Elme Leans her unpillow'd head fraught with sad fears. What if in wild amazement, and affright Or while we speake within he direfull graspe Of Savage hunger, or of Savage heat? Peace brother, be not over exquisite To cast the fashion of uncertaine evils, For grant they be so, while they rest unknowne What need a man forestall his date of griefe And run to meet what he would most avoid? Or if they be but false alarms of Feare How bitter is such selfe-delusion? I doe not thinke my sister so to seeke Or so unprincipl'd in vertues book And the sweet peace that goodnesse bosoms ever As that the single want of light, and noise (Not being in danger, as I trust she is ot) Could stir the constant mood of her calme thoughts And pt them into mis becomming plight. Vertue could see to doe what vertue would By her owne'radiant light, though Sun and Moon Were in the slat Sea sunck, and Wifdoms selfe Oft seeks to sweet retired Solitude Where with her best nurse Contemplation She plumes her feathers, and lets grow her wings That in the various bustle of resort Were all to ruffl'd, and sometimes impair'd. He that has light within his owne cleere brest May sit i'th center, and enjoy bright day, But he that hides a darke soule, and foule thoughts Benighted walks under the mid-day Sun, Himselfe is his owne dungeon. 'Tis most true That musing meditation most affects The Pensive secrecie of desert cell Farre from the cheerfull haunt of men, and heards, And sits as safe as in a Senat house For who would rob an Hermit of his weeds His few books, or his beades, or maple dish, Or doe his gray hairs any violence? But beautie like the faire Hesperian tree Laden with blooming gold, had need the guard Of dragon watch with uninchanted eye To save her blossoms, and defend her fruit From the rash hand of bold Incontinence. You may as well spread out the unsun'd heaps Of misers treasure by an outlaws den And tell me it is safe, as bid me hope Danger will winke on opportunitie And let a single helplesse mayden passe Vninjur'd in this wild surrounding wast. Of night, or lonelynesse it recks me not I feare the dred events that dog them both, I est some ill greeting touch attempt the person Of our unowned sister.