The Sad Shepherd, or A Tale of Robin Hood · chunk 7 of 19
Jonson, Ben · published 1641 · first performed or written 1637 [c.1612-1637] (Annals) not in BritDrama T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint typicality 0.76 · 478 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
And I a wretch! Yet keep an eye upon him, Karoline. Alas that ever such a generous spirit, As Aeglamours, should sink by such a loss. The truest Lovers are least fortunate, Looks all their Lives, and Legends; what they call The Lover's Scriptures: Heliodores, or Tatij! Longi! Eustathij! Prodomis! you'll found it! What think you Father? I have known some few, And read of more; wh'have had their dose, and deep, Of these sharp bitter-sweets. But what is this To jolly Robin? who the Story is, Of all beatitude in Love? And told Here every day, with wonder on the world. And with fame's voice. Save that some folk delight To blend all good of others, with some spite. He, and his Marian, are the Sum and Talk Of all, that breath here in the Greenewood Walk. Or Be'voir Vale? The Turtles of the Wood. The billing Pair. And so are understood For simple loves, and sampled lives beside. Faith, so much virtue should not be envied. Better be so, than pitied Mellifleur! For 'gainst all envy, virtue is a cure; But wretched pity ever calls on scorns. The Deers brought home: I hear it by their horns. My Marian, and my Mistress! My loved Robin! The Moons at full, the happy pair are met! How hath this morning paid me, for my rising! First, with my sports; but most with meeting you! I did not half so so well reward my hounds, As she hath me to day: although I gave them All the sweet morsels, called Tongue, Ears, and Dowcets! What? and the inch-pin? Yes. Your sports than pleased you? You are a wanton. One I do confess I wanted till you came, but now I have you, I'll grow to your embraces, till two souls Distilled into kisses, through our lips Do make one spirit of love. O Robin! Robin! Breathe, breathe a while, what says my gentle Marian? Can you so long be absent? What a week? Was that so long? How long are Lovers weeks! Do you think Robin, when they are asunder? Are they not Prisoners years? To some they seem so; But being met again, theyare Schoolboys hours. That have got leave to play, and so we use them. Had you good sport i' your chase to day? O prime! A lusty Stag? And hunted ye at force? In a full cry. And never hunted change! You had staunch Hounds than? Old and sure, I love No young rash dogs, no more than changing friends. What relays set you? None at all; we laid not In one fresh dog. He stood not long than? Yes, Five hours and more. A great, large Deer! What head? Forked! A Hart of ten. He is good Venison, According to the season i' the blood, I'll promise' all your friends, for whom he fell.
seed 43: T2 · seed 44: T3 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
And I a wretch! Yet keepe an eye upon him, Karoline. Alas that ever ſuch a generous ſpirit, As Aeglamours, ſhould ſinke by ſuch a loſſe. The trueſt Lovers are leaſt fortunate, Lookes all their Lives, and Legends; what they call The Lovers Scriptures: Heliodores, or Tatij! Longi! Euſtathij! Prodomi! you'l find it! What thinke you Father? I have knowne ſome few, And read of more; wh'have had their doſe, and deepe, Of theſe ſharpe bitter-ſweets. But what is this To jolly Robin? who the Story is, Of all beatitude in Love? And told Here every day, with wonder on the world. And with fames voice. Save that ſome folke delight To blend all good of others, with ſome ſpight. Hee, and his Marian, are the Summe and Talke Of all, that breath here in the Greene-wood Walke. Or Be'voir Vale? The Turtles of the Wood. The billing Paire. And ſo are underſtood For ſimple loves, and ſampled lives beſide. Faith, ſo much vertue ſhould not be envi'd. Better be ſo, then pittied Mellifleur! For' gainſt all envy, vertue is a cure; But wretched pitty ever cals on ſcornes. The Deeres brought home: I heare it by their hornes. My Marian, and my Miſtris! My lov'd Robin! The Moones at full, the happy paire are met! How hath this morning paid me, for my riſing! Firſt, with my ſports; but moſt with meeting you! I did not halfe ſo ſo well reward my hounds, As ſhe hath me to day: although I gave them All the ſweet morſels, call'd Tongue, Eares, and Dowcets! What? and the inch-pin? Yes. Your ſports then pleas'd you? You are a wanton. One I doe confeſſe I wanted till you came, but now I have you, Ile grow to your embraces, till two ſoules Diſtilled into kiſſes, through our lips Doe make one ſpirit of love. O Robin! Robin! Breathe, breathe a while, what ſayes my gentle Marian? Could you ſo long be abſent? What a weeke? Was that ſo long? How long are Lovers weekes! Doe you think Robin, when they are aſunder? Are they not Priſ'ners yeares? To ſome they ſeem ſo; But being met againe, they'are Schoole-boyes houres. That have got leave to play, and ſo wee uſe them. Had you good ſport i' your chaſe to day? O prime! A luſty Stagge? And hunted yee at force? In a full cry. And never hunted change! You had ſtanch Hounds then? Old and ſure, I love No young raſh dogs, no more then changing friends. What relayes ſet you? None at all; we laid not In one freſh dog. Hee ſtood not long then? Yes, Five houres and more. A great, large Deere! What head? Forked! A Hart of ten. Hee is good Veniſon, According to the ſeaſon i' the blood, I'll promiſe all your friends, for whom he fell.