Gascoigne, George / Kinwelmershe, Francis / Yelverton, ChristopherEuripides / Dolce, Lodovico · published 1575 · first performed or written 1566 (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T12 Olympian gods: Jupiter, Juno, Venus and · 477 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T12: iupiter, saturn, iuno, venus, gods, mars, earth, titan, love, fair.
And when I call the mighty Gods in aid To further forth some fine invention: My bashful spirits be full ill afraid To purchase pain by my presumption. Such malice reigns (sometimes) in heavenly minds, To punish him that praiseth as he finds. For Pallas first, whose filled flowing skill, Should guide my pen some pleasant words to writ, With angry mood hath framed a froward will, To dash devise as often as I indite. For why? if once my Lady's gifts were known, Pallas should lose the praises of her own. And bloody Mars by change of his delight Hath made Ioues daughter now mine enemy: In whose conceit my Countess shines so bright, That Venus pines for burning jealousy: She may go home to Vulcan now again, For Mars is sworn to be my Lady's swain. Of her bright beams Dan Phoebus stands in dread, And shames to shine within our Horizon: Dame Cynthia holds in her horned head, For fear to lose by like comparison: Lo thus she lives, and laughs them all to scorn, Countess on earth, in heaven a Goddess borne. And I sometimes her servant, now her friend, Whom heaven and earth for her (thus) hate and blame: Have yet presume in friendly wise to spend, This ragged verse, in honour of her name: A simple gift compared by the skill, Yet what may seem so dear as such good william. WHen first I thee beheld in colours black and white, Thy face in form well framed with favour blooming still: My burning breast in cares did choose his chief delight, With pen to paint thy praise, contrary to my skill: Whose worthiness compared with this my rude device, I blush and am abashed, this work to enterprise. But when I call to mind thy sundry gifts of grace, Full fraught with manners meek in happy quiet mind: My hasty hand forthwith doth scribble on apace, Lest willing heart might think, it meant to come behind: Thus do both hand and heart these careful méetres use, Twixt hope and trembling fear, my duty to excuse. Wherefore accept these lines, and banish dark disdain, Be sure they come from one that loveth thee in chief: And guerdon me thy friend in like with love again, So shalt thou well be sure to yield me such relief, As only may redress my sorrows and my smart: For proof whereof I pledge (dear Dame) to thee my heart. Give me my Lute in bed now as I lie, And lock the doors of mine unlucky bower: So shall my voice in mournful verse descry The secret smart which causeth me to lower: Resound you walls an Echo to my moan, And thou cold bed wherein I lie alone, Bear witness yet what rest thy Lady takes, When other sleep which may enjoy their makes.
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)
And when I call the mighty Gods in ayd To further forth ſome fine inuention: My baſhefull ſpirits be full ill afrayd To purchaſe payne by my preſumption. Such malice reignes (ſometimes) in heauenly minds, To puniſh him that prayſeth as he finds. For Pallas firſt, whoſe filed flowing ſkill, Should guyde my pen ſome pleaſant words to write, With angry mood hath fram'd a froward will, To daſhe deuiſe as oft as I endite. For why? if once my Ladies gifts were knowne, Pallas ſhould looſe the prayſes of hir owne. And bloudy Mars by chaunge of his delight Hath made Ioues daughter now mine enemie: In whoſe conceipt my Counteſſe ſhines ſo bright, That Venus pines for burning ielouſie: She may go home to Vulcane now agayne, For Mars is ſworne to be my Ladies ſwayne. Of hir bright beames Dan Phoebus ſtands in dread, And ſhames to ſhine within our Horizon: Dame Cynthia holds in hir horned head, For feare to looſe by like compariſon: Lo thus ſhée liues, and laughes them all to ſkorne, Counteſſe on earth, in heauen a Goddeſſe borne. And I ſometimes hir ſeruaunt, now hir friend, Whom heauen and earth for hir (thus) hate and blame: Haue yet preſume in friendly wiſe to ſpend, This ragged verſe, in honor of hir name: A ſimple gift compared by the ſkill, Yet what may ſéeme ſo déere as ſuch good will. WHen firſt I thée beheld in colours black and white, Thy face in forme wel framde wt fauor blooming ſtil: My burning breſt in cares did chooſe his chief delight, With pen to painte thy prayſe, contrary to my ſkill: Whoſe worthineſſe compar'd with this my rude deuiſe, I bluſh and am abaſht, this worke to enterpriſe. But when I call to mind thy ſundry gifts of grace, Full fraught with maners méeke in happy quiet mind: My haſty hand forthwith doth ſcribble on apace, Leaſt willing hart might thinke, it ment to come behind: Thus do both hand and hart theſe carefull méetres vſe, Twixt hope and trembling feare, my duetie to excuſe. Wherfore accept theſe lines, and baniſh darke diſdayne, Be ſure they come from one that loueth thée in chief: And guerdon me thy friend in like with loue agayne, So ſhalt thou well be ſure to yéeld me ſuch relief, As onely may redreſſe my ſorrowes and my ſmart: For proofe whereof I pledge (deare Dame) to thée my hart. GIue me my Lute in bed now as I lie, And lock the doores of mine vnluckie bower: So ſhall my voyce in mournefull verſe diſcrie The ſecrete ſmart which cauſeth me to lower: Reſound you walles an Eccho to my mone, And thou cold bed wherein I lie alone, Beare witneſſe yet what reſt thy Lady takes, When other ſléepe which may enioy their makes.