Cowley, Abraham · published 1638 · first performed or written 1633 [c.1633-1636] (Annals) pastoral unassigned nearest T11 Siblings, kin and confidants · 498 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T11: sister, brother, love, friend, heart, father, mother, woman, lord, hear.
Would I had died, when first I brought thee forth My Girl, my best Girl, than I should have slept In quiet, and not wept now. I am halfe a statue Freeze me up quite ye Gods, and let me be My own sad monument. Alas! you do but hurt yourselves with weeping; Consider pray, it may be she'll come back. Oh! never, never, 'tis impossible As to call back sixteen, and with vain Rhetoric Persuade my life's fresh April to return, she's dead, or else far worse, kept up by Aphron Whom if I could but see, methinks new blood Would creep into my veins, and my faint sinews Renew themselves, I doubt not but to find Strength enough yet to be revenged of Aphron. Would I were with thee, Girl, where ere thou art. For shame good Brother, see if you can comfort them, methinks you should say something. Do you think My griefs so light? or was the interest So small which I had in her? I a comforter? Alas! she was my wife, for we were married In our affection, in our vows; and nothing Stopped the enjoying of each other, but The thin partition of some ceremonies. I lost my hopes, my expectations, My joys, nay more, I lost myself with her; You have a son, yet left behind, whose memory May sweeten all this gall. ay, we had one, But fate's so cruel to us, and such dangers Attend a travelling man, that 'twere presumption To say we have him; we have sent for him To blot out the remembrance of his sister: But whether we shall ever see him here, The Gods can only tell, we barely hope. This news, alas! Will be but a sad welcome to him. Why do I play thus with my misery? 'Tis vain to think I can live here without her, I'll seek her where'er she is; patience in this Would be a vice, and men might justly say My love was but a flash of winged lightning, And not a Vestal flame, which always shines His wooing is a compliment, not passion, Who can if fortune snatch away his Mistress, Spend some few tears, then take another choice, Mine is not so; Oh Callidora! Fie Brother, you're a man, And should not be shaken with every wind, If it were possible to call her back with mourning, mourning were a piety, But since it cannot, you must give me leave To call it folly: So it is; And I will therefore shape some other course, This doleful place shall never see me more, Unless it see her too in my embraces, You sister may retire unto my Farm, Adjoining to the woods; And my estate I leave for you to manage, If I find her, expect me there, if not Do you live happier than your Brother hath: Alas! how can I if you leave me? but I hope your resolutions may be altered.
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)
Would I had dyed, when first I brought thee forth My Girle, my best Girle, then I should have slept In quiet, and not wept now. I am halfe a statue Freeze me up quite yee Gods, and let me be My owne sad monument. Alas! you doe but hurt your selves with weeping; Consider pray, it may be she'le come back. Oh! never, never, 'tis impossible As to call back sixteene, and with vaine Rhetoricke Perswade my lifes fresh Aprill to returne, Shee's dead, or else farre worse, kept up by Aphron Whom if I could but see, me thinkes new bloud Would creepe into my veines, and my faint sinewes Renew themselves, I doubt not but to find Strength enough yet to be reveng'd of Aphron. Would I were with thee, Girle, where ere thou art. For shame good Brother, see if you can comfort them, Me thinkes you should say something. Doe you thinke My griefes so light? or was the interest So small which I had in her? I a comforter? Alas! she was my wife, for we were married In our affection, in our vowes; and nothing Stopt the enjoying of each other, but The thinne partition of some ceremonies. I lost my hopes, my expectations, My joyes, nay more, I lost my selfe with her; You have a son, yet left behind, whose memorie May sweeten all this gall. I, we had one, But fate's so cruell to us, and such dangers Attend a travelling man, that 'twere presumption To say we have him; we have sent for him To blot out the remembrance of his sister: But whether we shall ever see him here, The Gods can only tell, we barely hope. This newes, alas! Will be but a sad welcome to him. Why doe I play thus with my misery? 'Tis vaine to thinke I can live here without her, Ile seeke her where e're she is; patience in this Would be a vice, and men might justly say My love was but a flash of winged lightning, And not a Vestall flame, which alwayes shines His woing is a complement, not passion, Who can if fortune snatch away his Mistris, Spend some few teares, then take another choyce, Mine is not so; Oh Callidora! Fye Brother, you're a man, And should not be shaken with every wind, If it were possible to call her back with mourning, mourning were a piety, But since it cannot, you must give me leave To call it folly: So it is; And I will therefore shape some other course, This diolefull place shall never see me more, Vnlesse it see her too in my embraces, You sister may retyre unto my Farme, Adjoyning to the woods; And my estate I leave for you to manage, If I find her, expect me there, if not Doe you live happier then your Brother hath: Alas! how can I if you leave me? but I hope your resolutions may be altered.