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 · 519 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
Spare these titles I am a wretched woman, who for pity (Alas that I should pity! t'had been better That I had been remorseless) brought you hither, Where with some food and rest, thanks to the Gods Your senses are recovered. My good Angel! I do remember now that I was mad For want of meat and sleep, thrice did the Sun Cheer all the world but me, thrice did the night With silent and bewitching darkness give A resting time to every thing but Aphron. The fish, the beasts, the birds, the smallest creatures And the most despicable snored securely. The aguish head of every tree by Aeolus Was rocked asleep, and shook as if it nodded. The crooked mountains seemed to bow and slumber, The very rivers ceased their daily murmur, Nothing did watch, but the pale Moon, and I Paler than she; Grief wedded to this toil What else could it beget but franticness? But now methinks, I am my own, my brain Swims not as it was wont; O brightest Virgin Show me some way by which I may be grateful, And if I do't not, let an eternal Frenzy immediately seize on me. Alas! 'twas only My love, and if you will reward me for't, Pay that I lent you, I'll require no interest; The principal's enough. You speak in mists. You're loath perhaps to understand. If you intend that I should love and honour you, I do by all the Gods. But I am covetous in my demands, I am not satisfied with windlike promises Which only touch the lips; I ask your heart Your whole heart for me, in exchange of mine, Which so I gave to you. Ha! you amaze me. Oh! you have spoken something worse than lightning, That blasts the inward parts, leaves, the outward whole, My gratitude commands me to obey you, But I am borne a man, and have those passions Fighting within me, which I must obey. Whilst Callidora lives, although she be As cruel, as thy breast is soft and gentle; 'TIs sin for me to think of any other. You cannot love me then? I do I swear, Above myself I do: myself? what said I? Alas! that's nothing; above any thing But heaven and Callidora. Fare you well then, I would not do that wrong to one I love, To urge him farther than his power and will; Farewell, remember me when you are gone, And happy in the love of Callidora. When I do not, may I forget myself, Would I were mad again; then I might rave With privilege, I should not know the griefs That hurried me about, 'twere better far To lose the senses, then be tortured by them. Where is she gone? I did not ask her name, Fool that I was, alas poor Gentlewoman! Can any one love me? ye cruel Gods, Is't not enough that I myself am miserable, Must I make others so too? I'll go in And comfort her; alas! how can I though? I'll grieve with her, that is in ills a comfort.
seed 43: T2 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Spare these titles I am a wretched woman, who for pitty (Alas that I should pitty! t'had bin better That I had beene remorslesse) brought you hither, Where with some food and rest, thanks to the Gods Your senses are recovered. My good Angell! I doe remember now that I was madde For want of meat and sleepe, thrice did the Sun Cheere all the world but me, thrice did the night With silent and bewitching darknesse give A resting time to every thing but Aphron. The fish, the beasts, the birds, the smallest creatures And the most despicable snor'd securely. The aguish head of every tree by Aeolus Was rockt asleepe, and shooke as if it nodded. The crooked mountaines seem'd to bow and slumber, The very rivers ceas'd their daily murmur, Nothing did watch, but the pale Moone, and I Paler then shee; Griefe wedded to this toyle What else could it beget but franticknesse? But now me thinkes, I am my owne, my braine Swimmes not as it was wont; O brightest Virgin Shew me some way by which I may be gratefull, And if I do't not, let an eternall Phrenzie Jmmediatly seize on me. Alas! 'twas only My love, and if you will reward me for't, Pay that J lent you, J'le require no interest; The Principall's enough. You speake in mists. You're loth perhaps to understand. If you intend that I should love and honour you, I doe by all the Gods. But I am covetous in my demands, I am not satisfied with wind-like promises Which only touch the lips; I aske your heart Your whole heart for me, in exchange of mine, Which so I gave to you. Ha! you amaze me. Oh! you have spoken something worse then lightning, That blasts the inward parts, leaves, the outward whole, My gratitude commands me to obey you, But I am borne a man, and have those passions Fighting within me, which I must obey. Whilst Callidora lives, although she bee As cruell, as thy breast is soft and gentle; 'TIs sinne for me to thinke of any other. You cannot love me then? I doe I sweare, Above my selfe I doe: my selfe? what said I? Alas! that's nothing; above any thing But heaven and Callidora. Fare you well then, I would not doe that wrong to one I love, To urge him farther then his power and will; Farewell, remember me when you are gone, And happy in the love of Callidora. When J doe not, may I forget my selfe, Would I were madde againe; then I might rave With priviledge, I should not know the griefes That hurried me about, 'twere better farre To lose the senses, then be tortured by them. Where is she gone? I did not aske her name, Foole that I was, alas poore Gentlewoman! Can any one love me? yee cruell Gods, Is't not enough that I my selfe am miserable, Must I make others so too? Ile goe in And comfort her; alas! how can I though? Ile grieve with her, that is in ills a comfort.