Gascoigne, George / Kinwelmershe, Francis / Yelverton, ChristopherEuripides / Dolce, Lodovico · published 1575 · first performed or written 1566 (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T35 Fools, wit and railing · 496 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T35: fool, wit, aristippus, achilles, wise, fools, patroclus, thersites, master, men.
That vain presumption makes my heart to swell, For thus I think, not all the world (I guess,) Shoots (a) bet than I, nay some shoots not so well. In Aristotle somewhat did I learn, To guide my manners all by comeliness, And Tully taught me somewhat to discern Between sweet speech and barbarous rudeness. Old Parkyns, Rastall, and Dan Bractens books, Did lend me somewhat of the lawless Law, The crafty Courtiers with their guileful looks, Must needs put some experience in my maw: Yet can not these with many masteries more, Make me shoot straight at any gainful prick, Where some that never handled such a bow, Can hit the white, or touch it near the quick, Who can nor speak, nor writ in pleasant wise, Nor lead their life by Aristotle's rule, Nor argue well on questions that arise, Nor plead a case more than my Lord Mairs mule, Yet can they hit the marks that I do miss, And win the mean which may the man maintain. Now when my mind doth mumble upon this, No wonder then although I pine for pain: And whiles mine eyes behold this mirror thus, The heard goeth by, and farewell gentle does: So that your Lordship quickly may discuss What blinds mine eyes so oft (as I suppose.) But since my Muse can to my Lord rehearse What makes me miss, and why I do not shoot, Let me imagine in this worthless verse, If right before me, at my standings foot There stood a do, and I should strike her dead, And then she prove a carrian carcase too, What figure might I find within my head, To 'scuse the rage which ruled me so to do? Some might interpret by plain paraphrase, That lack of skill or fortune led the chance, But I must otherwise expound the case, I say Iehoua did this do advance, And made her bold to stand before me so, Till I had thrust mine arrow to her heart, That by the sudden of her overthrow, I might endeavour to amend my part, And turn mine eyes that they no more behold, Such guileful marks as seem more than they be: And though they glister outwardly like gold, Are inwardly but brass, as men may see: And when I see the milk hung in her teat, Me thinks it saith, old babe now learn to suck, Who in thy youth couldst never learn the feat To hit the whites which live with all good luck. Thus have I told my Lord, (God grant in season) A tedious tale in rhyme, but little reason. THe figure of this world I can compare, To Garden plots, and such like pleasant places, The world breeds men of sundry shape and share, As herbs in gardens, grow of sundry graces: Some good, some bad, some amiable faces, Some foul, some gentle, some of froward mind, Subject like bloom, to blast of every wind.
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)
That vayne preſumption makes my heart to ſwell, For thus I thinke, not all the worlde (I gueſſe,) Shootes bet than I, nay ſome ſhootes not ſo well. In Ariſtotle ſomewhat did I learne, To guyde my manners all by comelyneſſe, And Tullie taught me ſomewhat to diſcerne Betwéene ſwéete ſpéeche and barbarous rudeneſſe. Olde Parkyns, Raſtall, and Dan Bractens bookes, Did lende mée ſomewhat of the lawleſſe Lawe, The craftie Courtiers with their guylefull lookes, Muſt néedes put ſome experience in my mawe: Yet can not theſe with many mayſtries mo, Make me ſhoote ſtreyght at any gaynfull pricke, Where ſome that neuer handled ſuch a bow, Can hit the white, or touch it neare the quicke, Who can nor ſpeake, nor write in pleaſant wiſe, Nor leade their life by Ariſtotles rule, Nor argue well on queſtions that ariſe, Nor pleade a caſe more than my Lord Mairs mule, Yet can they hit the marks that I do miſſe, And winne the meane which may the man mainteyne. Now when my minde doth mumble vpon this, No wonder then although I pine for payne: And whiles mine eyes beholde this mirrour thus, The hearde goeth by, and farewell gentle does: So that your Lordſhip quickely may diſcuſſe What blindes mine eyes ſo ofte (as I ſuppoſe.) But ſince my Muſe can to my Lorde reherſe What makes me miſſe, and why I doe not ſhoote, Let me imagine in this woorthleſſe verſe, If right before mée, at my ſtandings foote There ſtoode a Doe, and I ſhould ſtrike hir deade, And then ſhée proue a carrian carkas too, What figure might I finde within my head, To ſcuſe the rage whiche rulde mée ſo to doo? Some myght interprete by playne paraphraſe, That lacke of ſkill or fortune ledde the chaunce, But I muſt otherwiſe expounde the caſe, I ſay Iehoua did this Doe aduaunce, And made hir bolde to ſtande before mée ſo, Till I had thruſt mine arrowe to hir harte, That by the ſodaine of hir ouerthrowe, I myght endeuour to amende my parte, And turne myne eyes that they no more beholde, Such guylefull markes as ſéeme more than they be: And though they gliſter outwardely like golde, Are inwardly but braſſe, as men may ſée: And when I ſée the milke hang in hir teate, Me thinkes it ſayth, olde babe now learne to ſucke, Who in thy youth couldſt neuer learne the feate To hitte the whytes whiche liue with all good lucke. Thus haue I tolde my Lorde, (God graunt in ſeaſon) A tedious tale in rime, but little reaſon. THe figure of this world I can compare, To Garden plots, and ſuch like pleaſaunt places, The world bréedes men of ſundry ſhape and ſhare, As hearbes in gardens, grow of ſundry graces: Some good, ſome bad, ſome amiable faces, Some foule, ſome gentle, ſome of froward mind, Subiect like bloome, to blaſt of euery wind.