Randolph, Thomas · published 1638 · first performed or written 1630 [licensed for stage, Nov 26] (Annals) pastoral · King's Revels Company · before the Court unassigned nearest T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint · 490 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
Minds in love, Do count their days by minutes, measure hours By every sand that drops through the slow glass; And for each vie a tear. If so, my Damon, How many times hath thy unkindness ruined Sad Amaryllis? every frown is mortal. Ill luck, to seek my love and find my hate! Be not so cruel to me! Gentle Damon, Accept this witness of my love, it is The story of poor Ech●…, tha●… for love Of her Narcissus pined into a voice. Do thou so too! Damon, suppose I should, And then the Gods for thy contempt of me Should plague thee like Narcissus. Amaryllis, They cannot do it: I have fixed my love So firm on my Laurinda, that for her I e'er shall hate myself? Prithee love accept it, 'Twas wrought by mine own hand For that I hate it! Fie Brother, can you be of the same stock, Issue, and blood with me, and yet so cruel? Nor can I, sister, dote like you on any That is the cursed brat of Lalage. sayst thou so Centaur?— Good Amyntas hold, This is the Sacred Valley: here 'tis death, For to shed human blood. Still idly you complain To cross me, Amaryllis, but in vain! O, I am sick to death! What a brave show The monsters brains would make? My grief o'er weighs me! How fares my Amaryllis? Like a Taper Almost burnt out: sometimes all a darkness, And now and then a flash or two of comfort, But soon blown out again. Ah Thestylis, I cannot long subsist. For thee vain's labour; Away! I hate thee cause my Damon does, And for that reason too I hate myself, And every thing but him! Come my sad partner, Poor rival of my sorrows: Go with me Into the Temple; I'll entreat my Brother To use thee kindly: if in me it lie, I'll help thee. Do Urania, or I die. What a strange thing is Love! It is a madness: See how it stairs?— Have at thee thou blind Archer! O I have missed him!— now I'll stand thee Cupid! Look how the rascal winks a one eye, Thestylis! Nay draw your arrow home boy! just i'th' heart! O I am slain! Amyntas. Dost not see? My blood runs round about me, I lie soaking In a red Sea, take heed! see Thestylis, Whata fine Crimson 'tis? Where? Here you puppet! Dost thou not see it? Yes I see it plain, But I spy nothing. Then thou art a mole. Now I look better on't, I see it plain; Does it not not hurt you? Strangely! Have at thee— How think you now? Be quiet good Amyntas. You'll fright away the birds else, and clean spoil My augury. Go about it, I am quiet! Now for some happy Omen! Ha, ha, he! Why laughs the madman? Who can choose but laugh? The bird cried Horns!
seed 43: T2 · seed 44: T3 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Minds in love, Doe count their daies by minutes, measure howres By every sand that drops through the slow glasse; And for each vie a teare. If so, my Damon, How many times hath thy unkindnesse ruin'd Sad Amaryllis? every frowne is mortall. Ill luck, to seeke my love and finde my hate! Be not so cruell to mee! Gentle Damon, —Accept this witnesse of my love, it is The story of poore Ech, tha for love Of her Narcissus pin'd into a voice. Doe thou so too! Damon, suppose I should, And then the Gods for thy contempt of mee Should plague thee like Narcissus. Amaryllis, They cannot doe it: I have fixt my love So firme on my Laurinda, that for her I e're shall hate my selfe? —. Prithee love accept it, 'Twas wrought by mine own hand For that I hate it! Fy Brother, can you be of the same stock, Issue, and bloud with mee, and yet so cruell? Nor can I, sister, dote like you on any That is the cursed brat of Lalage. Saist thou so Centaure?— Good Amyntas hold, This is the Sacred Vally: here 'tis death, For to shed human blood. Still idly you complaine To crosse mee, Amaryllis, but in vaine! O, I am sick to death! What a brave show The monsters braines would make? My griefe o're weighs me! How fares my Amaryllis? Like a Taper Allmost burnt out: sometimes all a darknesse, And now and then a flash or two of comfort, But soone blown out againe. Ah Thestylis, I cannot long subsist. For thee vain's labour; Away! I hate thee cause my Damon does, And for that reason too I hate my selfe, And every thing but him! Come my sad partner, Poore rivall of my sorrowes: Goe with mee Into the Temple; I'le intreat my Brother To use thee kindly: if in mee it lye, I'le helpe thee. Doe Vrania, or I dye. What a strange thing is Love! It is a madnesse: See how it stares?—Have at thee thou blind Archer! —O I have mist him!—now I'le stand thee Cupid! Looke how the rascall winkes a one eye, Thestylis! Nay draw your arrow home boy! just i'th heart! —O I am slaine! Amyntas. Dost not see? My blood runs round about mee, I lye soaking In a red Sea, take heed! see Thestylis, Whata fine Crimson 'tis? Where? Here you puppet! Dost thou not see it? Yes I see it playne, But I spy nothing. Then thou art a mole. Now I looke better on't, I see it plaine; Does it not not hurt you? Strangely! Have at thee— How think you now? Be quiet good Amyntas. You'l fright away the birds else, and clean spoile My augury. Goe about it, I am quiet! Now for some happy Omen! Ha, ha, he! Why laughs the madman? Who can choose but laugh? The bird cried Hornes!