The Sad Shepherd, or A Tale of Robin Hood · chunk 6 of 19
Jonson, Ben · published 1641 · first performed or written 1637 [c.1612-1637] (Annals) not in BritDrama T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.65 · 476 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
A Spring, now she is dead: of what, of thorns? Briars, and Brambles? Thistles? Burrs, and Dorks? Cold Hemlock? Yewgh? the Mandrake, or the Box? These may grow still; but what can spring beside? Did not the whole Earth sicken, when she died? As if there since did fall one drop of dew, But what was wept for her! or any stalk Did bear a Flower! or any branch a bloom; After her wreath was made: In faith, in faith You do not fair, to put these things upon me. Which can in no sort be: Earine, Who had her very being, and her name, With the first knots, or buddings of the Spring, Borne with the Prim risen, and the Violet, Or earliest Roses blown: when Cupid smiled, And Venus led the Graces out to dance, And all the Flowers, and Sweets in Nature's lap, leapt out and made their solemn Conjuration, To last, but while she lived: Do not I know, How the Vale withered the same Day? How Dove, Deane, Eye, and Erwash, Idell, Snite, and Soar, Each broke his Urn, and twenty waters more, That swelled proud Trent, shrunk themselves dry; that since, No Sun, or Moon, or other cheerful Star Looked out of heaven! but all the Cope was dark, As it were hung so for her Exequys! And not a voice or sound, to ring her knell: But of that dismal pair, the screeching Owl; And buzzing Hornet! hark, hark, hark the foul Bird! how she flutters with her wicker wings! Peace you shall hear her screech. Good Karolin sing, Help to divert this Phantasy. All I can. Though I am young, and cannot tell, Either what Death, or Love is well, Yet I have heard, they both bear darts, And both do aim at human hearts: And than again, I have been told Love wounds with heart, as Death with cold; So that I fear, they do but bring Extremes to touch, and mean one thing. As in a ruin, we it call One thing to be blown up, or fall; Or to our end, like way may have, By a flash of lightning, or a wave: So Loves inflamed shaft, or brand, May kill as soon as Death's cold hand; Except Love's fires the virtue have To fright the frost out of the grave. Do you think so? are you in that good heresy? I mean opinion? If you be, say nothing: I'll study it, as a new Philosophy, But by myself alone: Now you shall leave me I Some of these Nymphs, here will reward you; this This pretty Maid, although but with a kiss, Lived my Earine, you should have twenty: For every line here, one I would allow 'em From mine own store, the treasure I had in her: Now I am poor as you.
nodes 301–360 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 6 of 19 in this edition
Length
476 words · 654 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.654 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T10 · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
A Spring, now ſhe is dead: of what, of thornes? Briars, and Brambles? Thiſtles? Burs, and Dorks? Cold Hemlock? Yewgh? the Mandrake, or the Boxe? Theſe may grow ſtill; but what can ſpring beſide? Did not the whole Earth ſicken, when ſhe died? As if there ſince did fall one drop of dew, But what was wept for her! or any ſtalke Did beare a Flower! or any branch a bloome; After her wreath was made: In faith, in faith You doe not faire, to put theſe things upon me. Which can in no ſort be: Earine, Who had her very being, and her name, With the firſt knots, or buddings of the Spring, Borne with the Prim roſe, and the Violet, Or earlieſt Roſes blowne: when Cupid ſmil'd, And Venus led the Graces out to dance, And all the Flowers, and Sweets in Natures lap, Leap'd out and made their ſolemne Conjuration, To laſt, but while ſhee liv'd: Doe not I know, How the Vale wither'd the ſame Day? How Dove, Deane, Eye, and Erwaſh, Idell, Snite, and Soare, Each broke his Vrne, and twenty waters more, That ſwell'd proud Trent, ſhrunke themſelves dry; that ſince, No Sun, or Moone, or other cheerfull Starre Look'd out of heaven! but all the Cope was darke, As it were hung ſo for her Exequies! And not a voice or ſound, to ring her knell: But of that diſmall paire, the ſcritching Owle; And buzzing Hornet! harke, harke, harke the foule Bird! how ſhee flutters with her wicker wings! Peace you ſhall heare her ſcritch. Good Karolin ſing, Helpe to divert this Phant'ſie. All I can. Though I am young, and cannot tell, Either what Death, or Love is well, Yet I have heard, they both beare darts, And both doe ayme at humane hearts: And then againe, I have beene told Love wounds with heart, as Death with cold; So that I feare, they doe but bring Extreames to touch, and meane one thing. As in a ruine, we it call One thing to be blowne up, or fall; Or to our end, like way may have, By a flaſh of lightning, or a wave: So Loves inflamed ſhaft, or brand, May kill as ſoone as Deaths cold hand; Except Loves fires the vertue have To fright the froſt out of the grave. Doe you thinke ſo? are you in that good hereſie? I meane opinion? If you be, ſay nothing: I'll ſtudy it, as a new Philoſophy, But by my ſelfe alone: Now you ſhall leave me I Some of theſe Nimphs, here will reward you; this This pretty Maid, although but with a kiſſe, Liv'd my Earine, you ſhould have twenty: For every line here, one I would allow 'hem From mine owne ſtore, the treaſure I had in her: Now I am poore as you.