Anonymous · published 1600 · first performed or written 1600 [1599-1600] (Annals) pastoral; romance · Children of Paul's (second) T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint typicality 0.81 · 495 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
Nay and you go to latin, then 'tis sure, my master shall find her, if he could tell when. I cannot tell what reason it should be, But love and reason here do disagree. By proof of learned principles I find, The manner of your love's against all kind. And not to feed ye with uncertain joy, Whom you affect so much, is but a Boy. A Riddle for my life, some Antic jest. Did I not tell ye what his cunning was? I love a Boy? Mine Art doth tell me so. Add not a fresh increase unto my woe. I dare avouch what lately I have said, The love that troubles you, is for no maid. As well I might be said to touch the sky, Or dark the horizon with tapestry: Or walk upon the waters of the sea, As to be haunted with such lunacy. If it be false, mine Art I will defy. Amazed with grief, my love is then transformed. Master be contented, this is leap year. Women wear breeches, petticoats are dear. And that's his meaning, on my life it is. Oh God, and shall my torments never cease? Repress the fury of your troubled mind: Walk here a while, your Lady you may find. A Lady and a Boy, this hangs well together: Like snow in harvest, sunshine and foul weather. Since hope of help my froward stars deny, Come sweetest death, and end my misery. He left his country, I my shape have lost, Dear is the love, that hath so dearly cost. Yet can I boast, though Phoebus were unjust This shift did serve, to bar him from his lust. But who are these alone? I cannot choose But blush for shame, that any one should see, Eurymine in this disguise to be. It is, it is not my love, Eurymine. Hark some one hallows: gentlemen adieu, In this attire I dare not stay their view. My love, my joy, my life, By eye, by face, by tongue, it should be she. Oh ay, it was my love, I'll after her, And though she pass the Eagle in her flight, I'll never rest, till I have gained her sight. Love carries him, and so retains his mind, That he forgets how I am left behind: Yet will I follow softly, as I can. In hope to see the fortune of the man. Nay let them go a God's name, one by one, With my heart I am glad to be alone. Here's old transforming, would with all his Art, He could transform this tree into a tart. See then if I would flinch from hence or no: But for it is not so, I needs must go. Is it a bargain Gemulo, or not? Thou never knew'st me break my word I wot, Nor will I now, betide me bale or bliss. Nor I break mine, and here her cottage is: I'll call her forth.
seed 43: T2 · seed 44: T3 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Nay and you go to latin, then tis ſure, my maiſter ſhall finde her, if he could tell when. I cannot tell what reaſon it ſhould bee, But loue and reaſon here doo diſagree. By proofe of learned principles I finde, The manner of your loue's againſt all kinde. And not to feed ye with vncertaine ioy, Whom you affect ſo much, is but a Boy. A Riddle for my life, ſome Antick Ieſt▪ Did I not tell ye what his cunning was? I loue a Boy? Mine Art doth tell me ſo. Adde not a freſh increaſe vnto my woe. I dare auouch what lately I haue ſaide, The loue that troubles you, is for no maide. As well I might be ſaid to touch the skie, Or darke the horizon with tapeſtrie: Or walke vpon the waters of the ſea, As to be haunted with ſuch lunacie. If it be falſe, mine Art I will defie. Amaz'de with griefe, my loue is then transform'd. Maiſter be contented, this is leape yeare. Women weare breetches, petticoats are deare. And thats his meaning, on my life it is. Oh God, and ſhal my torments neuer ceaſe? Repreſſe the fury of your troubled minde: Walke here a while, your Lady you may finde. A Lady and a Boy, this hangs wel together: Like ſnow in harueſt, ſun-ſhine and foule weather. Since hope of helpe my froward ſtarres denie, Come ſweeteſt death, and end my miſerie. He left his country, I my ſhape haue loſt, Deare is the loue, that hath ſo dearly coſt. Yet can I boaſt, though Phoebus were vniuſt This ſhift did ſerue, to barre him from his luſt. But who are theſe alone? I cannot chuſe But bluſh for ſhame, that any one ſhould ſee, Eurymine in this diſguiſe to bee. It is, it is not my loue, Eurymine. Hark ſome one hallows: gentlemen adiew, In this atre I dare not ſtay their view. My loue, my ioy, my life, By eye, by face, by tongue, it ſhould be ſhee. Oh I, it was my loue, Ile after her, And though ſhe paſſe the Eagle in her flight, Ile neuer reſt, till I haue gain'd her ſight. Loue carries him, and ſo retains his mind, That he forgets how I am left behind: Yet will I follow ſoftly, as I can. In hope to ſee the fortune of the man. Nay let them go a Gods name, one by one, With my heart I am glad to be alone. Heres old tranſforming, would with all his Art, He could tranſforme this tree into a tart. See then if I would flinch from hence or no: But for it is not ſo, I needs muſt go. Is it a bargaine Gemulo, or not? Thou neuer knew'ſt me breake my word I wot, Nor will I now, betide me bale or blis. Nor I breake mine, and here her cottage is: Ile call her forth.