Anonymous · published 1607 · first performed or written 1592 [c.1592-1594] (Annals) comedy · Unknown unassigned nearest T22 Shepherds, flocks and Pan · 515 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T22: shepherd, pan, shepherds, love, sheep, flocks, fair, shepherdess, swain, away.
The senseless trees by music have been moved, And at the sound of pleasant tuned strings, Have savage beasts hung down their listening heads, As though they had been cast into a trance. Then it may be, that she to whom nought can please, With Musics sound, in time may be surprised. Come lovely Mistress, will you take your lute, And play the lesson that I taught you last? It is no matter whether I do, or no, For trust me, I take no great delight in it. I would, sweet Mistress, that it lay in me, To help you to that thing that's your delight. In you with a pestilence, are you so kind? Then make a nightcap of your fiddles case, To warm your head, and hide your filthy face. If that (sweet Mistress) were your heart's content, You should command a greater thing than that, Although it were ten times to my disgrace. You're so kind 'twere pity you should be hanged, And yet me thinks the fool doth look asquint. Why Mistress, do you mock me? No, but I mean to move thee. Well, will you play a little? Yea, give me the Lute. That stop was false, play it again. Then mend it thou, thou filthy ass. What, do you bid me kiss your arse? How now jack sauce? you're a jolly mate, You're best be still lest I cross your pate, And make your music fly about your cares▪ I'll make it and your coxcomb meet. Hold Mistress, sowns will you break my Lute? Yea on thy head and if thou speak to me, There, take it up, and fiddle somewhere else, And see you come no more into this place, Lest that I clap your fiddle on your face. Sowns, teach her to play on the Lute? The devil shall teach her first, I am glad she's gone, For I was ne'er so afraid in all my life, But that my Lute should fly about mine ears: My master shall teach her himself for me, For I'll keep me far enough without her reach, For he and Polidor sent me before, To be with her, and teach her on the Lute, Whilst they did court the other gentle women, And here me thinks they come together. How now Valeria, where's your Mistress? At the vengeance, I think, and no where else. Why Valeria, will she not learn apace? Yes berladie, she has learned too much already, And that I had felt, had I not spoke her fair, But she shall ne'er be learned for me again. Well Valeria go to my chamber, And bear him company that came to day From Cestus, where our aged father dwells. Come fair Emelia, my lovely love, Brighter than the burnished palace of the Sun, The eyesight of the glorious firmament, In whose bright looks sparkles the radiant fire. Wily Prometheus slily stole from Ioue, Infusing breath, life, motion, soul, To every object stricken by thine eyes. Oh fair Emelia, I pine for thee, And, either must enjoy thy love, or die.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
The ſenceleſſe trees by muſick haue bin mou'd, And at the ſound of pleſant tuned ſtrings, Haue ſauage beaſts hung downe their liſtning heads, As though they had beene caſt into a traunce. Then it may be, that ſhe to whome naught can pleaſe, With Muſickes ſound, in time may be ſurpriſde. Come louely Miſtris, will you take your lute, And play the leſſon that I taught you laſt? It is no matter whether I doe, or no, For truſt me, I take no great delight in it. I would, ſweete Miſtris, that it lay in me, To helpe you to that thing that's your delight. In you with a peſtlence, are you ſo kind? Then make a night-cap of your fiddles caſe, To warme your head, and hide your filthy face. If that (ſweet Miſtris) were your harts content, You ſhould commaund a greater thing than that, Although it were ten times to my diſgrace. Y'are ſo kind t'were pittie you ſhould be hang'd, And yet me thinkes the foole doth looke aſquint. Why Miſtris, doe you mocke me? No, but I meane to mooue thee. Well, will you play alittle? Yea, giue me the Lute. That ſtop was falſe, play it againe. Then mend it thou, thou filthy aſſe. What, doe you bid me kiſſe your arſe? How now jacke ſawce? y'are a jolly mate, Y'are beſt be ſtill leſt I croſſe your pate, And make your muſicke flie about your cares▪ Ile make it and your coxcombe meet. Hold Miſtris, ſowns will you breake my Lute? Yea on thy head and if thou ſpeake to me, There, take it vp, and fidle ſomewhere elſe, And ſee you come no more into this place, Leſt that I clap your fiddle on your face. Sowns, teach her to play on the Lute? The diuell ſhall teach her firſt, I am glad ſhee's gone, For I was ne're ſo fraid in all my life, But that my Lute ſhould flie about mine eares: My maiſter ſhall teach her himſelfe for me, For Ile keepe me farre enough without her reach, For he and Polidor ſent me before, To be with her, and teach her on the Lute, Whilſt they did court the other gentle women, And heere me thinkes they come together. How now Valeria, where's your Miſtris? At the vengeance, I thinke, and no where elſe. Why Valeria, will ſhe not learne apace? Yes berladie, ſhe haz learn'd too much alreadie, And that I had felt, had I not ſpoke her faire, But ſhe all ne're be learnt for me againe. Well Valeria go to my chamber, And beare him companie that came to daie From Ceſtus, where our aged father dwelles. Come faire Emelia, my louely loue, Brighter than the burniſht pallace of the Sunne, The eie-ight of the glorious firmament, In whoſe bright lookes ſparkles the radiant fire. Wilie Prometheus ſlily ſtole from Ioue, Infuſing breath, life, motion, ſoul, To euerie object ſtricken by thine eies. Oh faire Emelia, I pine for thee, And, either muſt enjoy thy loue, or die.