The Royal Entertainment at Bisham Abbey · chunk 4 of 6
Anonymous · published 1592 · first performed or written 1592 [Aug 21] (Annals) entertainment; royal entertainment or entry T21 Cupid, Venus and the nymphs typicality 0.69 · 474 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T21: cupid, venus, love, ceres, diana, fair, nymphs, goddess, bow, damon.
conceit doth make me smile whilst I am thinking, How every one doth red my story, How every bough on Ceres lowreth, Cause heauens plenty on me poureth, And they in leaves do onely glory, All other Gods of power bereuen, Ceres only queen of heaven. With Robes and flowers let me be dressed. Cynthia that shineth, Is not so clear, Cynthia declineth, When I appear, Yet in this Ile shee reigns as blessed, And every one at her doth wonder, And in my ears still fonde famed whispers, Cynthia shal be Ceres mistress, But first my car shall rive asunder, help Phoebus help my fall is sudden, Cynthia, Cynthia, must be sovereign. GReater then Ceres, receive Ceres crown, the ornament of my plenty, the honour of your peace, here at your highnes feet, I lay down my feigned deity, which Poets haue honoured, truth contemned. To your majesty whom the heauens haue crwoned with happiness, the world with wonder, birth with dignity, nature with perfection, we do all Homage, accounting nothing ours but what comes from you. And this much dare we promise for the Lady of the farm, that your presence hath added many daies to her life, by the infinite joys shee conceyues in her heart, who presents your highnesse with this toy and this short prayer, poured from her hart, that your daies may increase in happiness, your happiness haue no end till there be no more daies. VOuchsafe to hear, a simplo shepherd, shephards and simplicity cannot part, your highnes is come into Cotshold, an vneuen country, but a people, that carry their thoughts level with their fortunes, low spirites, but true harts, using plain dealing, once counted a jewel now beggary, these hills afoorde nothing but cottages, and nothing can we present to your highnes, but shephards. The country healthy, and harmless, a fresh air, where there are noe dampes, and where a black sheep is a perilous beast, no monsters, we carry our harts, at our tongues ends, being as far from dissembling, as our sheep from fierceness, and if in any thing, we shall chance to discover our leudnes, it willbe in over boldness, in gazinge at you, who fills our harts with joy, and our eyes with wonder, as for the honourable Lord and Lady of the Castle, what happiness they conceive, I would it were possible for themselves to express, then should your majesty see, that al outward entertainment, were but a smoke rising from their inward affections, which as they cannot be seen, being in the hart, so can they not be smoothred, appearing in their countenance, this lock of wool Cotsholdes best fruit, and my poor gift, I offer to your highnes, in which nothing is to be esteemed, but the whiteness, virginities colour, nor to be expected but duty, shepherds religion.
nodes 28–48 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 4 of 6 in this edition
Length
474 words · 667 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T21 — Cupid, Venus and the nymphscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.691 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T21 · seed 44: T24 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Conceite doth make me ſmile whilſt I am thinking, How euery one doth read my ſtory, How euery bough on Ceres lowreth, Cauſe heauens plenty on me powreth, And they in leaues doe onely glory, All other Gods of power bereuen, Ceres only Queene of heauen. With Robes and flowers let me be dreſſed. Cynthia that ſhineth, Is not ſo cleare, Cynthia declineth, When I appeere, Yet in this Ile ſhee raignes as bleſſed, And euery one at her doth wonder, And in my eares ſtill fonde fame whiſpers, Cynthia ſhalbe Ceres Miſtres, But firſt my Carre ſhall riue aſunder, Helpe Phoebus helpe my fall is ſuddaine, Cynthia, Cynthia, muſt be ſoueraigne. GReater then Ceres, receiue Ceres Crowne, the ornament of my plenty, the honour of your peace, heere at your highnes feete, I lay downe my feined deity, which Poets haue honoured, truth contemned. To your Maieſty whome the heauens haue crowned with happines, the world with vvonder, birth with dignitie, nature with perfection, vve doe all Homage, accounting nothing ours but what comes frō you. And this muche dare we promiſe for the Lady of the farme, that your preſence hath added many daies to her life, by the infinite ioies ſhee conceyues in her heart, who preſents your highneſſe with this toye and this ſhort praier, poured from her hart, that your daies may increaſe in happines, your happines haue no end till there be no more daies. VOuchſafe to heare, a ſimple Shephard, ſhephards and ſimplicity cannot part, your highnes is cōe into Cotſhold, an vneuē coūtry, but a people, that carry their thoughtes leuell with their fortunes, lowe ſpirites, but true harts, vſing plaine dealinge, once counted a Iewell nowe beggery, theſe hills afoorde nothing but cottages, and nothing can we preſent to your highnes, but ſhephards. The country healthy, and harmeles, a freſh aier, where there are noe dampes, and where a black ſheepe is a perilous beaſt, no monſters, we carry our harts, at our tongues ends, being as farre from diſſembling, as our ſheepe from fierceneſſe, and if in any thing, we ſhall chance to diſcouer our leudnes, it wilbe in ouer boldneſſe, in gazinge at you, who fils our harts with ioye, and our eies with wonder, as for the honorable Lord and Lady of the Caſtle, what happines they conceiue, I would it were poſsible for them ſelues to expreſſe, then ſhould your Maieſtie ſee, that al outwarde enterteinment, were but a ſmoake riſing from their inward affections, which as they cannot be ſeene, being in the hart, ſo can they not be ſmoothred, appearing in their countenance, this lock of wooll Cotſholdes beſt fruite, and my poore gift, I offer to your highnes, in which nothing is to be eſteemed, but the whitenes, virginities colour, nor to be expected but duetye, ſhepards religion.