Lyly, John · published 1597 · first performed or written 1593 [1590-1595] (Annals) comedy · Children of Paul's (first) · before the Court unassigned nearest T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint · 529 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
That letter did I pen doubting the worst, And dipped the napkin in the lambkin's blood. For Iphicles were he compact of Iron, My ring is Adamant to draw him forth, Let women learn by me to be revenged. I'll make them bite their tongues and eat their words, Yea swear unto my husband all is false. My wit is pliant and invention sharp, To make these novices that injure me. Young Iphicles must boast I favoured him, Here I protest as Helen to her love: Oscula luctanti tantummodo pauca proternus abstulit: ulterius, nil habet ille mei. And what's a kiss? too much for Iphicles? Melos is wily, and Learchus false, Here is Pandora's ring, and she is mine: It was a stratagem laid for my love, O foolish Iphicles what hast thou done? Must thou betray her unto Stesias. Here will I sit till I see Iphicles, Sighing my breath, out weeping my heart blood, Go soul and fly unto my liefest love, A fairer subject than Elysium. Can I hear this? can I view her? O no. But I will view thee my sweet Iphicles, Thy looks are physic, suffer me to gaze, That for thy sake am thus distempered. Pale be my looks to witness my amiss. And mine to show my love: lovers are pale. And so is Iphicles. And so Pandora let me kiss my love, And add a better colour to his cheeks. O bury all thy anger in this kiss, And mate me not with uttering my offence. Who can be angry with one whom she loves? Rather had I to have no thoughts at all. Then but one ill thought of my Iphicles: Go unto Stesias and deny thy words, For he hath thrust me from his cabinet. And as I have done, I will love thee still, Delay no time, hast gentle Iphicles, And meet me on Enepeus sedgy banks. When shall I meet thee, tell me my bright love. At midnight Iphicles, till then farewell. Farewell Pandora, I'll to Stesias. Thus will I serve them all, now Melos come, I love thee too, as much as Iphicles. This is Pandora's blood, hast Melos haste, And in her presence lance thy flesh as deep: Wicked Learchus, subtle Iphicles: You have undone me by your reaching wit. Gunophilus, where is Gunophilus? Give me the knife thou pulledst from my breast: Melos is gone, and left Pandora here, Witness ye wounds, witness ye silver streams, That I am true, to Melos only true, And he betrayed me unto Stesias. Forgive me love, it was not I alone, It was Learchus, and false Iphicles. 'tis not Learchus, nor that Iphicles, That grieves me, but that Melos is unkind, Melos for whom Pandora strained her voice, Playing with every letter of his name: Melos, for whom Pandora made this wound, Melos, for whom Pandora now will die. Divine Pandora, stay thy desperate hand, May summer's lightning burn our Autumn crop, The thunder's teeth plough up our fairest groves, The scorching sunbeams, dry up all our springs, And ruff winds blast the beauty of our plains, If Melos love not thee, more than his heart.
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)
That letter did I pen doubting the worst, And dipt the Napking in the Lambkins blood. For Iphicles were he compact of Iron, My ring is Adamant to drawe him foorth, Let women learne by me to be reuengd. Ile make them bite their tongues and eate their wordes, Yea sweare vnto my husband all is false. My wit is plyant and inuention sharpe, To make these nouises that iniure me. Young Iphicles must boast I fauourd him, Here I protest as Helen to her loue: Oscula luctanti tantummodo pauca proternus abstulit: vlterius, nil habet ille mei. And whats a kisse? too much for Iphicles? Melos is wily, and Learchus false, Here is Pandoraes ring, and she is mine: It was a stratagem layde for my loue, O foolish Iphicles what hast thou done? Must thou betray her vnto Stesias. Here will I sit till I see Iphicles, Sighing my breath, out weeping my heart bloud, Go soule and flye vnto my leefest loue, A fayrer subiect then Elysium. Can I heare this? can I view her? O no. But I will view thee my sweet Iphicles, Thy lookes are physicke, suffer me to gaze, That for thy sake am thus distempered. Pale be my lookes to witnesse my amisse. And mine to shew my loue: louers are pale. And so is Iphicles. And so Pandora let me kisse my loue, And adde a better couler to his cheekes. O bury all thy anger in this kisse, And mate me not with vttering my offence. VVho can be angrie with one whom she loues? Rather had I to haue no thoughts at all. Then but one ill thought of my Iphicles: Go vnto Stesias and deny thy words, For he hath thrust me from his cabanet. And as I haue done, I will loue thee still, Delay no time, hast gentle Iphicles, And meete me on Enepeus sedgy bankes. VVhen shall I meet thee, tell me my bright loue. At midnight Iphicles, till then farewell. Farewell Pandora, Ile to Stesias. Thus will I serue them all, now Melos come, I loue thee too, as much as Iphicles. This is Pandoraes blood, hast Melos hast, And in her presence launce thy flesh as deepe: VVicked Learchus, subtill Iphicles: You haue vndone me by your reaching wit. Gunophilus, where is Gunophilus? Giue me the knife thou pulledst from my brest: Melos is gone, and left Pandora here, VVitnesse yee wounds, witnesse yee siluer streames, That I am true, to Melos onely true, And he betrayde me vnto Stesias. Forgiue me loue, it was not I alone, It was Learchus, and false Iphicles. Tis not Learchus, nor that Iphicles, That greeues me, but that Melos is vnkinde, Melos for whom Pandora straynd her voyce, Playing with euery letter of his name: Melos, for whom Pandora made this wounde, Melos, for whom Pandora now will dye. Diuine Pandora, stay thy desperat hand, May summers lightning burne our Autumne crop, The thunders teeth plowe vp our fayrest groues, The scorching sun-beames, dry vp all our springs, And ruffe windes blast the beauty of our plaines, If Melos loue not thee, more then his heart.