Lyly, John · published 1591 · first performed or written 1588 [Feb 2(?)] (Annals) comedy · Children of Paul's (first) · before the Court unassigned nearest T21 Cupid, Venus and the nymphs · 492 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T21: cupid, venus, love, ceres, diana, fair, nymphs, goddess, bow, damon.
O fair Cynthia, why do others term thee unconstant, whom I have ever found unmovable? Injurious time, corrupt manners, unkind men, who finding a constancy not to be matched, in my sweet Mistress, have christened her with the name of wavering, waxing, and waning. Is she inconstant that keepeth a settled course, which since her first creation altereth not one minute in her moving? There is nothing thought more admirable, or commendable in the sea, than the ebbing and flowing, and shall the Moon, from whom the Sea taketh this virtue, be accounted fickle for increasing, & decreasing? Flowers in their buds, are nothing worth till they be blown, nor blossoms accounted till they be ripe fruit, and shall we then say they be changeable, for that they grow from seeds to leaves, from leaves to buds, from buds to their perfection? then, why be not twigs that become trees, children that become men, and Mornings that grow to Evenings, termed wavering, for that they continue not at one stay? I but Cynthia, being in her fullness, decayeth, as not delighting in her greatest beauty, or withering when she should be most honoured. When malice cannot object any thing, folly will, making that a vice, which is the greatest virtue. What thing (my Mistress excepted) being in the pride of her beauty, & latter minute of her age, that waxeth young again? Tell me Eumenides, what is he that having a Mistress of ripe years, & infinite virtues, great honours, and unspeakable beauty, but would wish that she might grow tender again? getting youth by years, and never decaying beauty, by time, whose fair face, neither the Summer's blaze can scorch, nor Winter's blast chap, nor the numbering of years breed altering of colours. Such is my sweet Cynthia, whom time cannot touch, because she is divine, nor will offend because she is delicate. O Cynthia, if thou shouldest always continue at thy fullness, both Gods and men would conspire to ravish thee. But thou to abate the pride of our affections, dost detract from thy perfections, thinking it sufficient, if once in a month we enjoy a glimpse of thy majesty, and then, to increase our griefs, thou dost decrease thy gleams, coming out of thy royal robes, wherewith thou dazzl'st our eyes, down into thy swath clouts, beguiling our eyes. And then Stay there Endymion, thou that committest Idolatry, wilt straight blaspheme, if thou be suffered. Sleep would do thee more good than speech: the Moon heareth thee not, or if she do, regardeth thee not. Vain Eumenides, whose thoughts never grow higher than the crown of thy head. Why troublest thou me, having neither head to conceive the cause of my love, or a heart to receive the impressions? follow thou thine own fortunes, which creep on the earth, & suffer me to fly to mine, whose fall though it be desperate, yet shall it come by daring. Farewell
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 fayre Cynthia, why doe others terme thee vnconstant, whom I haue euer founde vnmoueable? Iniurious tyme, corrupt manners, vnkind men, who finding a constancy not to be matched, in my sweete Mistris, haue christned her with the name of wauering, waxing, and waning. Is shee inconstant that keepeth a setled course, which since her first creation altereth not one minute in her mouing? There is nothing thought more admirable, or commendable in the sea, then the ebbing and flowing, and shall the Moone, from whom the Sea taketh this vertue, be accounted fickle for encreasing, & decreasing? Flowers in theyr buds, are nothing worth till they be blowne, nor blossomes accounted till they be ripe fruite, and shal we then say they be changeable, for that they growe from seedes to leaues, from leaues to buds, from buds to theyr perfection? then, why be not twigs that become trees, children that become men, and Mornings that grow to Euenings, termed wauering, for that they continue not at one stay? I but Cynthia, being in her fulnes, decayeth, as not delighting in her greatest beautie, or withering when she should be most honoured. When mallice cannot obiect any thing, folly will, making that a vice, which is the greatest vertue. What thing (my Mistris excepted) being in the pride of her beauty, & latter minute of her age, that waxeth young againe? Tell mee Eumenides, what is hee that hauing a Mistris of ripe yeeres, & infinite vertues, great honors, and vnspeakeable beauty, but woulde wish that shee might grow tender againe? getting youth by yeeres, and neuer decaying beauty, by time, whose fayre face, neyther the Summers blase can scorch, nor VVinters blast chappe, nor the numbring of yeeres breede altering of colours. Such is my sweete Cynthia, whom tyme cannot touch, because she is diuine, nor will offend because she is delicate. O Cynthia, if thou shouldest alwaies continue at thy fulnes, both Gods and men woulde conspire to rauish thee. But thou to abate the pride of our affections, dost detract from thy perfections, thinking it sufficient, if once in a month we enioy a glymse of thy maiestie, and then, to encrease our greefes, thou doost decrease thy glemes, comming out of thy royall robes, wherewith thou dazelist our eyes, downe into thy swath clowtes, beguiling our eyes. And then Stay there Endimion, thou that committest Idolatry, wilt straight blaspheme, if thou be suffered. Sleepe woulde doe thee more good then speech: the Moone heareth thee not, or if shee doe, regardeth thee not. Vaine Eumenides, whose thoughts neuer grow higher thē the crowne of thy head. Why troublest thou me, hauing neither heade to conceiue the cause of my loue, or a hart to receiue the impressions? followe thou thine owne fortunes, which creepe on the earth, & suffer me to flye to mine, whose fall though it be desperate, yet shall it come by daring. Farewell