Heywood, Thomas · published 1637 · first performed or written 1635 (Annals) classical legend or myth T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint typicality 0.82 · 443 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
His piercing beams I never shall endure, They sick me of a fatal Calenture. What are you better to be lovely born, If not beheld? What's state, if not observed? Or wherefore before Cottages do we Prefer the stately Palace, and the sumptuous roof? What virtue were in jewels without me? Else should they be with pebbles equal prized. Wherhfore did Nature make you with bright eyes, Which profit not in night without my beams? Why should the Rose be read? the Lily white? The Violet purple? and the Holly green? All these my creatures. But when I decline, And night usurps upon the Universe, Their tincture's not discerned: but white and read Which in your peerless cheeks exceed all flowers, What lustre bear they? When my beams are go, The fair and foul in darkness seem all one. That darkness doth best please me: let's away, My beauty will be sun burned if I stay, he'll blast me like an Ethiope. Dost thou fly me? Love bids me follow, and I must pursue: Not vault, no cave or cavern so obscure, Through which I will not pierce, to find thee out, The Antipodes for ever want my rays: To gaze on her, I'll this Meridian keep, And till attain the saint that I adore, Here ever shine, where night shall be no more. Laugh Cupid, laugh, for I an half revenged, And shall ever long be fully, when this Blab Shall in his course, or too much lag or speed Post sometimes, and again run retrograde. Where by his too long presence the earth is scorched, Or by his absence the other world shall frieze: And all that lies beneath the Moon complain: And that the gods at man's request shall call Disorder into question. What can than Both heaven and earth conclude when this is done, But this thou didst to avenge me of the Sun. Will not Mars thank me for't? And kiss thee too. OH still by his example punish those That shall our sweet adulterate sports disclose. Why fly's my Daphne, knowing 'tis in vain: Love makes me swifter than thy fear can thee. OH me, I an so tortured with the Sun, I hate my very shadow. I pursue not As Eagles, Doves do; or the Lions, Hearts; Or Wolves, the Lamb. Love is my cause of haste: Run not so fast, jest thou shouldst trip perhaps, And do thyself some damage: the ground's rough, Shouldst thou but slide, and I the Author on't, How much would it offend me? To prevent which, Stay but thy haste, and I will slack my speed. I an almost breathless.
seed 43: T2 · seed 44: T3 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
His piercing beams I never ſhall endure, They ſicke me of a fatall Calenture. What are you better to be lovely born, If not beheld? What's ſtate, if not obſerv'd? Or wherefore before Cottages do we Prefer the ſtately Palace, and the ſumptuous roofe? What vertue were in jewels without me? Elſe ſhould they be with pibbles equall pris'd. Wherefore did Nature make you with bright eies, Which profit not in night without my beams? Why ſhould the Roſe be red? the Lilly white? The Violet purple? and the Holly greene? All rheſe my creatures. But when I decline, And night uſurps upon the Vniverſe, Their tincture's not diſcern'd: but white and red Which in your peerleſſe cheeks exceed all floures, What luſtre beare they? When my beams are gone, The faire and foule in darkneſſe ſeem all one. That darkneſſe doth beſt pleaſe me: let's away, My beauty will be ſun burnt if I ſtay, Hee'l blaſt me like an Ethiope. Doſt thou fly me? Love bids me follow, and I muſt purſue: No vault, no cave or cavern ſo obſcure, Through which I will not pierce, to finde thee out, Th' Antipodes for ever want my rayes: To gaze on her, I'le this Meridian keepe, And till attain the ſaint that I adore, Here ever ſhine, where night ſhall be no more. Laugh Cupid, laugh, for I am halfe reveng'd, And ſhall e're long be fully, when this Blab Shall in his courſe, or too much lag or ſpeed Poſt ſomtimes, and again run retrograde. Where by his too long preſence th' earth is ſcortcht, Or by his abſence th' other world ſhall freeze: And all that lies beneath the Moon complaine: And that the gods at mans requeſt ſhall call Diſorder into queſtion. What can then Both heaven and earth conclude when this is done, But this thou didſt to avenge me of the Sun. Will not Mars thanke me for't? And kiſſe thee too. O ſtill by his example puniſh thoſe That ſhal our ſweet adulterate ſports diſcloſe. Why flies my Daphne, knowing 'tis in vaine: Love makes me ſwifter than thy feare can thee. O me, I am ſo tortur'd with the Sun, I hate my very ſhadow. I purſue not As Eagles, Doves do; or the Lions, Harts; Or Wolves, the Lambe. Love is my cauſe of haſt: Run not ſo faſt, leſt thou ſhouldſt trip perhaps, And do thy ſelfe ſome dammage: the ground's rough, Shouldſt thou but ſlide, and I the Author on't, How much would it offend me? To preuent which, Stay but thy haſt, and I will ſlack my ſpeed. I am almoſt breathleſſe.