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 · 488 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
The Fates impose the like command on me, That you I must, that you I cannot love. Unhappy man! when I begin to clothe My love with words, and court her with persuasions, She stands unmoved, and doth not clear her brow Of the least wrinkle which sat there before; So when the waters with an amorous noise Leap up and down, and in a wanton dance Kiss the dull rock, that scorns their fond embraces, And darts them back; till they with terror scattered, Drop down again in tears. Unhappy woman! When I begin to show him all my passion, He flies from me, and will not clear his brow Of any cloud which covered it before; So when the ravishing Nightingale hath tuned Her mournful notes, and silenced all the birds, Yet the deaf wind flirts by, and in disdain With a rude whistle leaves her. We are all three Unhappy; borne to be the proud example Of love's great Godhead, not his Godlike goodness. Let us not call upon ourselves those miseries Which love hath not, and those it hath bear bravely, Our desires yet are like some hidden text, Where one word seems to contradict another, They are love's nonsense, wrapped up in thick clouds Till Fate be pleased to write a Commentary, Which doubtless 'twill; till then let let us endure, And sound a parley to our passions, We may join hands though, may we not? We may, and lips too, may we not? We may; come let's sit down and talk. And look upon each other. Then kiss again. Then look. Then talk again, What are we like? the hand of Mother Nature Would be quite posed to make our simile. We are the Trigon in love's Hemisphere. We are three strings on Venus' daintiest Lute, Where all three hinder one another's music, Yet all three join and make one harmony. We are three flowers of Venus' dainty garden, Where all three hinder one another's odour, Yet all three join, and make one nosegay up. Come let us kiss again. And look. And talk. Nay rather sing, your lips are Nature's organs, And made for nought less sweet than harmony. Pray do. Though I forfeit My little skill in singing to your wit, Yet I will do't, since you command. It is a punishment to love, And not to love a punishment doth prove; But of all pains there's no such pain, As 'tis to love, and not be loved again. Till sixteen parents we obey, After sixteen, men steal our hearts away How wretched are we women grown, Whose wills, whose minds, whose hearts are ne'er our own! Thank you. For ever be the tales of Orpheus silent, Had the same age seen thee, that very Poet, Who drew all to him by his harmony, Thou wouldst have drawn to thee. Come shall we rise? If it please you, I will.
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)
The Fates impose the like command on me, That you I must, that you I cannot love. Vnhappy man! when I begin to cloath My love with words, and court her with perswasions, She stands unmov'd, and doth not cleare her brow Of the least wrinkle which sate there before; So when the waters with an amorous noyse Leape up and downe, and in a wanton dance Kisse the dull rocke, that scornes their fond embraces, And darts them back; till they with terror scattered, Drop downe againe in teares. Vnhappy woman! When I begin to shew him all my passion, He flyes from me, and will not cleare his brow Of any cloud which covered it before; So when the ravishing Nightingale hath tun'd Her mournfull notes, and silenc'd all the birds, Yet the deafe wind flirts by, and in disdaine With a rude whistle leaues her. We are all three Vnhappy; borne to be the proud example Of Loves great God-head, not his God-like goodnesse. Let us not call upon our selves those miseries Which love hath not, and those it hath beare bravely, Our desires yet are like some hidden text, Where one word seemes to contradict another, They are Loves nonsence, wrapt up in thicke clouds Till Fate be pleas'd to write a Commentary, Which doubtlesse 'twill; till then let let us endure, And sound a parlee to our passions, We may joyne hands though, may we not? We may, and lips too, may we not? We may; come let's sit downe and talke. And looke upon each other. Then kisse againe. Then looke. Then talke againe, What are we like? the hand of Mother Nature Would be quite pos'd to make our simile. We are the Trigon in Loves Hemisphere. We are three strings on Venus dainty'st Lute, Where all three hinder one anothers musick, Yet all three joyne and make one harmony. We are three flowers of Venus dainty garden, Where all three hinder one anothers odor, Yet all three joyne, and make one nosegay up. Come let us kisse againe. And looke. And talke. Nay rather sing, your lips are Natures organs, And made for nought lesse sweet then harmony. Pray doe. Though I forfeit My little skill in singing to your wit, Yet I will do't, since you command. It is a punishment to love, And not to love a punishment doth prove; But of all paines there's no such paine, As 'tis to love, and not be lov'd againe. Till sixteene parents we obey, After sixteene, men steale our hearts away How wretched are we women growne, Whose wills, whose minds, whose hearts are ne're our owne! Thanke you. For ever be the tales of Orpheus silent, Had the same age seene thee, that very Poet, Who drew all to him by his harmony, Thou would'st have drawne to thee. Come shall we rise? If it please you, I will.