Randolph, Thomas · published 1638 · first performed or written 1630 [licensed for stage, Nov 26] (Annals) pastoral · King's Revels Company · before the Court T21 Cupid, Venus and the nymphs typicality 0.80 · 497 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T21: cupid, venus, love, ceres, diana, fair, nymphs, goddess, bow, damon.
So, you'll all please her, I wonder who'll please me? you all for her Can run on errants, carry lovesick letters, And amorous eglogues from her howling suitors, To her, and back again, be Cupid's Heralds, And point out meetings for her. Truly Sir, Not I, pray ask my Mistress: Do I call Your sweethearts— speak, nay speak it if you can, Do I? Why no. Nay say your worst I care not, Did I go ever? Never. La-you now! We were devising nothing but a snare To catch the Polecat, Sirrah get you in; Take heed I do not find your haunts. What haunts? You'll in! I know no haunts I have but to the Dairy, To skim the milke-bowles like a liquorish Fairy. He that's a woman's keeper, should have eyes A hundred more than Argus, and his ears Double the number: Now the news, what letters? What posy, ring or bracelet woos to day? What Grove to night is conscious of your whispers? Come tell me, for I know your trusty squire, Your little closet blabbes into your ear Some secret, let me know it. Then you fear, Lest I should be in love. Indeed I do, Cupid's a dangerous boy, and often wounds The wanton roving eye. Were I in love, Not that I am (for yet by Diana's bow I have not made my choice,) and yet suppose it, Suppose I say I were in love, What then? So I would have thee, but not yet my Girl, Till loves prove happier, till the wretched Claius Hath satisfied the Gods. Why Claius, Father? Hast thou not heard it? Never. 'tis impossible. How should I sir? you know that my discourse Is all with walls and pictures, I ne'er meet The Virgins on the downs. Why I will tell thee, Thou knowest Pilumnus? The high Priest of Ceres? Yes: This Pilumnus had a son Philaebus, Who was, while yet he was, the only joy The staff and comfort of his father's age, And might have still been so, had not fond love Undone him. How did love undo Philaebus? Why thus; one Lalage, a beauteous Nymph As ever eye admired, Alphestus daughter, Was by her father promised him in marriage. Why hitherto his love had good success. But only promised: for the shepherd Claius, (A name accursed in Sicilian fields!) Being rich, obtained the beauteous Lalage From sweet Philaebus: he sad heart being robbed, Of all his comfort, having lost the beauty Which gave him life and motion; seeing Claius Enjoy those lips, whose cherries were the food That nursed his soul, spent all his time in sorrow, In melancholy sighs and discontents; Looked like a withered tree o'ergrown with moss, His eyes were ever dropping Iceacles. Disdain and sorrow made Pilumnus rage, And in this rage, he makes his moan to Ceres, (Ceres most sacred of Sicilian powers;) And in those moans he prosecutes revenge, And that revenge to fall on Lalage.
nodes 431–509 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 6 of 42 in this edition
Length
497 words · 714 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T21 — Cupid, Venus and the nymphscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.801 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T21 · seed 44: T24 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
So, you'l all please her, I wonder who'l please mee? you all for her Can run on errants, carry love-sick letters, And amorous eglogues from her howling suiters, To her, and back againe, be Cupids Heraulds, And point out meetings for her. Truly Sir, Not I, pray aske my Mistresse: Doe I call Your sweet-hearts—speak, nay speak it if you can, Doe I? Why no. Nay say your worst I care not, Did I goe ever? Never. La-you now! We were devising nothing but a snare To catch the Pole-cat, Sirrah get you in; Take heed I doe not find your haunts. What haunts? You'l in! I know no haunts I have but to the Dairy, To skimme the milke-bowles like a lickorish Fairy. He that's a womans keeper, should have eyes A hundred more then Argus, and his eares Double the number: Now the newes, what letters? What posy, ring or bracelet wooes to day? What Grove to night is conscious of your whispers? Come tell mee, for I know your trusty squire, Your litle closet blabbes into your eare Some secret, let me know it. Then you feare, Least I should be in love. Indeed I doe, Cupids a dangerous boy, and often wounds The wanton roving eye. Were I in love, Not that I am (for yet by Dian's bow I have not made my choice,) and yet suppose it, Suppose I say I were in love, What then? So I would have thee, but not yet my Girle, Till loves prove happier, till the wretched Claius Hath satisfied the Gods. Why Claius, Father? Hast thou not heard it? Never. Tis impossible. How should I sir? you know that my discourse Is all with walls and pictures, I nere meet The Virgins on the downes. Why I will tell thee, Thou knowest Pilumnus? The high Priest of Ceres? Yes: This Pilumnus had a sonne Philaebus, Who was, while yet he was, the only joy The staffe and comfort of his fathers age, And might have still beene so, had not fond love Vndone him. How did love undoe Philaebus? Why thus; one Lalage, a beauteous Nymph As ever eye admired, Alphestus daughter, Was by her father promis'd him in marriage. Why hitherto his love had good successe. But only promis'd: for the sheapherd Claius, (A name accursed in Sicilian fields!) Being rich, obtain'd the beauteous Lalage From sweet Philaebus: he sad heart being rob'd, Of all his comfort, having lost the beauty Which gave him life and motion; seeing Claius Injoy those lips, whose cherries were the food That nurs'd his soule, spent all his time in sorrow, In melancholy sighes and discontents; Look'd like a witherd tree oregrowne with mosse, His eyes were ever dropping Iceacles. Disdaine and sorrow made Pilumnus rage, And in this rage, he makes his moane to Ceres, (Ceres most sacred of Sicilian powers;) And in those moanes he prosecutes revenge, And that revenge to fall on Lalage.