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 0.80 · 513 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T21: cupid, venus, love, ceres, diana, fair, nymphs, goddess, bow, damon.
Ceres, I do thank thee, That I am author of this public joy: But is it justice (Goddess) I alone Should have no share in't? Every one I see Is happy but myself that made 'em so, And my Urania that should most be so. I thirst amidst the Bowls; when others sit Quaffing off Nectar, I but hold the cup; And stand a sadder Tantalus of love, Starving in all this plenty; Cere's Demand Feeds me with gall; stretching my doubtful thoughts On many thousand racks: I would my Dowry Was all the gold of Tagas, or the ore Of bright Pactolus' channel:— But, Urania, 'tis hid, alas I know not what it is. My Thestylis, since first the Sea-gods Trident Did rule the small three pointed piece of earth Of this our conquering soil, it has not been A place of so much story as to day, So full of wonders: O 'twill serve (my Thestylis) For our discourse when we go foled our Ewes, Those Shepherds that another day shall keep Their Kids upon these mountains shall for ever Relate the miracle to their wondering Nymphs, Of my Urania; it will fill their ears With admiration. Sir, Vrania's here. How! in this habit! This me thinks befits not A Lover, my Urania. Yes, Amyntas. This habit well befits a Virgin's life. For since my Dowry never can be paid Thus for thy sake I'll live and dye a maid. O is it just, so fair a one as you Should vow Virginity? must the sacred womb Of my Urania fit to have brought forth A fruitful race of Gods, be ever barren? Never expect Lucina? shall this beauty Live but one age? how cursed is our posterity That shall have no Vrania's! can one Tomb Contain all goodness? Ceres rather blast The corn thou gav'st us: let the earth grow barren; These trees, and flowers whither eternally; Let our Ploughs toil in vain; and let there be No more a harvest: Every loss is small, Yea though the Phoenix self should burn to ashes And ne'er revive again! But let there be Some more Vrania's— 'tis necessity, We must obey. But yet Urania, I hope we may sometimes come pray together; 'Tis not profane, and midst our sacred Orisons Change a chaste kiss or two; or shall I too Turn Virgin with thee?— But I fool myself, The Gods intent to cross us, and in vain We strive (Urania) to cross them again. Great Ceres, for thy daughter Proserpina's sake Ravished by Pluto from Sicilian plains To reign with him Queen of Elysian shades, Accept the sacrifice of a Virgin, for It is thy Pleasure, thine, by whom the earth And every thing grows fruitful, to have me Be ever barren: Thy impossible Dowry, Makes me despair to be Amyntas' bride; Therefore that cold chaste snow that never should Have melted but betwixt his amorous arms I vow unto thy Cloister (Awful Goddess!) Almighty Ceres, is not this life holy Folly. Better than live in an unhappy love? Happy love▪
nodes 3046–3117 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 41 of 42 in this edition
Length
513 words · 712 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T21 — Cupid, Venus and the nymphscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.796 (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)
Ceres, I doe thank thee, That I am author of this publique joy: But is it justice (Goddesse) I alone Should have no share in't? Every one I see Is happy but my selfe that made 'em so, And my Vrania that should most be so. I thirst amidst the Bowles; when others sit Quaffing off Nectar, I but hold the cup; And stand a sadder Tantalus of love, Starving in all this plenty; Cere's Demand Feeds mee with gall; stretching my doubtfull thoughts On many thousand racks: I would my Dowry Was all the gold of Tagas, or the ore Of bright Pactolus channell:—But, Vrania, Tis hid, alas I know not what it is. My Thestylis, since first the Sea-gods Trident Did rule the small three pointed peece of earth Of this our conquering soile, it has not been A place of so much story as to day, So full of wonders: O 'twill serve (my Thestylis) For our discourse when we goe fol'd our Ewes, Those Sheapheards that another day shall keep Their Kiddes upon these mountaines shall for ever Relate the miracle to their wondring Nymphs, Of my Vrania; it will fill their eares With admiration. Sir, Vrania's here. How! in this habit! This me thinks befits not A Lover, my Vrania. Yes, Amyntas. This habit well befits a Virgins life. For since my Dowry never can be paid Thus for thy sake I'le live and dye a maid. O is it just, so faire a one as you Should vow Virginity? must the sacred womb Of my Vrania fit to have brought forth A fruitfull race of Gods, be ever barren? Never expect Lucina? shall this beauty Live but one age? how curs'd is our posterity That shall have no Vrania's! can one Tombe Contain all goodnesse? Ceres rather blast The corne thou gav'st us: let the earth grow barren; These trees, and flowers wither eternally; Let our Plowes toyle in vaine; and let there be No more a harvest: Every losse is small, Yea though the Phaenix selfe should burne to ashes And nere revive again! But let there be Some more Vrania's— Tis necessity, We must obey. But yet Vrania, I hope we may sometimes come pray together; 'Tis not prophane, and mid'st our sacred Orisons Change a chast kisse or two; or shall I too Turne Virgin with thee?—But I foole my selfe, The Gods intend to crosse us, and in vaine We strive (Vrania) to crosse them again. Great Ceres, for thy daughter Proserpines sake Ravisht by Pluto from Sicilian plaines To raigne with him Queen of Elysian shades, Accept the sacrifice of a Virgin, for It is thy Pleasure, thine, by whom the earth And every thing growes fruitfull, to have mee Be ever barren: Thy impossible Dowry, Makes me despaire to be Amyntas bride; Therefore that cold chast snow that never should Have melted but betwixt his amorous armes I vow unto thy Cloyster (Awfull Goddesse!) Almighty Ceres, is not this life holy Folly. Better then live in an unhappy love? Happy love▪