Heywood, Thomas · published 1637 · first performed or written 1635 (Annals) classical legend or myth unassigned nearest T22 Shepherds, flocks and Pan · 464 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T22: shepherd, pan, shepherds, love, sheep, flocks, fair, shepherdess, swain, away.
A Beast indeed: Like such she shall be used; behold her, Argus; Are these lips fitting for a god to kiss? These hooves apt palms to gripe? these tears fit pillows? On which a Deity should breast himself? These, eyes to tempt? or this an hide to touch? These horns? (o me) in mine own heraldry She mocks me without blushing. In all this How will you use my service? As a Spy: An hundred eyes thou hast, of all which number I will allow thee two to sleep by turns; The rest to watch this Strumpet; and of all, But two to wink, the rest to gaze at full: Behind thee thou hast eyes, both sides, before; Which way soe'er thou turnst she's in thy view. " A thousand he had need, all piercing bright, To watch a Lover from his choice delight. And is this all? Something I had forgot: Thou art an Herdsman, Argus, and thou knowest To tame unruly cattle; she is such: In some unworthy halter bind her neck, For such a Beauty the first Carkanet. Her browsing be the Brakes and bitter couch, For dainties feed her with the sourest herbs; Led her through briers & brambles, which may scratch Her itching skin even till her soft sides bleed, Raise up the mud in clear springs when she drinks, Keep her from shadow, in the parching Sun, Till she be stung with horse fly's, and the breeze: Let her not rest but where the ground's still bore; Feather her bed with thistles and sharp thorns; And for her footing choose the barren paths Strowed with lose pointed flints to gall her hooves. Argus farewell, I leave her to thy trust, A sweet revenge for her insatiate lust. Drawing this piece of Beasts flesh thus along, Methinks I look like Lybian Hercules Leading the Dog of hell: nay I shall fit her According to my charge, and I will keep thee (Calf with the white face) safe enough from bulling, The longest day that I have eye to see. What do you hung an arse? Ptrow, come along, I'll lead you to bore feeding, and find salads To take down your full flanks and these plump cheeks. Along, I'll watch thee well enough from shrinking Neck out of collar. Nay, on; thou shalt find, Though my face from thee, I have eyes behind. Speak not to me of comfort, Jo's lost! Had she miscarried on the earth, her body Would have given instance of her timeless fate: Or had she been by savage beasts devoured, Her garments stained with blood would tell her death. Had she in mine or these my neighbour floods Perished, they would have born her gently up, And cast her on some bank for burial.
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)
A Beaſt indeed: Like ſuch ſhe ſhall be us'd; behold her, Argus; Are theſe lips fitting for a god to kiſſe? Theſe hoofes apt palms to gripe? theſe tears fit pillowes? On which a Deity ſhould breſt himſelfe? Theſe, eyes to tempt? or this an hide to touch? Theſe hornes? (ô me) in myne owne heraldry She mocks me without bluſhing. In all this How will you uſe my ſervice? As a Spy: An hundred eyes thou haſt, of all which number I will allow thee two to ſleep by turnes; The reſt to watch this Strumpet; and of all, But two to winke, the reſt to gaze at full: Behinde thee thou haſt eyes, both ſides, before; Which way ſoe're thou turnſt ſhee's in thy view. "A thouſand he had need, all piercing bright, "To watch a Lover from his choice delight. And is this all? Something I had forgot: Thou art an Herdſman, Argus, and thou know'ſt To tame vnruly cattell; ſhe is ſuch: In ſome unworthy halter binde her neck, For ſuch a Beauty the firſt Cakanet. Her browſing be the Brakes and bitter couche, For dainties feed her with the ſoureſt herbs; Lead her through briers & brambles, which may ſcratch Her itching skin even till her ſoft ſides bleed, Raiſe vp the mud in cleare ſprings when ſhe drinks, Keep her from ſhadow, in the parching Sun, Till ſhe be ſtung with horſe flies, and the brees: Let her not reſt but where the ground's ſtill bare; Feather her bed with thiſtles and ſharp thornes; And for her footing chuſe the barren paths Strow'd with looſe pointed flints to gall her hoofes. Argus farewell, I leave her to thy truſt, A ſweet reuenge for her inſatiate luſt. Drawing this piece of Beaſts fleſh thus along, Me-thinks I looke like Lybian Hercules Leading the Dog of hell: nay I ſhall fit her According to my charge, and I will keep thee (Calfe with the white face) ſafe enough from bulling, The longeſt day that I haue eye to ſee. What do you hang an arſe? Ptrow, come along, I'le leade you to bare feeding, and finde ſallets To take downe your full flanks and theſe plump cheeks. Along, I'le watch thee well enough from ſhrinking Necke out of collar. Nay, on; thou ſhalt finde, Though my face from thee, I have eyes behinde. Speake not to me of comfort, Jo's loſt! Had ſhe miſcarried on the earth, her body Would have given inſtance of her timeleſſe fate: Or had ſhe been by ſavage beaſts devour'd, Her garments ſtain'd with bloud would tell her death. Had ſhe in myne or theſe my neighbour floods Periſht, they would have borne her gently vp, And caſt her on ſome banke for buriall.