Anonymous · published 1600 · first performed or written 1600 [1599-1600] (Annals) pastoral; romance · Children of Paul's (second) T22 Shepherds, flocks and Pan typicality 0.77 · 491 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T22: shepherd, pan, shepherds, love, sheep, flocks, fair, shepherdess, swain, away.
My Master swears by Silvanus, I must swear by his poor neighbour. And here's a shepherds swain, swears by a Kitchen God, Pan. Pan's the shepherds God, but thou swearest by Pot, what God's that? The God of good-fellowship: well, you have wicked Masters, that teach such little Boys as you are to swear so young. Alas good old great man, will nor your master swear? I never heard him swear six sound oaths in all my life. May hap he cannot, because he's diseased. Peace Mopso, I will stand to't, he's neither brave Courtier, bouncing Cavalier, nor boon Companion, if he swear not sometime: for they will swear, forswear, and swear. How? swear, forswear, and swear? how is that? They'll swear at dice, forswear their debts: And swear when they lose their labour in love. Well, your masters have much to answer for, that bring ye up so wickedly. Nay my master is damned I'll be sworn, for his very soul burns in the fiery eye of his fair mistress. My master is not damned, but he is dead, for he hath buried his joys in the bosom of his fair mistress. My master is neither damned nor dead, and yet is in the case of both your masters: like a wooden shepherd, and a sheepish woodman, for he is lost in seeking of a lost sheep, and spent in hunting a do that he would fain strike. Faith and I am foundered with flinging to and fro, with Chestnuts, Hazelnuts, bullace, and wildings, for presents from my master to the fair shepherdess. And I am tired like a Calf, with carrying a Kid every week to the Cottage of my masters sweet Lambkin. I am not tired, but so weary I cannot go, with following a master, that follows his mistress, that follows her shadow, that follows the sun, that follows his course. That follows the colt, that followed the mare, the man rode on to Midleton: shall I speak a wise word? Do and we will burn our caps. Are not we fools? Is that a wise word? Give me leave: are not we fools to wear our young feet to old stumps, when there dwells a cunning man in a Cave hereby, who for a bunch of roots, a bag of nuts, or a bushel of crabs, will tell us, where thou shalt find thy master, and which of our masters shall win the wench's favour? Bring me to him Frisco, I'll give him all the points at my hose, to point me right to my master. A bottle of whey shall be his meed, if he save me labour for posting with presents. Here he comes, offend him not Ioculo, For fear he turn thee to a Jack an Apes. And thee to an Owl. And thee to a Woodcock. A Woodcock, an Owl, and an Ape? A long bill, a broad face, and no tail?
nodes 1029–1058 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 17 of 28 in this edition
Length
491 words · 654 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T22 — Shepherds, flocks and Pancross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.766 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T24 · seed 44: T25 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
My Maiſter ſweares by Siluanus, I muſt ſweare by his poore neighbour. And heers a ſhepheards ſwaine, ſweares by a Kitchen God, Pan. Pan's the ſhepheardes God, but thou ſweareſt by Pot, what God's that? The God of good-fellowſhip: well, you haue wicked Maiſters, that teach ſuch little Boyes as you are to ſweare ſo young. Alas good old great man, wil nor your maſter ſwear? I neuer heard him ſweare ſix ſound oaths in all my life. May hap he cannot, becauſe hees diſeaſd. Peace Mopſo, I will ſtand toot, hee's neither braue Courtier, bouncing Caualier, nor boone Companion, if he ſweare not ſometime: for they will ſweare, forſweare, and ſweare. How? ſweare, forſweare, and ſweare? how is that? They'le ſweare at dyce, forſweare their debts: And ſweare when they looſe their labour in loue. Well, your maiſters haue much to anſwere for, that bring ye vp ſo wickedly. Nay my maiſter is damn'd Ile be ſworne, for his very ſoule burnes in the firie eye of his faire miſtreſſe. My maiſter is not damn'd, but he is dead, for he hath buried his ioyes in the boſome of his faire miſtreſſe. My maiſter is neither damnde nor dead, and yet is in the caſe of both your maiſters: like a woodden ſhepheard, and a ſheepiſh wood-man, for he is loſt in ſeeking of a loſt ſheepe, and ſpent in hunting a Doe that hee would faine ſtrike. Faith and I am founderd with flinging too and fro, with Cheſ-nuts, Hazel-nuts, Bullaze, and wildings, for preſents from my maiſter to the faire ſhepherdeſſe. And I am tierd like a Calfe, with carrying a Kidde euery weeke to the Cottage of my maiſters ſweete Lambkin. I am not tierd, but ſo wearie I cannot goe, with following a maiſter, that followes his miſtreſſe, that followes her ſhadow, that followes the ſunne, that followes his courſe. That follows the colt, that followed the mare, the man rode on to Midleton: ſhall I ſpeake a wiſe word? Do and wee will burne our caps. Are not we fooles? Is that a wiſe word? Giue me leaue: are not we fooles to weare our yong feete to old ſtumps, when there dwells a cunning man in a Caue hereby, who for a bunch of rootes, a bagge of nuts, or a buſhell of crabs, will tell vs, where thou ſhalt finde thy maiſter, and which of our maiſters ſhall win the wenches fauour? Bring me to him Friſco, Ile giue him all the poynts at my hoſe, to poynt me right to my maiſter. A bottle of whey ſhall be his meed, if he ſaue me labour for poſting with preſents. Here he comes, offend him not Ioculo, For feare he turne thee to a Iacke an Apes. And thee to an Owle. And thee to a Wood-cocke. A Wood-cocke, an Owle, and an Ape? A long bill, a broade face, and no tayle?