Cowley, Abraham · published 1638 · first performed or written 1633 [c.1633-1636] (Annals) pastoral unassigned nearest T11 Siblings, kin and confidants · 489 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T11: sister, brother, love, friend, heart, father, mother, woman, lord, hear.
Now he's stark mad again upon the sudden; He had some sense even now. Thou look'st as if thou wert some wicked woman Frighted out of the grave; defend me, how Her eyes do sink into their ugly holes, As if they were afraid to see the light. I will not be abused thus, that I will not My hair was bright even now, and my looks fresh: Am I so quickly changed? Her breath infects the air, and sows a pestilence where'er it comes; what hath she there? I! these are apples made up with the stings Of Scorpions, and the blood of Basilisks; Which being swallowed up, a thousand pains Eat on the heart, and gnaw the entrails out Thou liest; I, that thou dost, For these are honest apples, that they are; I'm sure I gathered them myself. From the Stygian tree; Give them me quickly, or I will— What will you do? pray take them. Get thee gone quickly, from me, for I know thee; Thou art Tisiphone. 'Tis false; for I know no such woman. I'm glad I am got from him, would I had My apples too, but 'tis no matter though, J'le have a better gift for Callidorus Tomorrow. The fiend is vanished from me, And hath left these behind for me to taste of, But I will be too cunning; Thus I'll scatter them, Now I have spoilt her plot; Unhappy he Who finds them. THe Sun five times hath gone his yearly progress, Since last I saw my Sister, and returning Big with desire to view my native Sicilie, I found my aged parents sadly mourning The funeral (for to them it seems no less) Of their departed Daughter; what a welcome This was to me, all in whose hearts a vein Of marble grows not, easily may conceive Without the dumb persuasions of my tears. Yet as if that were nothing, and it were A kind of happiness in misery If't come without an army to attend it, As I passed through these woods I saw a woman Whom her attire called Shepherdess, but face Some disguised Angel, or a Sylvan Goddess; It struck such adoration (for I durst not Harbour the love of so divine a beauty) That ever since I could not teach my thoughts Another object; (In this happy place (Happy her presence made it) she appeared, And breathed fresh honours on the smiling trees, Which owe more of their gallantry to her Then to the musky kisses of the West wind. Ha! sure 'tis she; Thus doth the Sun break forth From the black curtain of an envious cloud. For 'tis but a folly, &c. we did not send for you; pray leave us. No, by this light, not till I see you cry; When you have shed some penitential tears For wronging of Palaemon, there may be A truce concluded betwixt you and me.
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)
Now he's starke mad againe upon the sudden; He had some sense even now. Thou lookst as if thou wert some wicked woman Frighted out of the grave; defend me, how Her eyes doe sinke into their ugly holes, As if they were afraid to see the light. I will not be abus'd thus, that I will not My haire was bright even now, and my lookes fresh: Am I so quickly changed? Her breath infects the ayre, and sowes a pestilence Where e're it comes; what hath she there? J! these are apples made up with the stings Of Scorpions, and the bloud of Basiliskes; Which being swallowed up, a thousand paines Eate on the heart, and gnaw the entrailes out Thou lyest; J, that thou do'st, For these are honest apples, that they are; I'me sure I gathered them my selfe. From the Stygian tree; Give them me quickly, or I will— What will you doe? pray take them. Get thee gone quickly, from me, for I know thee; Thou art Tisiphone. 'Tis false; for I know no such woman. I'me glad I am got from him, would J had My apples too, but 'tis no matter though, J'le have a better gift for Callidorus To morrow. The fiend is vanisht from me, And hath left these behind for me to tast of, But I will be too cunning; Thus I'le scatter them, Now I have spoyld her plot; Vnhappy hee Who finds them. THe Sun five times hath gone his yearly progresse, Since last I saw my Sister, and returning Bigge with desire to view my native Sicilie, I found my aged parents sadly mourning The funerall (for to them it seemes no lesse) Of their departed Daughter; what a welcome This was to me, all in whose hearts a veine Of marble growes not, easily may conceive Without the dumbe perswasions of my teares. Yet as if that were nothing, and it were A kind of happinesse in misery If't come without an army to attend it, As I pass'd through these woods I saw a woman Whom her attyre call'd Shepheardesse, but face Some disguis'd Angell, or a Silvan Goddesse; It struck such adoration (for I durst not Harbour the love of so divine a beauty) That ever since I could not teach my thoughts Another object; (In this happy place (Happy her presence made it) she appear'd, And breath'd fresh honours on the smiling trees, Which owe more of their gallantry to her Then to the musky kisses of the West wind. Ha! sure 'tis she; Thus doth the Sunne breake forth From the blacke curtaine of an envious cloud. For 'tis but a folly, &c. Wee did not send for you; pray leave us. No, by this light, not till I see you cry; When you have shed some penitentiall teares For wronging of Palaemon, there may be A truce concluded betwixt you and me.