Randolph, Thomas · published 1638 · first performed or written 1630 [licensed for stage, Nov 26] (Annals) pastoral · King's Revels Company · before the Court T22 Shepherds, flocks and Pan typicality 0.75 · 490 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T22: shepherd, pan, shepherds, love, sheep, flocks, fair, shepherdess, swain, away.
You shall see him. Fetch sirrah:— there:— the cur is run away, Help me to catch my dog: you'll bring you mongrel? Yes much! the birds will not advise me to it. Sylvan why gaze you on us? would you frolic With poor Amynta's madness; 'twould ill beseem you To make our grief your pastime. Not I by heaven! My joys are counterfeit, my sorrows real: (I cannot hold from weeping) ah you know not What grief lies here within, (tears you'll betray me!) Give me my eye full of this noble shepherd! Who hath not heard how he hath chased the boar! And how his spear hath torn the paunch of wolves. On th' bark of every tree his name's ing●…aven. Now Planet struck, and all that virtue vanished. Thy looks are fierce, thy words bespeak thee Gentle. Why wept he Thestylis! I did not mark him. It was a mote in's eye: I'll kiss it out; I'll curl thy shackled locks, and crispe thy hair Like the streight-growing Cypress. Come let's put Our heads together. Thou art more than mortal, And shalt expound to Ceres what she asks. It is a gallant Sylvan, Thestylis. I am not skilled in riddles, no interpreter Of Divinations, but dare contend With any Empiric to do a cure, Whether the body or the mind be sick. That is my study, I but crave the leave To try the power of art upon this shepherd. If Aesculapius be propitious to him, After the dew of one nights softer slumbers, I dare be bold to say he shall recover. My dog again? dost read it in the stars? What a strange man is this? Thy wits, Amyntas, I mean; O cast thy arms in my embraces, Speak careful Nymph how came he thus distracted? I do you mean? with a very-very-very mad▪ trick▪— By making verses. Rest rest deluded fancy! There was a time (alas that ere it was.) When my poor shepherd fell in love. With whom? The star of beauty, Pilumnu's much admired Urania. O the cross darts of fate! She sweet Nymph inlodged The casket of his love in her own bosom, But Ceres set a Dowry▪ Out alas! Would she had asked our flocks, our kids, our groves! Would she had bid us quench the flames of Aetna In Arethusa's streams, it had been easy. We fight with words and cannot conquer them; This her Imperious Ompha asked, and Thundered That which thou hast not, mayst not, canst not have Amyntas, is the Dowry that I crave. To find out her commands, he lost himself. Your story's pitiful: 'tis my profession To wander through the Earth, and in my Travel, I am inquisitive after the sick to heal 'em; Their cure and kind acceptance is my pay. You will not fear to lodge me for a night? We have but homely hospitality. I'll feast thee with some Venison, brave Montano.
nodes 1677–1741 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 22 of 42 in this edition
Length
490 words · 688 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T22 — Shepherds, flocks and Pancross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.754 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T24 · seed 44: T25 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
You shall see him. Fetch sirrah:—there:—the curre is runne away, Helpe me to catch my dog: you'l bring you mungrell? Yes much! the birds will not advise me to it. Sylvan why gaze you on us? would you frolike With poore Amynta's madnes; 'twould ill beseem you To make our griefe your pastime. Not I by heaven! My joyes are counterfeit, my sorrowes reall: (I cannot hold from weeping) ah you know not What griefe lies here within, (teares you'l betray me!) Give me my eye full of this noble sheapheard! Who hath not heard how he hath chac'd the boare! And how his speare hath torne the panch of wolves. On th' barke of every tree his name's ingaven. Now Planet struck, and all that vertue vanish'd. Thy lookes are fierce, thy words bespeak thee Gentle. Why wep't he Thestylis! I did not marke him. It was a mote in's eye: I'le kisse it out; I'le curle thy shackl'd locks, and crispe thy haire Like the streight-growing Cypresse. Come let's put Our heads together. Thou art more then mortall, And shal't expound to Ceres what she askes. It is a gallant Sylvan, Thestylis. I am not skill'd in riddles, no interpreter Of Divinations, but dare contend With any Empyrick to doe a cure, Whether the body or the minde be sick. That is my study, I but crave the leave To try the powre of art upon this sheapheard. If Aesculapius be propitious to him, After the dew of one nights softer slumbers, I dare be bold to say he shall recover. My dog againe? dost read it in the starres? What a strange man is this? Thy wits, Amyntas, I meane; O cast thy armes in my embraces, Speak carefull Nymph how came he thus distracted? I doe you meane? with a very-very-very mad▪ trick▪— By making verses. Rest rest deluded fancy! There was a time (alas that ere it was.) When my poore sheapheard fell in love. With whom? The starre of beauty, Pilumnu's much admir'd Vrania. O the crosse darts of fate! Shee sweet Nymph inlodged The casket of his love in her own bosome, But Ceres set a Dowry▪ Out alasse! Would shee had ask'd our flocks, our kids, our groves! Would she had bid us quench the flames of Aetna In Arethusa's streames, it had been easy. We fight with words and cannot conquer them; This her Imperious Ompha ask'd, and Thunder'd That which thou hast not, maist not, canst not have Amyntas, is the Dowry that I crave. To finde out her commands, he lost himselfe. Your storie's pittifull: Tis my profession To wander through the Earth, and in my Travell, I am inquisitive after the sick to heale 'em; Their cure and kind acceptance is my pay. You will not fear to lodge me for a night? We have but homely hospitality. Ile feast thee with some Venison, brave Montano.