Cowley, Abraham · published 1638 · first performed or written 1633 [c.1633-1636] (Annals) pastoral unassigned nearest T22 Shepherds, flocks and Pan · 495 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T22: shepherd, pan, shepherds, love, sheep, flocks, fair, shepherdess, swain, away.
ay, and you were a most rare fool for doing so, Why 'twas that poisoned all; Had I a Mistress I'd almost beat her, by this light, I would, For they are much about your spaniel's nature, But whilst you cry dear Hylace, o Hylace! Pity the tortures of my burning heart, She'll always mince it, like a citizen's wife, At the first asking; though her tickled blood Leaps at the very mention; therefore now Leave off your whining tricks, and take my counsel. First then be merry; For 'tis but a folly, &c. 'Tis a hard lesson for my mind to learn, But I would force myself, if that would help me. Why thou shalt see it will; next I would have thee To laugh at her, and mock her pitifully; Study for jeers against next time you see her, I'll go along with you, and help to abuse her, Till we have made her cry, worse than e'er you did; When we have used her thus a little while, she'll be as tame and gentle.— But alas! This will provoke her more. I'll warrant thee: beside, what if it should? She hath refused you utterly already. And cannot hurt you worse; come, come, be ruled; And follow me, we'll put it straight in practice. For 'tis but a folly, &c. A match; I'll try always; she can but scorn me, There is this good in depth of misery That men may attempt any thing, they know The worst before hand. How happy is that man, who in these woods With secure silence wears away his time! Who is acquainted better with himself Then others; who so great a stranger is To City follies, that he knows them not. He sits all day upon some mossy hill His rural throne, armed with his crook, his sceptre, A flowery garland is his country crown; The gentle lambs and sheep his loyal subjects Which every year pay him their fleecy tribute; Thus in an humble stateliness and majesty He tunes his pipe, the woods best melody, And is at once, what many Monarchs are not Both King and Poet. I could gladly wish To spend the rest of my unprofitable, And needless days in their innocuous sports, But then my father, mother, and my brother Recurse unto my thoughts, and straight pluck down The resolution I had built before; Love names Philistus to me, and o'th' sudden The woods seem base, and all their harmless pleasures The daughters of necessity, not virtue. Thus with myself I wage a war, and am To my own rest a traitor; I would fain Go home, but still the thought of Aphron frights me. How now? who's here? o 'tis fair Hylace The grumbling Shepherd's daughter. Brightest of all those stars that paint the woods, And grace these shady habitations, You're welcome, how shall I requite the benefit Which you bestow upon so poor a stranger With your fair presence?
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)
I, and you were a most rare foole for doing so, Why 'twas that poyson'd all; Had I a Mistris I'de almost beat her, by this light, I would, For they are much about your Spaniels nature, But whilst you cry deare Hylace, ô Hylace! Pitty the tortures of my burning heart, She'le alwayes mince it, like a Citizens wife, At the first asking; though her tickled bloud Leapes at the very mention; therefore now Leave off your whining tricks, and take my counsell. First then be merry; For 'tis but a folly, &c. 'Tis a hard lesson for my mind to Iearne, But I would force my selfe, if that would helpe me▪ Why thou shalt see it will; next I would have thee To laugh at her, and mocke her pittifully; Study for jeeres against next time you see her, I'le goe along with you, and helpe to abuse her, Till we have made her cry, worse then e're you did; When we have us'd her thus a little while, Shee'le be as tame and gentle. — But alas! This will provoke her more. Ile warrant thee: besides, what if it should? She hath refus'd you utterly already. And cannot hurt you worse; come, come, be rul'd; And follow me, we'le put it straight in practize. For 'tis but a folly, &c. A match; Ile try alwayes; she can but scorne me, There is this good in depth of misery That men may attempt any thing, they know The worst before hand. How happy is that man, who in these woods With secure silence weares away his time! Who is acquainted better with himselfe Then others; who so great a stranger is To Citie follyes, that he knowes them not. He sits all day upon some mossie hill His rurall throne▪ arm'd with his crooke, his scepter, A flowry garland is his country crowne; The gentle lambes and sheepe his loyall subjects Which every yeare pay him their fleecy tribute; Thus in an humble statelinesse and majestie He tunes his pipe, the woods best melody, And is at once, what many Monarches are not Both King and Poet. I could gladly wish To spend the rest of my unprofitable, And needlesse dayes in their innocuous sports, But then my father, mother, and my brother Recurse unto my thoughts, and straight plucke downe The resolution I had built before; Love names Philistus to me, and o'th' sudden The woods seeme base, and all their harmlesse pleasures The daughters of necessity, not vertue. Thus with my selfe I wage a warre, and am To my owne rest a traytor; I would faine Goe home, but still the thought of Aphron frights me. How now? who's here? ô 'tis faire Hylace The grumbling shepheards daughter. Brightest of all those starres that paint the woods, And grace these shady habitations, You're welcome, how shall I requite the benefit Which you bestow upon so poore a stranger With your faire presence?