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 0.71 · 496 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T21: cupid, venus, love, ceres, diana, fair, nymphs, goddess, bow, damon.
See, Pilumnus, A virgin all in gore. Ceres defend us, The Sacred Valley is profaned. The place So dear to Ceres, all defiled with blood. By Ceres, and her holy Ompha, he That did it, with his blood shall satisfy The Goddess anger; who by blood offends By his own sacrificed, must make amends. I durst presume upon the power of art, Did I but know the murderer. How soever 'Tis death to him that did it. Speak his name Fair virgin. O— if it be death to him That did it, I have not the power to live Behind him. Why, who was it then? Myself, And therefore in my death your law is satisfied, The blood and act both mine. It is not so, For had it been by her own hand, my skill Could have preserved her life. It was myself, Or one as dear. Who's that? I'll rather dye Then name him, though it be a name I use Oft to repeat, and every repetition Is a new soul unto me: 'tis a name I have taught the birds to carol, every Laurel and Cedar bears it registered Upon his tender bark; it is a name In which is all the life I yet have left; A name I long to speak; yet I had rather Die all the several sorts of death twice over Then speak it once. I charge thee by that duty Thou ow'st to me, Amarillis, that thou owest to me Who gave thee life.— What should this mean Corymbus! And by the womb that bore thee, by the breasts Of thy dead mother, Lalage, This is strange. Conceal him not! in plain, I am thy father Thy father, Amarillis, that commands thee By these grey hairs to tell me. I am Claius. How, Claius! and so fortunatly found! ay, glut your hate, Pilumnus; let your soul That has so long thirsted to drink my blood, Swill till my veins are empty; and carouse Deep in my heart, till you grow drunk, and reel, And vomit up the surfeit, that your cruelty Quaffed off with so much pleasure; I have stood Long like a fatal oak, at which great Iove Levels his thunder; all my boughs long since Blasted and withered; now the trunk falls too. Heaven end thy wrath in me! Blessed be Ceres! What unexpected happiness is here? Rejoice Sicilians; miserable lovers, Crown all your brows with roses, and adore The Deity that sent him: he is come Whose blood must quench the fire of Ceres' wrath, And kindle more auspicious flames of love In every breast. ay, do, I fear not death. Let every Virgin's hand when I am slain Ring me a knell of Plaudits: let my Dirges Be amorous Ditties, and in stead of weeping Dance at my funeral! 'tis no grief for me To dye to make my countrymen some sport. Here's one in whom I only wish to live Another age.
nodes 2342–2418 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 31 of 42 in this edition
Length
496 words · 659 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T21 — Cupid, Venus and the nymphscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.711 (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)
See, Pilumnus, A virgin all in gore. Ceres defend us, The Sacred Vally is prophan'd. The place So deare to Ceres, all defil'd with bloud. By Ceres, and her holy Ompha, hee That did it, with his blood shall satisfy The Goddesse anger; who by blood offends By his own sacrific'd, must make amends. I durst presume upon the power of art, Did I but know the murtherer. How soever 'Tis death to him that did it. Speake his name Faire virgin. O—if it be death to him That did it, I have not the power to live Behind him. Why, who was it then? My selfe, And therefore in my death your law is satisfied, The blood and act both mine. It is not so, For had it been by her own hand, my skill Could have preserv'd her life. It was my selfe, Or one as deare. Who's that? I'le rather dye Then name him, though it be a name I use Oft to repeat, and every repetition Is a new soule unto mee: 'tis a name I have taught the birds to caroll, every Laurell and Cedar beares it registred Vpon his tender barke; it is a name In which is all the life I yet have left; A name I long to speake; yet I had rather Dye all the severall sorts of death twice over Then speake it once. I charge thee by that duty Thou ow'st to me, Amarillis, that thou owest to me Who gave thee life.— What should this mean Corymbus! And by the womb that bare thee, by the breasts Of thy dead mother, Lalage, This is strange. Conceale him not! in plain, I am thy father Thy father, Amarillis, that commands thee By these gray haires to tell mee. I am Claius. How, Claius! and so fortunatly found! I, glut your hate, Pilumnus; let your soule That has so long thirsted to drinke my blood, Swill till my veines are empty; and carowse Deep in my heart, till you grow drunke, and reele, And vomit up the surfet, that your cruelty Quaft off with so much pleasure; I have stood Long like a fatall oake, at which great Iove Levels his thunder; all my boughes long since Blasted and wither'd; now the trunke falls too. Heaven end thy wrath in mee! Blessed be Ceres! What unexpected happines is here? Rejoyce Sicilians; miserable lovers, Crowne all your browes with roses, and adore The Deity that sent him: he is come Whose blood must quench the fire of Ceres wrath, And kindle more auspitious flames of love In every brest. I, doe, I feare not death. Let every Virgins hand when I am slaine Ring me a knell of Plaudits: let my Dirges Be amorous Ditties, and in stead of weeping Dance at my funerall! Tis no griefe for mee To dye to make my countrymen some sport. Here's one in whom I only wish to live Another age.