Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T22: shepherd, pan, shepherds, love, sheep, flocks, fair, shepherdess, swain, away.
O friend! I●le be your servant, and your flocks will keep. I'll nightly watch while you do sweetly sleep▪ And in the morn I'll willingly to field, While you do taste the sweets Love's valleys yield, And with industrious labour against noon, Will get your dinner ready, so you will But smile on me, and say well done. To starve your hopes from further prosecution in this suit. Know I've already fixed my resolution To love none but fair Gloriana, she Is the Commandress of my life, and fortunes: So much I pity you, that I could wish I had two hearts, that you might share in one As a just recompense for your love, but why do I Entertain such frivolous unnecessary talk. May you live happy, and enjoy as rare, And constant Shepherd as yourself is fair. Is my face withered? or has Nature so Deformed me lately that I an not Cloe? For thee poor Cloe Shepherds have pitched the Bar, Wrestled, and leapt, and shown the feats of War. For thee each striven to gain thee as his Dove; But thou didst sleight and scorn their simple love. How many Verses have the Shepherds made, In praising of thy Beauty, whilst thou laid Thy heart on him that hate's to hear thee named, And thy delight is still to have him famed? How many Rings and Gloves hast thou received From the poor Swains thou often times deceived? For thee on Holy days they often would Meet on the Heath next to the Pinders fold, Where they with Music, and such sweet content, Would spend their time to make thee merriment. Since than my love is not one mite rewarded, And that my Beauty is no more regarded: I'll tear these golden locks, that shepherds may Leave of their sport, and make no Holiday. I will follow through yond Grove, Where I soon shall meet my Love; Than with sweet embraces we Will clip, and cull, and none shall see. A willow Garland I will make, And sweetly wear it for his sake. Than through Thickets, Woods, and Plains, I will hid me from the Swains? High damn, high damn, what art thou? You were not want to question that; how fares my dearest Love? Hence thou coward, hence from me: Blush at thy disloyal●y. Didst not tell me thou wouldst gain Me reputation by thy fame; And sufferest now a stranger bear The prize, and thou to have no share? Your frowns my Fairest, and not he, Gained from me the victory. Had you smiled as you did frown, All his strength I'd maugred down. What has disturbed my Love? who has committed This injury to thy person? Ha', ha', ha'; fool, fool! see you now fool? Fool! kiss— kiss— kiss— What fickle things are women? yet they are such men cannot be without; our too much doting on 'em makes 'em proud; for loving them, they'd make us hate ourselves. I do suspect this bad distemper in her proceeds from some denial Lysander has given her to her unlawful suit, knowing my love to her. 'Tis so. I must not let her suffer in too high a nature.
nodes 203–265 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 4 of 9 in this edition
Length
534 words · 702 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T22 — Shepherds, flocks and Pancross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.853 (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)
Oh friend! Ile be your servant, and your flocks will keepe. I'le nightly watch while you doe sweetly sleepe▪ And in the morne I'le willingly to field, While you doe taste the sweets Loves valleyes yeeld, And with industrious labour against noone, Will get your dinner ready, so you will But smile on me, and say well done. To starve your hopes from furder prosecution in this suit. Know I've already fixt my resolution To love none but faire Gloriana, shee Is the Commandresse of my life, and fortunes: So much I pitty you, that I could wish I had two hearts, that you might share in one As a just recompence for your love, but why do I Entertaine such frivolous unnecessary talk. May you live happy, and enjoy as rare, And constant Shepheard as your selfe is faire. Is my face wither'd? or has Nature so Deform'd me lately that I am not Cloe? For thee poore Cloe Shepheards have pitcht the Barre, Wrastl'd, and leap'd, and showne the feats of Warre. For thee each strove to gaine thee as his Dove; But thou did'st sleight and scorne their simple love. How many Verses have the Shepheards made, In praising of thy Beauty, whil'st thou laid Thy heart on him that hates to heare thee nam'd, And thy delight is still to have him fam'd? How many Rings and Gloves hast thou receiv'd From the poore Swaines thou often times deceiv'd? For thee on Holy dayes they often would Meet on the Heath next to the Pinders fold, Where they with Musick, and such sweet content, Would spend their time to make thee merriment. Since then my love is not one mite rewarded, And that my Beauty is no more regarded: I'le teare these golden locks, that shepheards may Leave off their sport, and make no Holy-day. I will follow through yon Grove, Where I soone shall meet my Love; Then with sweet embraces wee Will clip, and cull, and none shall see. A willow Garland I will make, And sweetly weare it for his sake. Then through Thickets, Woods, and Plaines, I will hide me from the Swaines? Hy da, hy da, what art thou? You were not wont to question that; how fares my dearest Love? Hence thou coward, hence from me: Blush at thy disloyaly. Did'st not tell me thou would'st gaine Me reputation by thy fame; And suffer'st now a stranger beare The prize, and thou to have no share? Your frownes my Fairest, and not hee, Gain'd from me the victory. Had you smil'd as you did frowne, All his strength I'd mauger'd downe. What has disturb'd my Love? who has committed This injurie to thy person? Ha, ha, ha; foole, foole! see you now foole? Foole! kisse — kisse — kisse — What fickle things are women? yet they are such men cannot be without; our too much doting on 'em makes 'em proud; for loving them, they'd make us hate our selves. I doe suspect this bad distemper in her proceeds from some deniall Lysander has given her to her unlawfull suit, knowing my love to her. 'Tis so. I must not let her suffer in too high a nature.