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 T1 Death, grief and revenge · 492 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
See that you do, and so farewell. Farewell! How fearful death is unto them; whose life Had any sweetness in it! my days have all Been so oreworne with sorrow, that this wound Is unto me rather a salve then fore, More physic than disease: whither my journey Shall lead me now; through what dark hideous place; Among what monsters, hags and snake-haired Furies, Am I to go, I know not: but my life Hath been so spotless, chaste, and innocent, My death so undeserved, I have no reason (If there be Gods) but to expect the best; Yet what doth most torment me, is the thought How long 'twill be ere I again enjoy My Damon's presence: until then, Elysium Will be no place of pleasure; and perchance When he comes thither too, he then may slight me As much as now.— That very fear doth make thee Die, wretched Amaryllis! How no fear Can make me lose the father! Death or danger Threat what you can; I have no heart to go Back to the mountains, till my eyes have seen My Amaryllis! O was ever love So crossed as mine! was ever Nymph so wretched As Amaryllis? Ha! I heard the sound Of Amarillis; where's that blessed creature, That owes the name? are you the Virgin? Yes, That fatal name is mine. I shall anon Be nothing but the name. O speak, what hand, What barbarous Tigers issue, what cursed whelp Of Bears or Lion, had the marble heart To wound so sweet a Nymph? O sir, my blood Calls none but fortune guilty. I by chance Stumbled on mine own dart, and hurt myself.▪ Then I have herbs to cure it: heaven I thank thee That didst instruct me hither! still the blood Flows like a scarlet torrent, whose quick stream Will not be checked: speak Amarillis, quickly, What hand this sin hath stained, upon whose soul This blood writes murder; till you see the man Before your eyes, that gave the hurt, all hope In Physic is despair:— She will not speak, And now the cure grows to the last. Yet here I have a Recipe will revive her spirits, And till the last drop of her blood be clean Exhausted from those azure veins, preserve her; But then she's lost for ever! Then, O Ceres, If there be any in these groves, men, virgins, Beast, bird, or trees, or any thing detesting This horrid fact, reveal it! Sacred grass Whose hallowed green this bloody deed hath stained, Ask nature for a tongue to name the murderer! I'll to the Temple:— If this place contain Any Divinity, Piety, or Religion, If there be any God at home, or Priest, Ompha, or Oracle, Shrine, or Altar, speak Who did it: who is guilty of this sin, That dies the earth with blood, & makes the heaven's Ashamed to stand a witness? What sad voice Disturbs our pious Orgies?
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)
See that you doe, and so farewell. Farewell! How fearfull death is unto them; whose life Had any sweetnesse in it! my daies have all Been so oreworne with sorrow, that this wound Is unto me rather a salve then fore, More physick then disease: whither my journey Shall lead me now; through what dark hideous place; Among what monsters, hags and snake-hair'd Furies, Am I to goe, I know not: but my life Hath been so spotlesse, chast, and innocent, My death so undeserv'd, I have no reason (If there be Gods) but to expect the best; Yet what doth most torment mee, is the thought How long 'twill bee ere I again enjoy My Damon's presence: untill then, Elysium Will be no place of pleasure; and perchance When he comes thither too, he then may slight mee As much as now.—That very feare doth make thee Dye, wretched Amaryllis! How no feare Can make me loose the father! Death or danger Threat what you can; I have no heart to goe Back to the mountaines, 'till my eyes have seen My Amaryllis! O was ever love So cros'd as mine! was ever Nymph so wretched As Amaryllis? Ha! I heard the sound Of Amarillis; where's that blessed creature, That owes the name? are you the Virgin? Yes, That fatall name is mine. I shall anon Be nothing but the name. O speak, what hand, What barbarous Tigers issue, what cursed whelpe Of Beares or Lyon, had the marble heart To wound so sweet a Nymph? O sir, my bloud Calls none but fortune guilty. I by chance Stumbled on mine own dart, and hurt my selfe.▪ Then I have hearbs to cure it: heaven I thank thee That didst instruct me hither! still the bloud Flowes like a scarlet torrent, whose quick streame Will not be checkt: speak Amarillis, quickly, What hand this sinne hath stain'd, upon whose soule This bloud writes murther; till you see the man Before your eyes, that gave the hurt, all hope In Physick is despaire:—She will not speak, And now the cure growes to the last. Yet here I have a Recipe will revive her spirits, And 'till the last drop of her blood be clean Exhausted from those azure veines, preserve her; But then shee's lost for ever! Then, O Ceres, If there be any in these groves, men, virgins, Beast, bird, or trees, or any thing detesting This horrid fact, reveale it! Sacred grasse Whose hallowed greene this bloudy deed hath stain'd, Aske nature for a tongue to name the murtherer! I'le to the Temple:—If this place containe Any Divinity, Piety, or Religion, If there be any God at home, or Priest, Ompha, or Oracle, Shrine, or Altar, speake Who did it: who is guilty of this sinne, That dyes the earth with bloud, & makes the heavens Asham'd to stand a witnesse? What sad voyce Disturbs our pious Orgyes?