Suckling, John · published 1638 · first performed or written 1637 (Annals) not in BritDrama unassigned nearest T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint · 526 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
I grant you, Madam, that the fears, and joys, hopes, and desires, mixed with despairs, and doubts, do make the sport in love; that they are the very dogs by which we hunt the hare; but as the dogs would stop, and straight give o'er were it not for the little thing before; o would our passions; both alike must be fleshed in the chase. Will you then place the happiness, but there, where the dull plough man and the ploughman's horse can find it out? Shall souls refined, not know how to preserve alive a noble flame, but let it die, burn out to appetite? Love's a Chameleon, and would live on air, Physic for agues, starving is his food. Why? there's it now! a greater Epicure lives not on earth; my Lord and I have been in 's privy kitchen, seen his bills of Fare. And how, and how my Lord? A mighty Prince, and full of curiosity— Hearts newly slain served up entire, and stuck with little Arrows in stead of Cloves— Sometimes a cheek plumped up with broth, with cream and claret mingled for sauce, and round about the dish Pomegranate kernels, strewed on leaves of Lilies. Then will he have black eyes, for those of late e feeds on much, and for varietie the gray— You forget his covered dishes of Iene-strays, and Marmalade of lips, perfumed by breath sweet as the beans first blossoms. Rare! And what's the drink to all this meat, my Lord? Nothing but pearl dissolved, tears still fresh, fetched from Lovers eyes, which if they come to be warm in the carriage, are straight cooled with sighs. And all this rich proportion, perchance we would allow him: True! but therefore this is but his common dir; only serves when his chief Cooks, Liking and Opportunity, are out o'th' way; for when he feasts indeed, 'tis there, where the wise people of the world did place the virtues, i'th' middle— Madam. My Lord, there is so little hope we should convert you; and if we should, so little got by it, that we'll not lose so much upon't as sleep. Your Lordship's servants— Nay Ladies we'll wait upon you to your chambers. Prithee le's spare the compliment, we shall do no good. By this hand I'll try, they keep me fasting, and I must be praying. Undress me:— Is it not late, Iolina? it was the longest day, this— Softly, as Death itself comes on, when it does steal away the sick man's breath, and standers by perceive it not, have I trod the way unto these lodgings. How wisely do those Powers that give us happiness, order it? sending us still fears to bound our joys, which else would overflow and lose themselves: see where she sits, like Day retired into another world. Dear mine! where all the beauty man admires in scattered pieces, does united lie. Where sense does feast, and yet where sweet desire lives in its longing, like a miser's eye, that never knew, nor saw satiety: tell me, by what approaches must I come to take in what remains of my felicity?
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 grant you, Madam, that the feares, and joyes, hopes, and desires, mixt with despaires, and doubts, de make the sport in love; that they are the veie dogs by which we hunt the hare; but as the dogs would stop, and streight give o're were it not for the little thing before; o would our passions; both alike must be flesh't in the chase. Will you then place the happinesse, but there, where the dull plow man and the plow-mans horse can finde it out? Shall soules refin'd, not know how to preserve alive a noble flame, but let it die, burne out to appetite? Love's a Chamelion, and would live on aire, phsick for agues, starving is his food. Why? there's it now! a greater Epicure lives not on earth; my Lord and I have beene in prive kitchin, seene his bills of Fare. And how, and how my Lord? A mightie Prince, and full of curiositie—Harts newly slaine serv'd up intire, and stucke with little Arrowes in stead of Cloves— Sometimes a cheeke plumpt up with broth, with creame and clarret mingled for sauce, and round about the dish Pomegranate kernells, strew'd on leaves of Lillies. Then will he have black eies, for those of late e feeds on much, and for varietie the gray— You forget his cover'd dishes of ene-straes, and Marmalade of lips, prfum'd by breath sweet as the beanes first blossomes. Rare! And what's the drinke to all this meat, my Lord? Nothing but pearle dissolv'd, teares still fresh, fetch'd from Lovers eyes, which if they come to be warme in the carriage, are streight cool'd with sighs. And all this rich proportion, perchance we would allow him: True! but therefore this is but his common dir; onely serves when his chiefe Cookes, Liking and Opportunie, are out o'th' way; for when hee feasts indeed, 'tis there, where the wise people of the world did place the vertues, i'th' middle—Madam. My Lord, there is so little hope we should convert you; and if we should, so little got by it, that wee'll not lose so much upon't as sleepe. Your Lordships servants— Nay Ladies wee'll wait upon you to your chambers. Prithee lets spare the complement, we shall doe no good. By this hand Ile try, they keepe me fasting, and I must be praying. Undresse mee:— Is it not late, Iolina? it was the longest day, this— Softly, as Death it selfe comes on, when it does steale away the sicke mans breath, and standers by perceive it not, have I trod the way unto these lodgings. How wisely doe those Powers that give us happinesse, order it? sending us still feares to bound our joyes, which else would over-flow and lose themselves: see where shee sits, like Day retir'd into another world. Deare mine! where all the beautie man admires in scattered pieces, does united lye. Where sense does feast, and yet where sweet desire lives in its longing, like a misers eye, that never knew, nor saw sacietie: tell me, by what approaches must I come to take in what remaines of my felicitie?