Anonymous · published 1594 · first performed or written 1588 [1587-1594] (Annals) tragedy · Children of the Chapel (first) (Oxford's Boys) unassigned nearest T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint · 488 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
Fare well brave minded Ctesiphon. While this is doing we will march from hence, Unto the country where Gobrias dwelled, He hath a castle well replenished, with victuals, men and furniture, And as our spies gives us to understand, His only daughter stays within the hold, Not knowing of her father's late revolt, Therefore will we surprise her unawares, and thou shalt be lieutenant in his stead, when we have made his soldiers yield the fort. Must I confess that love is violent. By doting on my captive Panthea, I will not love, I'll bridle those affects. It cannot be resisted, I must yield, Oh what a tyrant is this cruel love, That drinks my blood, and makes me pale and wan, That sucks my spirits, and makes me weak and faint, That tears my heart, and makes me almost dead. That revels in my brains and makes me mad. I am a soldier, and will conquer love, I'll mount me straight, give me a horseman's staff, Proud love, sit fast, for now Araspas runs, Run, and scarcely stand: O Panthea, Thou sets my idle fantasy thus a work, and makes me speak and think I know not what. I would I might forget fair Panthea, I cannot name her but I must say fair, And that word fair makes me remember her. Panthea is ugly, black, ill favoured, fowl, And who is so beautiful as she? And I must weep for this misterming her, Why should I weep? ask I the reason why? I have abused my love, weep not but die. Die not but live and enjoy thy love. What contrariety consisteth in my words. O reconcile them, lovely Panthea. Thy looks hath made me lunatic. I have intelligence that our Lord is sick, we come to comfort him as captives may. Oh welcome Panthea, shall I tell my grief? Sit still my Lord, why change you colour thus, what troubles you? Something stands by and whispers in my ear, A kiss of Panthea will recover me. O leave these idle words, they make you worse Nay they recover me, I am half well. So say they that are going from the world. Panthea sit down, but sit so Panthea, As I may view thy face, or else I die. Nicasia command the music play, It may be musicke will alay the sit. Nicasia cause the music cease, For it is harsh and mars the harmony, Come Panthea sit down by me, and let us talk. Talk is nought, turn ye about and sleep. Oh love? How now my Lord, a soldier and lovesick? I cannot keep it in, it bursts my heart, For thee sweet Panthea is Araspas sick. For me, my Lord. Fling not away, celestial Panthea, Though I were half dead I should follow thee. The air will hurt thee, whither wilt thou go. Where Panthea goes, oh frown not my fair love.
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)
Fare well braue minded Cteſiphon. While this is doing we will march from hence, Vnto the countrey where Gobrias dwelt, He hath a caſtell well repleniſhed, with vittailes, men and furniture, And as our ſpies giues vs to vnderſtand, His onely daughter ſtayes within the hold, Not knowing of her fathers late reuolt, Therefore will we ſurpriſe her vnawares, and thou ſhalt be lieutenant in his ſtead, when we haue made his ſouldiers yeeld the fort. Muſt I confeſſe that loue is violent. By doting on my captiue Panthea, I will not loue, Ile bridle thoſe affects. It cannot be reſiſted, I muſt yeeld, Oh what a tyrant is this cruel loue, That drinkes my blood, and makes me pale and wan, That ſucks my ſpirits, and makes me weake and faint, That teares my heart, and makes me almoſt dead. That reuels in my braines and makes me mad. I am a ſouldier, and will conquer loue, Ile mount me ſtraight▪ giue me a horſ-mans ſtaffe, Proud loue, ſit faſt, for now Araſpas runnes, Runne, and ſcarcely ſtand: O Panthea, Thou ſets my idle fantaſie thus a worke, and makes me ſpeake and thinke I know not what. I would I might forget faire Panthea, I cannot name her but I muſt ſay faire, And that word faire makes me remember her. Panthea is vglie, blacke, ill fauoured, fowle, And who is ſo beautifull as ſhe? And I muſt weepe for this miſterming her, Why ſhould I weepe? aske I the reaſon whie? I haue abuſde my loue, weepe not but die. Die not but liue and enioy thy loue. What contrarietie conſiſteth in my words. O reconcile them, louely Panthea. Thy lookes hath made me lunatike. I haue intelligence that our Lord is ſicke, we come to comfort him as captiues may. Oh welcome Panthea, ſhall I tell my griefe? Sit ſtill my Lord, why change you colour thus, what troubles you? Something ſtands by and whiſpers in my eare, A kiſſe of Panthea will recouer me. O leaue theſe idle words, they make you worſe Nay they recouer me, I am halfe well. So ſay they that are going from the world. Panthea ſit downe, but ſit ſo Panthea, As I may view thy face, or elſe I die. Nicaſia commaund the muſicke play, It may be muſicke will alay the ſit. Nicaſia cauſe the muſicke ceaſe, For it is harſh and mars the harmonie, Come Panthea ſit downe by me, and let vs talke. Talke is naught, turne ye about and ſleepe. Oh loue? How now my Lord, a ſouldier and loue-ſicke? I cannot keepe it in, it bruſts my heart, For thee ſweete Panthea is Araſpas ſicke. For me, my Lord. Fling not away, celeſtiall Panthea, Though I were halfe dead I ſhould follow thee. The aire will hurt thee, whither wilt thou go. Where Panthea goes, oh frowne not my faire loue.