Phillis and Amyntas (Ivychurch) (Amyntas' Pastoral) · chunk 18 of 30
Fraunce, Abraham / Tasso, Torquato · published 1591 · first performed or written 1591 (Annals) pastoral T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint typicality 0.74 · 533 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
O Heart-ennobling great love, where shall we be learning These thy sacred laws? in what school must we be trained Up to thy high conceits? or what so skilful a master Possibly may unfold those supreme thoughts of a lover Which his soul possess, whilst with thy wings in a moment His mind mounts to the skies, and Christall-mantled Olympus? Neither learned Athens, nor great fame-worthy Lycoeus. Can loves force express, or loves perfection utter; Neither Castalian Muses, nor great-God Apollo, Nor rymewright singers could once aspire to the thousandst Part of those joys, which in a lovers breast be abounding: Their voice is not a voice of fire, they sing but a cold song, Song and voice unfit for loves unspeakable ardour: So then loves own voice is a fittest voice for a loves-lay, So then Love himself is best expressed by his owneself. Love learns rural wits, and base-born breasts to be reading Hart-burning secrets and wonders, daintily written In faire-flaming eyes, by the hand of lovely Cupid. Love (o strange eloquence of Love) with a sigh, with an half-speach, Interrupted speech, confused speech of a Lover, Sooner a tigers heart to a true compassion urgeth, Better a secret smart and inward passion uttreth, Than trope-turned tale, or rhyming ditty, derived From foolhardy Poets, or vaine-head Rhetoricasters. Nay, those silent looks, and lovely regards of a Lover More, than a thousand words, express those pangs of a Lover. Let those famous Clerks with an endless toil be perusing Socratical writings; two fair eyes teach me my lesson: And what I read in those, I do write in a bark of a beech-tree, Beech-tree better book, than a thousand Dainty devices. O Extreme disdaigne, o most unmerciful hard-hart, O unthankful girl, o proud, and no-pity-taking Women, cursed by kind, unkind kind, kin to a Tiger, Kin to a poisoned snake. O dame, nay rather a stepdame, Bungling artificer Nature, which framed a woman's external countenance, and outward parts to be cheerful, But th'internal soul, and inward part to be spiteful. O perchance, poor wretch, himself hath murdered his ownself. Every place do I seek and search out every corner, Every bush, each cave, each bank, and every fountain All these three hours long, by the well where lately I left him; Yet no sight can I get,, no hearing, no not a footestepp Wherein he trod of late, not a footestepp yet can I light on: Sure he's killed, he's dead, himself hath murdered his owneself. I'll ask these Pastors, if they can show any tidings: Good friends, have you seen, do ye know any news of Amyntas? Some bad misfortune thy mind seems greatly to trouble: What mean's this sweeting and blowing? Fearest any mischif? Mischif I fear indeed of Amyntas: show me Amyntas. Nobody here saw him, since you two lately departed. But what mischif fearest? Thyrs. That Amyntas murder Amyntas. Murder Amyntas. Why? What works so desperate outrage? Hate and Loue. Chor. Two foes, th'one th'other deadly maligning▪ Either sufficient, but both more mighty to murder: Yet make this more plain. Thyrs. To be too too heartily loving, And of a loved Lass to be too too spytefuly hated.
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)
O Heart-ennobling great loue, where shall wee bee learnyng These thy sacred lawes? in what schoole must wee be trayned Vp to thy high conceipts? or what soe skilful a mayster Possibly may vnfould those supreame thoughts of a louer Which his soule possesse, whilst with thy wings in a moment His mynde mounts to the skies, and Christall-mantled Olympus? Neyther learned Athens, nor greate fame-worthy Lycoeus. Could loues force expresse, or loues perfection vtter; Neither Castalian Muses, nor great-God Apollo, Nor rymewright singers could once aspyre to the thousandst Part of those ioys, which in a louers brest be abounding: Their voyce is not a voyce of fire, they sing but a cold song, Song and voyce vnfit for loues vnspeakable ardor: Soe then Loues owne voyce is a fittest voyce for a loues-lay, So then Loue himself is best exprest by his owneself. Loue learnes rurall witts, and base-borne brests to be reading Hart-burning secreats and woonders, dayntily written In faire-flaming eyes, by the hand of louely Cupido. Loue (ô strange eloquence of Loue) with a sigh, with an half-speach, Interrupted speach, confused speach of a Louer, Sooner a Tygers heart to a true compassion vrgeth, Better a secret smart and inward passion vttreth, Than trope-turned tale, or ryming ditty, deryued From foole-hardy Poets, or vaine-head Rhetoricasters. Nay, those silent looks, and louely regards of a Louer More, than a thousand words, expresse those pangs of a Louer. Let those famous Clercks with an endles toyle be perusing Socraticall writings; twoo faire eyes teach mee my lesson: And what I read in those, I doe write in a barck of a beech-tree, Beech-tree better booke, than a thousand Dainty deuises. O Extreame disdaigne, ô most vnmerciful hard-hart, O vnthankfull gyrle, ô prowde, and no-pity-taking Woemen, curst by kynde, vnkynd kinde, kyn to a Tyger, Kyn to a poysned snake. O dame, nay rather a stepdame, Bunglyng artificer Nature, which framed a woemans Externall countnance, and outward parts to be chearfull, But th'internall soule, and inward part to be spytefull. O perchaunce, poore wretch, himself hath murdred his ownself. Euery place doe I seeke and search out euery corner, Euery bush, each caue, each banck, and euery fountaine All these three howres long, by the well where lately I left him; Yet noe sight can I get,, noe hearing, no not a footestepp Wherein he troade of late, not a footestepp yet can I light on: Sure hee's kild, hee's dead, himself hath murdred his owneself. Ile ask these Pastors, if they can shew any tydings: Good friends, haue you seene, doe yee know any newes of Amyntas? Some bad misfortune thy minde seemes greatly to trouble: What mean's this sweating and blowing? Fearst any mischif? Mischif I feare indeede of Amyntas: shew mee Amyntas. No-body here sawe hym, since you twoo lately departed. But what mischif fearst? Thyrs. That Amyntas murder Amyntas. Murder Amyntas. Why? What works so desperat outrage? Hate and Loue. Chor. Twoo foes, th'one th'other deadly maligning▪ Either sufficient, but both more mighty to murder: Yet make this more playne. Thyrs. To be too too hartily louing, And of a loued Lasse to be too too spytefuly hated.