The Royal Entertainment at Bisham Abbey · chunk 1 of 6
Anonymous · published 1592 · first performed or written 1592 [Aug 21] (Annals) entertainment; royal entertainment or entry T22 Shepherds, flocks and Pan typicality 0.76 · 505 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T22: shepherd, pan, shepherds, love, sheep, flocks, fair, shepherdess, swain, away.
I Followed this sound, as enchanted; neither knowing the reason why, nor how to bee rid of it: unusual to these Woods, and (I fear) to our gods prodigious. Syluanus whom I honour, is run into a cave: Pan, whom I envy, courting of the shepherdess: envy I thee Pan? No, pitty thee, an eie-sore to chast nymphs; yet still importunate: Honour thee Syluanus? No, contemn thee: fearful of music in the Woods, yet counted the god of the Woods. I, it may bee more stout, than wise, asked, who passed that way? what he or shee? none durst answer, or would vouchsafe, but passionate echo, who said Shee. And Shee it is, and you are Shee, whom in our dreams many yeares wee satires haue seen, but waking could never find any such. every one hath told his dream and described your person, all agree in one, and set down your virtues: in this onely did wee differ, that some said your portraiture might be drawn, other said impossible: some thought your virtues might be numbered, most said they were infinite: Infinite, and impossible, of that side was I: and first in humility to salute you most happy I: my untamed thoughts wax gentle, & I feel in myself civility, A thing hated, because not known, and unknown, because I knew not you. Thus virtue tameth fierceness, Beauty, madness. Your majesty on my knees will I follow, bearing this Club, not as a Saluage, but to beate down those that are. pretty souls and bodies too, faire shephardisse, or sweet mistress, you know my suite, love, my virtue, music, my power, a godhead. I cannot tickle the sheeps guts of a Lute, bydd, bydd, bydd, like the calling of chickens, but for a Pipe that squeeketh like a Pigg, I am he. How do you burn time, & drown beauty in pricking of clouts, when you should bee penning of Sonnets? You are more simplo then the sheep you keep, but not so gentle. I love you both, I know not which best, and you both scorn me, I know not which most. Sure I am, that you are not so young as not to understand love, nor so wise as to withstand it, unless you think yourselves greater than gods, whereof I am one. Howe often haue I brought you Chestnuts for a love token, & desired but acceptance for a favour. Little did you know the mystery, that as the husk was thornye and tough, yet the meate sweet, so though my hide were rough and vnkempt, yet my heart was smooth and loving: you are but the Farmers daughters of the Dale, I the god of the flocks that feed vpon the hills. Though I cannot force love, I may obedience, or else send your sheep a wandring, with my fancies. coyness must be revenged with curstnesse, but be not agaste sweet mice, my godhead cometh so fast vpon me, that majesty had almost ouerrunn affection, Can you love? will you?
nodes 0–1 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 1 of 6 in this edition
Length
505 words · 701 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T22 — Shepherds, flocks and Pancross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.762 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T24 · seed 44: T25 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
I Followed this ſounde, as enchanted; neither knowing the reaſon why, nor how to bee ridde of it: vnuſuall to theſe Woods, and (I feare) to our gods prodigious. Syluanus whom I honour, is runne into a Caue: Pan, whom I enuye, courting of the Shepheardeſſe: Enuie I thee Pan? No, pitty thee, an eie-ſore to chaſt Nymphes; yet ſtill importunate: Honour thee Syluanus? No, contemne thee: fearefull of Muſicke in the Woods, yet counted the god of the Woods. I, it may bee more ſtout, than wiſe, asked, who paſſed that way? what he or ſhee? none durſt anſwere, or would vouchſafe, but paſsionate Eccho, who ſaide Shee. And Shee it is, and you are Shee, whom in our dreames many yeares wee Satyres haue ſeene, but waking could neuer finde any ſuch. Euery one hath tolde his dreame and deſcribed your perſon, all agree in one, and ſet downe your vertues: in this onely did wee differ, that ſome ſaide your Pourtraiture might be drawen, other ſaide impoſsible: ſome thought your vertues might be numbred, moſt ſaide they were infinite: Infinite, and impoſsible, of that ſide was I: and firſt in humility to ſalute you moſt happy I: my vntamed thoughts waxe gentle, & I feele in my ſelfe ciuility, A thing hated, becauſe not knowen, and vnknowen, becauſe I knew not you. Thus Vertue tameth fierceneſſe, Beauty, madneſſe. Your Maieſty on my knees will I followe, bearing this Club, not as a Saluage, but to beate downe thoſe that are. PRety ſoules and bodies too, faire ſhephardiſſe, or ſweete Miſtreſſe, you know my ſuite, loue, my vertue, Muſicke, my power, a godhead. I cannot tickle the ſheepes gutts of a Lute, bydd, bydd, bydd, like the calling of Chickins, but for a Pipe that ſqueeketh like a Pigg, I am he. How doe you burne time, & drowne beauty in pricking of clouts, when you ſhould bee penning of Sonnets? You are more ſimple then the ſheepe you keepe, but not ſo gentle. I loue you both, I know not which beſt, and you both ſcorne me, I know not which moſt. Sure I am, that you are not ſo young as not to vnderſtand loue, nor ſo wiſe as to withſtand it, vnleſſe you think your ſelues greater thā gods, whereof I am one. Howe often haue I brought you Cheſtnuts for a loue token, & deſired but acceptance for a fauour. Little did you knowe the miſterye, that as the huske was thornye and tough, yet the meate ſweete, ſo though my hyde were rough and vnkempt, yet my heart was ſmooth and louing: you are but the Farmers daughters of the Dale, I the god of the flocks that feede vpon the hils. Though I cannot force loue, I may obedience, or elſe ſende your ſheepe a wandring, with my fancies. Coyneſſe muſt be reuenged with curſtneſſe, but be not agaſte ſweet mice, my godhead cōmeth ſo faſt vpon me, that Maieſtye had almoſt ouerrūn affectiō, Can you loue? Wil you?