Heywood, Thomas · published 1637 · first performed or written 1635 (Annals) classical legend or myth unassigned nearest T21 Cupid, Venus and the nymphs · 471 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T21: cupid, venus, love, ceres, diana, fair, nymphs, goddess, bow, damon.
Trust me, not I: I never looked so far into man and most sure I an, man never yet entered so far in●● me, that I should know how to define it. But can y●● tell the reason why this little god is still portrayed like child? I think, because that dotage which he breeds Only belongs to children. 1 Nymph. But why naked Either to affright the Modest; or to such As vow to him, to express their impudence. But why with bow and arrows? That denotes Inconstancy, because the shafts of love Are ever shot at random. Wherhfore hood winked? Howe're his shafts are aimed, it shows his kind Because they strike the eyes of Reason blind. Than an I with Love quite out of love, became at these years I should be loathe to have one to lead ●● Yet do I love the beauty of the spring, To listen to the birds, with various lays To welcome in his coming. I affect The pride and warmth of Summer, to behold Abundant Autumn pour his harvest forth In plenteous sheaves; to see the presses bleed A flowing vintage. But I most admire The glory of the Sun who comforts these: For without him, what were the earth? what heaven? If all were darkness, who should than discern The lustre of the one or of the other, The fresh fertility proudly adorned With choice and change of all discoloured flowers? Moore than a cased up jewel, what were Beauty, Without the Sun to give a brightness to 't? What's ornament, without the Sun to judge it? What to be fair or foul, without the Sun, To censure and distinguish which is best? The Sun's the deity which I adore. Here than upon this verdure cast yourselves, And rest a while; not long 'tis ever he will In all his glory mount the Eastern hill. Here on the top of the mount Ericine Ambush thyself, (a place sacred to me) Where thou mayst boldly front the god of Light, Who hath by this already chased hence night. I'll leave thee now: strike, but strike home, my son, I'll in these shades absent me whilst 'tis done. He mocks my bow, but Phoebus soon shall find Cupid hath power to strike the Sun-god blind. The stars are frighted from the firmament, And at the sight of our illustrious beams Darkness unto the black Cymmerians fled. Now to our daily progress through the Signs. But stay, what's he that with our honours, armed, (The Bow and quiver, proper sole to us) Braves us upon high Erix Promontory? I know him now, 'tis Paphian Venus' son, To whom some fools have vowed a deity. I'll know the reason why the bastard brat Dares thus assume my trophies.' Morrow Cupid. As much to Phoebus.
seed 43: T21 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Truſt me, not I: I never lookt ſo far into man and moſt ſure I am, man never yet entred ſo farre in me, that I ſhould know how to define it. But can y tell the reaſon why this little god is ſtill portraid like childe? I think, becauſe that dotage which he breeds Only belongs to children. 1 Nymph. But why naked Either t' affright the Modeſt; or to ſuch As vow to him, to expreſſe their impudence. But why with bow and arrowes? That denotes Inconſtancie, becauſe the ſhafts of love Are ever ſhot at random. Wherefore hood winkt? Howe're his ſhafts are aim'd, it ſhewes his kind Becauſe they ſtrike the eies of Reaſon blinde. Then am I with Love quite out of love, beca at theſe yeres I ſhould be loath to have one to lead Yet do I love the beauty of the ſpring, To liſten to the birds, with various layes To welcome in his comming. I affect The pride and warmth of Summer, to behold Aboundant Autumne poure his harveſt forth In plenteous ſheafes; to ſee the preſſes bleed A flowing vintage. But I moſt admire The glory of the Sun who comforts theſe: For without him, what were the earth? what heaven? If all were darkneſſe, who ſhould then diſcerne The luſtre of the one or of the other, The freſh fertilitie proudly adorn'd With choiſe and change of all diſcolour'd floures? More than a cas'd up Iewell, what were Beauty, Without the Sun to give a brightneſſe to 't? What's ornament, without the Sun to iudge it? What to be faire or foule, without the Sun, To cenſure and diſtinguiſh which is beſt? The Sun's the deity which I adore. Here then upon this verdure caſt your ſelves, And reſt a while; not long 'tis e're he will In all his glory mount the Eaſtern hill. Here on the top of the mount Ericine Ambuſh thy ſelfe, (a place ſacred to me) Where thou mayſt boldly front the god of Light, Who hath by this already chac'd hence night. I'le leave thee now: ſtrike, but ſtrike home, my ſon, I'le in theſe ſhades abſent me whil'ſt 'tis done. He mocks my bow, but Phoebus ſoon ſhall finde Cupid hath power to ſtrike the Sun-god blinde. The ſtars are frighted from the firmament, And at the ſight of our illuſtrious beams Darkneſſe vnto the blacke Cymmerians fled. Now to our daily progreſſe through the Signes. But ſtay, what's he that with our honors, arm'd, (The Bow and quiver, proper ſole to us) Braves us upon high Erix Promontorie? I know him now, 'tis Paphian Venus ſon, To whom ſome fooles have vow'd a deity. I'le know the reaſon why the baſtard brat Dares thus aſſume my trophies. 'Morrow Cupid. As much to Phoebus.