Jonson, Ben · published 1641 · first performed or written 1617 [Jan 6] (Annals) masque · before the Court unassigned nearest T55 Fairies, fairy queens and enchanted desi · 566 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T55: fairy, fairies, oberon, mopsus, queen, land, grace, babylon, mab, thestylis.
I have not seen the place could more surprise, It looks (me thinks) like one of nature's eyes, Or her whole body set in art? behold! How the Blew-binde weed doth itself enfold With Honey-suckle, and both these intwine Themselves with bryony, and Jessamine, To cast a kind and odoriferous shade? How better than they are, are all things made By WONDER? But a while refresh thine eye, I'll put thee to thy oftener, what, and why? Thou wilt indeed; what better change appears? Whence is it that the air so sudden clears, And all things in a moment turn so mild, Whose breath or beams, have got proud earth with child, Of all the treasure that great nature's worth, And makes her every minute to bring forth? How comes it Winter is so quite forced hence, And locked up under ground? that every sense Hath several objects? Trees have got their heads, The fields their coats? that now the shining Meads Do boast the pance, the Lily, and the Rose; And every flower doth laugh as Zephir blows? That Seas are now more even than the Land? The Rivers run as smoothed by his hand; Only their heads are crisped by his stroke: How plays the Yeareling with his brow scarce broke Now in the open Grass? and frisking Lambs Make wanton Salts about their drie-suckt Dams; Who to repair their bags do rob the fields? How is't each bough a several music yields? The lusty Throstle, early Nightingale Accord in tune, though varie in their tale? The chirping Swallow called forth by the Sun, And crested Lark doth his division run? The yellow Bees, the air with murmur fill? The Finches carol, and the Turtles bill? Whose power is this? what God? Behold a King Whose presence maketh this perpetual Spring, The glories of which Spring grow in that Bower, And are the marks and beauties of his power. 'tis he, 'tis he, and no power else That makes all this what Phantasy tells; The founts, the flowers, the birds, the Bees, The herds, the flocks, the grass, the trees, Do all confess him; but most These Who call him lord of the four Seas, King of the less and greater Isles, And all those happy when he smiles. Advance, his favour calls you to advance, And do your (this nights) homage in a'dance. Again, again; you cannot be Of such a true delight too free, Which who once saw would ever see; And if they could the object prize, Would while it lasts not think to rise, But wish their bodies all were eyes. In curious knots and mazes so The Spring at first was taught to go; And Zephir, when he came to woo His Flora, had their motions too, And thence did Venus learn to lead Th' Idalian Brawls, and so tread As if the wind, not she did walk; Nor pressed a flower, nor bowed a stalk. I was not wearier where I lay By frozen Tython's side to night, Than I am willing now to stay, And be a part of your delight. But I am urged by the Day, Against my will to bid you come away. They yield to Time, and so must all. As Night to sport, Day doth to action call, Which they the rather do obey, Because the Morn, with Roses strew's the way.
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)
I have not ſeene the place could more ſurprize, It looks (me thinkes) like one of natures eyes, Or her whole bodie ſet in art? behold! How the Blew-binde weed doth it ſelfe infold With Honey-ſuckle, and both theſe intwine Themſelves with Bryonie, and Jeſſamine, To caſt a kinde and odoriferous ſhade? How better then they are, are all things made By WONDER? But a while refreſh thine eye, Ile put thee to thy oftner, what, and why? Thou wilt indeed; what better change appeares? Whence is it that the ayre ſo ſudden cleares, And all things in a moment turne ſo milde, Whoſe breath or beams, have got proud earth with child, Of all the treaſure that great Natur's worth, And makes her every minute to bring forth? How comes it Winter is ſo quite forc't hence, And lockt up under ground? that every ſence Hath ſeverall objects? Trees have got their heads, The fields their coats? that now the ſhining Meads Doe boaſt the Paunce, the Lillie, and the Roſe; And every flower doth laugh as Zephire blowes? That Seas are now more even then the Land? The Rivers runne as ſmoothed by his hand; Onely their heads are criſped by his ſtroake: How plaies the Yeareling with his brow ſcarce broke Now in the open Graſſe? and frisking Lambs Make wanton Salts about their drie-ſuckt Dams; Who to repaire their bags doe rob the fields? How is't each bough a ſeverall muſicke yeilds? The luſty Throſtle, early Nightingale Accord in tune, though varie in their tale? The chirping Swallow cald forth by the Sun, And creſted Larke doth his diviſion run? The yellow Bees, the ayre with murmure fill? The Finches caroll, and the Turtles bill? Whoſe power is this? what God? Behold a King Whoſe preſence maketh this perpetuall Spring, The glories of which Spring grow in that Bower, And are the marks and beauties of his power. Tis he, tis he, and no power els That makes all this what Phant'ſie tels; The founts, the flowers, the birds, the Bees, The heards, the flocks, the graſſe, the trees, Do all confeſſe him; but moſt Theſe Who call him lord of the foure Seas, King of the leſſe and greater Iles, And all thoſe happy when he ſmiles. Advance, his favour calls you to advance, And do your (this nights) homage in a'dance. Againe, againe; you cannot be Of ſuch a true delight too free, Which who once ſaw would ever ſee; And if they could the object prize, Would while it laſts not thinke to riſe, But wiſh their bodies all were eyes. In curious knots and mazes ſo The Spring at firſt was taught to go; And Zephire, when he came to wooe His Flora, had their motions too, And thence did Venus learne to lead Th' Idalian Braules, and ſo tread As if the wind, not ſhe did walke; Nor preſt a flower, nor bow'd a ſtalke. I was not wearier where I lay By frozen Tythons ſide to night, Then I am willing now to ſtay, And be a part of your delight. But I am urged by the Day, Againſt my will to bid you come away. They yeild to Time, and ſo muſt all. As Night to ſport, Day doth to action call, Which they the rather doe obey, Becauſe the Morne, with Roſes ſtrew's the way.