Cowley, Abraham · published 1638 · first performed or written 1633 [c.1633-1636] (Annals) pastoral T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint typicality 0.78 · 497 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
Let me speak In private with you; I am bold to bring A garland to you, 'tis of the best flowers Which I could gather, I was picking them All yesterday. How you oblige me to you! I thank you sweetest, How they flourish still! Sure they grow better, since your hand hath nipped them. They will do, when your brow hath honoured them, Than they may well grow proud, and shine more freshly. What perfumes dwell in them? They owe these odours to your breath. Defend me ye good Gods, I think he kisses her, How long they have been talking? now perhaps she's wooing him; perhaps he forgets me And will consent, I'll put him in remembrance; You have not tasted of the apples yet, And they were good ones truly. I will do presently best Hilace. That's something yet, would he would speak so always. I would not change them for those glorious apples Which give such fame to the Hesperian gardens. She hath outgone me in her present now, But I have got a Beechen cup at home Curiously graven with the spreading leaves, And gladsome burden of a fruitful vine, Which Damon, the best Artist of these woods Made and bestowed upon me, I'll bring that tomorrow And give it him, and then I'll warrant her She will not go beyond me. What have you got a chaplet? ôh! This is I see of Bellula's composing. Why Hylace? you cannot make a better, What flowers 'pray doth it want? Poor souls I pity them, and the more, Because I have not been myself a stranger To these love passions, but I wonder What they can find in me worth their affection Truly I would fain satisfy them both, But can do neither; 'tis fates crime, not mine. whither go you shepherd? You will not leave us will you? Indeed I ought not, You have both me bought with your courtesies And should divide me. she came last to you. She hath another love, And kills Palaemon with her cruelty, How can she expect mercy from another? In what a Labyrinth doth Love draw mortals And then blindfolds them! what a mist it throws Upon their senses! if he be a God As sure he is (his power could not be so great else) He knows the impossibility which Nature Hath set betwixt us, yet entangles us, And laughs to see us struggle. D'ye both love me? I do I'm sure. And I as much as she. I pity both of you, for you have sowed Upon unthankful sand, whose dried up womb Nature denies to bless with fruitfulness, You are both fair, and more than common graces Inhabit in you both, Bellula's eyes Shine like the lamp of Heaven, and so doth Hylaces. Hylaces cheeks are deeper died in scarlet Than the chaste morning's blushes, so are Bellula's, And I protest I love you both. Yet cannot, Yet must not enjoy either.
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)
Let me speake In private with you; I am bold to bring A garland to you, 'tis of the best flowers Which I could gather, I was picking them All yesterday. How you oblige me to you! I thanke you sweetest, How they flourish still! Sure they grow better, since your hand hath nipt them. They will doe, when your brow hath honour'd them, Then they may well grow proud, and shine more freshly. What perfumes dwell in them? They owe these odours to your breath. Defend me yee good Gods, I thinke he kisses her, How long they have beene talking? now perhaps Shee's woing him; perhaps he forgets me And will consent, I'le put him in remembrance; You have not tasted of the apples yet, And they were good ones truly. I will doe presently best Hilace. That's something yet, would he would speake so alwayes. I would not change them for those glorious apples Which give such fame to the Hesperian gardens. She hath out-gone me in her present now, But I have got a Beechen cup at home Curiously graven with the spreading leaves, And gladsome burthen of a fruitfull vine, Which Damon, the best Artist of these woods Made and bestow'd upon me, I'le bring that tomorrow And give it him, and then I'le warrant her Shee will not goe beyond me. What have you got a chaplet? ôh! This is I see of Bellula's composing. Why Hylace? you cannot make a better, What flowers' pray doth it want? Poore soules I pitty them, and the more, Because I have not beene my selfe a stranger To these love passions, but I wonder What they can find in me worth their affection Truly I would faine satisfie them both, But can doe neither; 'tis fates crime, not mine. Weither goe you shepheard? You will not leave us will you? Indeed I ought not, You have both me bought with your courtesies And should divide me. Shee came last to you. She hath another love, And kills Palaemon with her cruelty, How can shee expect mercy from another? In what a Labyrinth doth Love draw mortalls And then blindfolds them! what a mist it throwes Vpon their senses! if he be a God As sure he is (his power could not be so great else) He knowes the impossibilitie which Nature Hath set betwixt us, yet entangles us, And laughs to see us struggle. D'yee both love me? I doe I'me sure. And I as much as she. I pitty both of you, for you have sow'd Vpon unthankfull sand, whose dry'd up wombe Nature denyes to blesse with fruitfulnesse, You are both fayre, and more then common graces Inhabite in you both, Bellula's eyes Shine like the lampe of Heaven, and so doth Hylaces. Hylaces cheekes are deeper dy'd in scarlet Then the chast mornings blushes, so are Bellula's, And I protest I love you both. Yet cannot, Yet must not enjoy either.