Cowley, Abraham · published 1638 · first performed or written 1633 [c.1633-1636] (Annals) pastoral unassigned nearest T35 Fools, wit and railing · 486 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T35: fool, wit, aristippus, achilles, wise, fools, patroclus, thersites, master, men.
This fellow's wit amazeth me; but friend, What do you think of lovers? Worst of all; Is't not a pretty folly to stand thus, And sigh, and fold the arms, and cry my Celia, My soul, my life, my Calia, than to wring Ones state for presents, and ones brain for Sonnets? O! 'tis beyond the name of Frenzy. What so Satyric Shepherd? I believe You did not learn these flashes in the Woods; How is it possible that you should get Such near acquaintance with the City manners, And yet live here in such a silent place, Where one would think the very name of City Could hardly Enter. Why, I'll tell you Sir: My father died, (you force me to remember A grief that deserves tears) and left me young, And (if a Shepherd may be said so) rich, I in an itching wantonness to see What other Swains so wondered at, the City, Straight sold my rural portion (for the wealth Of Shepherds is their flocks) and thither went, Where whilst my money lasted I was welcome, And lived in credit, but when that was gone, And the last piece sighed in my empty pocket, I was contemned, than I began to feel How dearly I had bought experience, And without any thing besides repentance To load me, returned back, and here I live To laugh at all those follies which I saw. The merry waves dance up and down, and play, Sport is granted to the Sea. Birds are the queristers of th'empty air, Sport is never wanting there. The ground doth smile at the Springs flowery birth, Sport is granted to the earth. The fire its cheering flame on high doth rear, Sport is never wanting there. If all the elements, the Earth, the Sea, Air, and fire, so merry be; Why is man's mirth so seldom, and so small, Who is compounded of them all? You may rejoice; but sighs befit me better. Now on my conscience thou hast lost a Mistress; If it be so, thank God, and love no more; Or else perhaps she'has burned your whining letter, Or kissed another Gentleman in your sight, Or else denied you her glove, or laughed at you, Causes indeed, which deserve special mourning, And now you come to talk with your God Cupid In private here, and call the Woods to witness, And all the streams which murmur when they hear The injuries they suffer; I am sorry I have been a hindrance to your meditations, Farewell Sir. Nay, good Shepherd, you mistake me. Faith, I am very chary of my health, I would be loath to be infected Sir. Thou needest not fear; I have no disease at all Besides a troubled mind. Why that's the worst, the worst of all. And therefore it doth challenge Your piety the more, you should the rather, Strive to be my Physician.
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)
This fellowes wit amazeth me; but friend, What doe you thinke of lovers? Worst of all; Is't not a pretty folly to stand thus, And figh, and fold the armes, and cry my Coelia, My soule, my life, my Calia, then to wring Ones state for presents, and ones brayne for Sonnets? O! 'tis beyond the name of Phrenzie. What so Satyricke Shepheard? I beleeve You did not learne these flashes in the Woods; How is it possible that you should get Such neere acquaintance with the Citie manners, And yet live here in such a silent place, Where one would thinke the very name of City Could hardly Enter. Why, I'le tell you Sir: My father dyed, (you force me to remember A griefe that deserves teares) and left me young, And (if a Shepheard may be said so) rich, I in an itching wantonnesse to see What other Swaines so wondred at, the Citie, Streight sold my rurall portion (for the wealth Of Shepheards is their flockes) and thither went, Where whil'st my money lasted I was welcome, And liv'd in credit, but when that was gone, And the last piece sigh'd in my empty pocket, I was contemn'd, then I began to feele How dearely I had bought experience, And without any thing besides repentance To load me, return'd back, and here I live▪ To laugh at all those follyes which I saw. The merry waves dance up and downe, and play, Sport is granted to the Sea. Birds are the queristers of th'empty ayre, Sport is never wanting there. The ground doth smile at the Springs flowry birth, Sport is granted to the earth. The fire it's cheering flame on high doth reare, Sport is never wanting there. If all the elements, the Earth, the Sea, Ayre, and fire, so merry bee; Why is mans mirth so seldome, and so small, Who is compounded of them all? You may rejoyce; but sighes befit me better. Now on my conscience thou hast lost a Mistris; If it be so, thanke God, and love no more; Or else perhaps she'has burnt your whining letter, Or kist another Gentleman in your sight, Or else denyed you her glove, or laught at you, Causes indeed, which deserve speciall mourning, And now you come to talke with your God Cupid In private here, and call the Woods to witnesse, And all the streames which murmure when they heare The injuries they suffer; I am sorry I have beene a hindrance to your meditations, Farewell Sir. Nay, good Shepheard, you mistake mee. Faith, I am very chary of my health, I would be loath to be infected Sir. Thou needest not feare; I have no disease at all Besides a troubled mind. Why that's the worst, the worst of all. And therefore it doth challenge Your piety the more, you should the rather, Strive to be my Physitian.