Gascoigne, George / Kinwelmershe, Francis / Yelverton, ChristopherEuripides / Dolce, Lodovico · published 1575 · first performed or written 1566 (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T22 Shepherds, flocks and Pan · 507 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T22: shepherd, pan, shepherds, love, sheep, flocks, fair, shepherdess, swain, away.
My lot is like (dear Dame) believe me well, The quiet life which I full closely kept. Was not content in happy state to devil, But forth in haste to gaze on thee it leapt. Desire thy dog did spring me up in haste, Thou wert the Hawk, whose talents caught me fast. What should I then, seek means to fly away? Or strive by force, to break out of thy feet? Not, not, perdie, I may no strength assay, To strive with thee iwis, it were not meet. Thou art that Hawk, whom nature made to hent me, And I the Bird, that must therewith content me. And since Dame nature hath ordained so, Her happy hest I gladly shall embrace: I yield my will, although it were to woe, I stand content to take my grief for grace: And seal it up within my secret heart, Which seal receive, as token of my smart. THis tenth of March when Aries receyud Dame Phoebus' rays, into his horned head: And I myself, by learned lore perceived, That Ver approached, and frosty winter fled. I crossed the Thames, to take the cheerful air, In open fields, the weather was so fair. And as I rowed, fast by the further shore, I heard a voice, which seemed to lament: Whereat I stayed, and by a stately door, I left my Boat, and up on land I went: Till at the last by lasting pain I found, The woeful wight, which made this doleful sound. In pleasant garden (placed all alone) I saw a Dame, who sat in weary wise, With scalding sighs, she uttered all her moan, The rueful tears, down rained from her eyes: Her lowering head, full low on hand she laid, On knee her arm: and thus this Lady said. Alas (quoth she) behold each pleasant green, Will now renew, his summers livery, The fragrant flowers, which have not long been seen, Will flourish now, (ere long) in bravery: The tender buds, whom cold hath long kept in, Will spring and sprout, as they do now begin. But I (alas) within whose mourning mind, The graffs of grief, are only given to grow, Cannot enjoy the spring which others find, But still my will, must whither all in woe: The cold of care, so nips my joys at root, No sun doth shine, that well can do them boot. The lusty Ver, which whilom might exchange My grief to joy, and then my joys increase, Spring's now else where, and shows to me but strange, My winter's woe, therefore can never cease: In other coasts, his sun full clear doth shine, And comforts lends to every mould but mine. What plant can spring, that feels no force of Ver? What flower can flourish, where no sun doth shine? These Bales (quoth she) within my breast I bear, To break my bark, and make my pith to pine: Needs must I fall, I fade both root and rind, My branches bow at blast of every wind.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T27 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
My lot is like (déere Dame) beleue me well, The quiet life which I full cloſely kept. Was not content in happie ſtate to dwell, But forth in haſt to gaze on thée it lept. Deſire thy dogge did ſpring me vp in haſt, Thou wert the Hauke, whoſe tallents caught me faſt. What ſhould I then, ſéeke meanes to flie away? Or ſtriue by force, to breake out of thy féete? No, no, perdie, I may no ſtrength aſſay, To ſtriue with thée ywis, it were not méete. Thou art that Hauke, whom nature made to hent me, And I the Byrd, that muſt therewith content me. And ſince Dame nature hath ordayned ſo, Hir happie heſt I gladly ſhall embrace: I yéeld my will, although it were to wo, I ſtand content to take my griefe for grace: And ſeale it vp within my ſecrete hart, Which ſeale receiue, as token of my ſmart. THis tenth of March when Aries receyud Dame Phoebus rayes, into his horned head: And I my ſelfe, by learned lore perceyu'd, That Ver approcht, and froſtie winter fled. I croſt the Thames, to take the cherefull ayre, In open féeldes, the weather was ſo fayre. And as I rowed, faſt by the further ſhore, I heard a voyce, which ſéemed to lament: Whereat I ſtay'd, and by a ſtately dore, I left my Boate, and vp on land I went: Till at the laſt by laſting paine I found, The wofull wight, which made this dolefull ſound. In pleaſant garden (placed all alone) I ſawe a Dame, who ſat in weary wiſe, With ſcalding ſighes, ſhe vttred all hir mone, The ruefull teares, downe rayned from hir eyes: Hir lowring head, full lowe on hand ſhe layed, On knée hir arme: and thus this Lady ſayed. Alas (quod ſhe) behold eche pleaſaunt gréene, Will now renew, his ſommers liuery, The fragrant flowers, which haue not long bene ſéene, Will floriſh now, (ere long) in brauery: The tender buddes, whom colde hath long kept in, Will ſpring and ſproute, as they do now begin. But I (alas) within whoſe mourning minde, The graffes of grief, are onely giuen to growe, Cannot enioy the ſpring which others finde, But ſtill my will, muſt wither all in woe: The cold of care, ſo nippes my ioyes at roote, No ſunne doth ſhine, that well can do them boote. The luſtie Ver, which whilome might exchange My griefe to ioy, and then my ioyes encreaſe, Springs now elſe where, and ſhowes to me but ſtrange, My winters woe, therefore can neuer ceaſe: In other coaſts, his ſunne full cleare doth ſhine, And comforts lends to eu'ry mould but mine. What plant can ſpring, that féeles no force of Ver? What floure can floriſh, where no ſunne doth ſhine? Theſe Bales (quod ſhe) within my breaſt I beare, To breake my barke, and make my pith to pine: Néedes muſt I fall, I fade both roote and rinde, My braunches bowe at blaſt of eu'ry winde.