Randolph, Thomas · published 1638 · first performed or written 1630 [licensed for stage, Nov 26] (Annals) pastoral · King's Revels Company · before the Court T55 Fairies, fairy queens and enchanted desi typicality 0.86 · 503 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T55: fairy, fairies, oberon, mopsus, queen, land, grace, babylon, mab, thestylis.
Thy restitution is my feast Amyntas; Your curds and chestnuts and your country fare Is bounteous for so mean a guest as I: But send for that Urania her sweet voice Must sing a Lullaby to drown his senses, And charm soft sleep upon his troubled fancy. And 'fore the grey-eyed morn do peep, be confident I'll put the music of his brains in tune. You'll call Urania. Doubt not sir, I will. Or send my servant Mycon by the Vale. Come Sylvan, if the dogs do bark I'll brain 'em; we'll sleep to night together, and to morrow, Will end I hope thy madness, not my sorrow. we'll go a hunting, so ho ho! so ho ho! Are the mad dogs gone yet? A little more would have persuaded me Into a spaniel: and I may be one For any thing I know: yet sure I am not Because methinks I speak; but an this speaking Should be but barking now: If I be a dog Heaven send me a better Master than the former. Ceres defend me, what strange Elves are there! How like you now my Grace? is not my countenance Royal and full of Majesty? Walk not I Like the young Prince of Pigmies? Ha? my knaves, we'll fill our pockets. Look look yonder, Elves, Would not you apples tempt a better conscience Than any we have to rob an Orchard? ha! Fairies, like Nymphs with child, must have the things They long for. You sing here a Fairy catch In that strange tongue I taught you: while ourself Do climb the Trees. Thus Princely Oberon Ascends his throne of State. Nos beata Fauni Proles, Quibus non est magnamoles, Quamvis Lunam incolamus, Hortos saepe frequentamus. Furto cuncta magis bella, Furto dulctor Puella. Furto omnia decora. Fur to poma dulciora. Cum mortales lecto jacent, Nobis poma noctu placent, Illa tamen sunt ingrata, Nisi furto sint parata. What divine noise fraught with immortal harmony Salutes mine ear? Why this immortal Harmony Rather salutes your Orchard: these young Rascals, These peascod▪ shalers do so cheat my Master: We cannot have an apple in the Orchard, But strait some Fairy longs for't: well if I Might have my will, a whip again should jerk h'em, Into their old mortality: Dar'st thou schreetch-owle With thy rude croaking interrupt their music; Whose melody hath made the spheres to lay Their heavenly lutes aside, only to listen To their more charming notes? Say what you will, I say a cudgel now were excellent Music. Oberon descend citus, Ne cogaris hinc invitus. Canes audio latrantes, Et mortales vigilantes. Prince Oberon? I heard his Grace's name. O ho: I spy his Grace! Most noble Prince Come down, or I will pelt your Grace with stones, That I believe your Grace was ne'er so pelted Since 'twas a Grace. Bold mortal, hold thy hand. Immortal Thief come down, or I will fetch you: Methinks it should impair his Grace's honour To steal poor mortals apples: Now have at you!
seed 43: T50 · seed 44: T47 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Thy restitution is my feast Amyntas; Your curdes and chestnuts and your country fare Is bounteous for so meane a guest as I: But send for that Vrania her sweet voice Must sing a Lullaby to drowne his senses, And charme soft sleepe upon his troubled phancy. And 'fore the gray-eyd morne doe peepe, be confident I'le put the musique of his braines in tune. You'l call Vrania. Doubt not sir, I will. Or send my servant Mycon by the Vale. Come Sylvan, if the dogs doe barke I'le braine 'em; Wee'l sleepe to night together, and to morrow, Will end I hope thy madnesse, not my sorrow. Wee'l goe a hunting, so ho ho! so ho ho! Are the mad dogs gone yet? A little more would have perswaded mee Into a spaniell: and I may be one For any thing I know: yet sure I am not Because methinkes I speake; but an this speaking Should be but barking now: If I be a dog Heaven send me a better Master then the former. Ceres defend me, what strange Elves are there! How like you now my Grace? is not my countenance Royall and full of Majesty? Walke not I Like the young Prince of Pigmies? Ha? my knaves, Wee'l fill our pockets. Looke looke yonder, Elves, Would not you apples tempt a better conscience Then any we have to rob an Orchard? ha! Fairies, like Nymphs with child, must have the things They long for. You sing here a Fairy catch In that strange tongue I taught you: while our selfe Doe clime the Trees. Thus Princely Oberon Ascends his throne of State. Nos beata Fauni Proles, Quibus non est magnamoles, Quamvis Lunam incolamus, Hortos saepe frequentamus. Furto cuncta magis bella, Furto dulctor Puella. Furto omnia decora. Fur to poma dulciora. Cum mortales lecto jacent, Nobis poma noctu placent, Illa tamen sunt ingrata, Nisi furto sint parata. What divine noyse fraught with immortall harmony Salutes mine eare? Why this immortall Harmony Rather salutes your Orchard: these young Rascalls, These pescod▪shalers doe so cheat my Master: We cannot have an apple in the Orchard, But straight some Fairy longs for't: well if I Might have my will, a whip again should jerk h'em, Into their old mortality: Dar'st thou schreetch-owle With thy rude croaking interrupt their musique; Whose melody hath made the spheares to lay Their heavenly lutes aside, only to listen To their more charming notes? Say what you will, I say a cudgell now were excellent Musique. Oberon descende citus, Ne cogaris hinc invitus. Canes audio latrantes, Et mortales vigilantes. Prince Oberon? I heard his Graces name. O ho: I spy his Grace! Most noble Prince Come downe, or I will pelt your Grace with stones, That I believe your Grace was ne're so pelted Since 'twas a Grace. Bold mortall, hold thy hand. Immortall Thiefe come down, or I will fetch you: Methinks it should impaire his Graces honour To steale poore mortals apples: Now have at you!