Cynthia's Revels, or The Fountain of Self-Love · chunk 8 of 66
Jonson, Ben · published 1616 · first performed or written 1600 [1600-1601] (Annals) satire · Children of the Chapel (second) unassigned nearest T12 Olympian gods: Jupiter, Juno, Venus and · 473 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T12: iupiter, saturn, iuno, venus, gods, mars, earth, titan, love, fair.
echo, be brief, SATURNIA is abroad, And if she hear, she'll storm at IOVES high will. I will (kind MERCVRIE) be brief as time. Vouchsafe me, I may do him these last rites, But kiss his flower, and sing some mourning strain Over his watery hearse. Thou dost obtain. I were no son to JOVE, should I deny thee. Begin, and (more to grace thy cunning voice) The humorous air shall mix her solemn tunes, With thy sad words: strike music from the spheres, And with your golden raptures swell our ears. SLow, slow, fresh fount, keep time with my salt tears; Yet slower, yet, o faintly gentle springs: List to the heavy part the music bears, Woe weeps out her division, when she sings. Droop herbs, and flowers; Fall grief in showers; Our beauties are not ours: O, I could still (Like melting snow upon some craggy hill,) drop, drop, drop, drop, Since nature's pride is, now, a withered daffodil. Now, ha' you done? Done presently (good HERMES) bide a little, Suffer my thirsty eye to gaze a while, But e'en to taste the place, and I am vanished. forego thy use, and liberty of tongue, And thou mayst dwell on earth, and sport thee there. Here young Actaeon fell, pursued, and torn By CYNTHIA'S wrath (more eager, than his hounds) And here, (ay me, the place is fatal) see The weeping NIOBE, translated hither From Phrygian mountains: and by PHoeBE reared As the proud trophaee of her sharp revenge. Nay, but hear. But here, O here, the Fountain of self-love, In which LATONA, and her careless Nymphs, (Regardless of my sorrows) bathe themselves In hourly pleasures. Stint thy babbling tongue; Fond echo, thou profanest the grace is done thee: So idle worldlings (merely made of voice) Censure the powers above them. Come, away, JOVE calls thee hence, and his will brooks no stay. O, stay: I have but one poor thought to clothe In airy garments, and then (faith) I go. Henceforth, thou treacherous, and murdering spring, Be ever called the Fountain of self-love: And with thy water let this curse remain, (As an inseparate plague) that who but tastes A drop thereof, may, with the instant touch, Grow dotingly enamoured on themselves. Now, HERMES, I have finished. Then thy speech, Must here forsake thee, echo, and thy voice (As it was wont) rebound but the last words. Farewell. Well. Now, CUPID, I am for you, and your mirth, To make me light before I leave the earth. Dear spark of beauty, make not so fast away. Away. Stay, let me observe this portent yet. I am neither your Minotaur, nor your Centaur, nor your Satire, nor your Hyaena, nor your baboon, but your mere travailer, believe me. Leave me. I guessed it should be some travailing motion pursued echo so.
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)
ECCHO, be briefe, SATVRNIA is abroad, And if shee heare, sheele storme at IOVES high will. I will (kind MERCVRIE) be briefe as time. Vouchsafe me, I may doe him these last rites, But kisse his flowre, and sing some mourning straine Ouer his watrie hearse. Thou dost obtaine. I were no sonne to IOVE, should I denie thee. Begin, and (more to grace thy cunning voice) The humorous aire shall mixe her solemne tunes, With thy sad words: strike musicque from the spheares, And with your golden raptures swell our eares. SLow, slow, fresh fount, keepe time with my salt teares; Yet slower, yet, faintly gentle springs: List to the heauy part the musique beares, "Woe weepes out her diuision, when shee sings. Droupe hearbs, and flowres; Fall griefe in showres; "Our beauties are not ours: O, I could still (Like melting snow vpon some craggie hill,) drop, drop, drop, drop, Since natures pride is, now, a wither'd daffodill. Now, ha' you done? Done presently (good HERMES) bide a little, Suffer my thirstie eye to gaze a while, But e'ene to taste the place, and I am vanisht. Forgoe thy vse, and libertie of tongue, And thou maist dwell on earth, and sport thee there. Here yong ACTEON fell, pursu'de, and torne By CYNTHIA'S wrath (more eager, then his hounds) And here, (ay me, the place is fatall) see The weeping NIOBE, translated hither From Phrygian mountaines: and by PHoeBE rear'd As the proud trophaee of her sharpe reuenge. Nay, but heare. But here, O here, the Fountayne of selfe-Loue, In which LATONA, and her carelesse Nymphs, (Regardles of my sorrowes) bathe themselues In hourely pleasures. Stint thy babling tongue; Fond ECCHO, thou prophan'st the grace is done thee: So idle worldlings (meerely made of voice) Censure the powers aboue them. Come, away, IOVE calls thee hence, and his will brookes no stay. O, stay: I haue but one poore thought to clothe In ayrie garments, and then (faith) I goe. Henceforth, thou trecherous, and murthering spring, Be euer call'd the Fountayne of selfe-Loue: And with thy water let this curse remaine, (As an inseparate plague) that who but tastes A drop thereof, may, with the instant touch, Grow dotingly enamor'd on themselues. Now, HERMES, I haue finisht. Then thy speech, Must here forsake thee, ECCHO, and thy voice (As it was wont) rebound but the last wordes. Farewell. Well. Now, CVPID, I am for you, and your mirth, To make me light before I leaue the earth. DEare sparke of beautie, make not so fast away. Away. Stay, let me obserue this portent yet. I am neither your Minotaure, nor your Centaure, nor your Satyre, nor your Hyaena, nor your Babion, but your mere trauailer, beleeue me. Leaue me. I guess'd it should bee some trauailing motion pursude ECCHO so.