Greene, Robert · published 1599 · first performed or written 1587 [1587-1588] (Annals) romance · Queen Elizabeth's Men (?) unassigned nearest T21 Cupid, Venus and the nymphs · 435 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T21: cupid, venus, love, ceres, diana, fair, nymphs, goddess, bow, damon.
POets are scarce when Goddesses themselves Are forced to leave their high and stately seats Placed on the top of high Olympus Mount, To seek them out, to pen their champion's praise. The time hath been when Homer's sugared Muse, Did make each Echo to repeat his verse, That every coward that durst crack a spear, And Tilt and tourney for his Lady's sake, Was painted out in colours of such price As might become the proudest Potentate. But nowadays so irksome Idels slights, And cursed charms have witched each student's mind, That death it is to any of them all, If that their hands to penning you do call: Oh Virgil, Virgil, wert thou now alive, Whose painful pen in stout Augustus' days, Did deign to let the base and silly flea To scape away without thy praise of her. I do not doubt but long or ere this time, Alphonsus fame unto the heaven's should climb: Alphonsus fame that man of Ioue his seed, Sprung from the loins of the immortal Gods, Whose sire although he habit on the earth, May claim a portion in the fiery Pole, As well as any one whate'er he be. But setting by Alphonsus power divine, What man alive or now amongst the ghosts Could countervail his courage and his strength? But thou art dead, yea Virgil thou art gone: And all his acts drowned in oblivion. And all his acts drowned in oblivion? No Venus no, though Poets prove unkind, And loath to stand in penning of his deeds, Yet rather than they shall be clean forgot, I which was wont to follow Cupid's games Will put in ure Minerva's sacred Art, And this my hand which used for to pen The praise of love, and Cupid's peerless power, Will now begin to treat of bloody Mars, Of doughty deeds and valiant victories. But see whereas the stately Muses come, Whose harmony doth very far surpass The heavenly music of Apollo's pipe. But what means this Melpomene herself With all her sisters sound their Instruments, Only excepted fair Calliope? Who coming last & hanging down her head, Doth plainly show by outward actions What secret sorrow doth torment her heart. Calliope thou which so oft didst crake, How that such clients clustered to thy Court By thick and threefold, as not any any one Of all thy sisters might compare with thee: Where be thy scholars now become I trow? Where are they vanished in such sudden sort, That while as we do play upon our strings, You stand still lazing, and have nought to do?
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)
POets are scarce when Goddesses themselues Are forst to leaue their high and stately seates Placed on the top of high Olympus Mount, To seeke them out, to pen their Champions praise. The time hath bene when Homers sugred Muse, Did make each Eccho to repeate his verse, That euery coward that durst crack a speare, And Tilt and Turney for his Ladies sake, Was painted out in colours of such price As might become the proudest Potentate. But now a dayes so yrksome Idels slights, And cursed charmes haue witch'd each students mind, That death it is to any of them all, If that their hands to penning you do call: Oh Virgil, Virgil, wert thou now aliue, Whose painfull pen in stout Augustus dayes, Did daigne to let the base and silly flea To scape away without thy praise of her. I do not doubt but long or ere this time, Alphonsus fame vnto the heauen's should clime: Alphonsus fame that man of Ioue his seed, Sprung from the loines of the immortall Gods, Whose sire although he habit on the earth, May claime a portion in the fierie Pole, As well as any one what ere he be. But setting by Alphonsus power diuine, What man aliue or now amongst the ghoasts Could counteruaile his courage and his strength? But thou art dead, yea Virgil thou art gon: And all his acts drownd in obliuion. And all his acts drownd in obliuion? No Venus no, though Poets proue vnkind, And loth to stand in penning of his deeds, Yet rather then they shall be cleane forgot, I which was wont to sollow Cupids games Will put in vre Mineruaes sacred Art, And this my hand which vsed for to pen The praise of loue, and Cupids peerles power, Will now begin to treat of bloudie Mars, Of doughtie deeds and valiant victories. But see whereas the stately Muses come, Whose harmony doth very far surpasse The heauenly musick of Appolloes pipe. But what meanes this Melpomine her selfe With all her sisters sound their Instruments, Onely excepted faire Calliope? Who comming last & hanging downe her head, Doth plainly shewe by outward actions What secret sorrow doth torment her heart. Calliope thou which so oft didst crake, How that such clients clustred to thy Court By thick and threefold, as not any any one Of all thy sisters might compare with thee: Where be thy schollers now become I troe? Where are they vanisht in such suddain sort, That while as we do play vpon our strings, You stand still lazing, and haue nought to do?