Il Pastor Fido, or The Faithful Shepherd · chunk 28 of 71
Dymoke, Tailboys / Guarini, Giovanni Battista · published 1602 · first performed or written 1601 (Annals) pastoral unassigned nearest T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint · 472 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
But ye play too far off, ye should touch me. O mighty Gods! what do I see? am I In heaven or earth? youhave no such harmony. But you that blind and faithless prove, That calleth me to play this hour, Behold I play and with my hand Hit your back and by you stand. I play and round about you run, And for I trust not you I shun. Here am I not and there again, Whilst you take me strive in vain. The reason is my heart is free, Therefore you cannot handle me. I thought I had Licoris caught, and I Have got a tree. I hear you laugh full well. Oh would I were that tree. Me thinks I see Corisca Hidden in yonder shrubs, she nods to me, 'tis e'en she, she beckons still to me. Free hearts have ever feet to fly, And so (enticing power) have I▪ Yet will you tempt me in to train? In saith (sweet) no: 't's all in vain. The reason is my hearts is free, Therefore you cannot handle me. I would this tree were burned, now had I thought I had Essa ta'en. Yet doth Corisca point, She threatens me, sh'would have me put myself Among these Nymphs. Belike thus I all day Must play with trees. I must spite of my heart Go out and speak. Why stayest thou fearful wretch? Until she come into thy arms? let her take thee, Give me thy 〈◊〉 (fool) go and meet with her. How ill agree my heart with my desire? Th'one dares so little, th'other seeks so much. 'tis time I turn again unto the sport, I almost weary am. Fie, ●ie: you make Me run too much, in faith you're too blame. Now look about triumphant power, That the world's tribute dost devour. Now bear'st thou mocks and many a bat, And like an Owl thouart wondered at. About whom birds flock thick and round, ut hilst them she strives in vain to wound. So art thou love this instant tide Laughed at and mocked on every side. Some hit thy back and some thy face, Sparing thee neither time nor place. It will not boot thee spread thy wings, Nor that thy pi●tons whistling stings. Catch how thou wilt thou geist not me, The reason is my heart is free. Him thou hast caught it is no wonder, For love holds all his senses under. IN faith Auglaura I have catched you now. Will you be gone? nay 〈◊〉 I'll hold you fast. Trust me had I not unawares to him Thrust him on her, this labour had been lost. What not a word? are you she or not she? Here do I take this dart, and in this grove I turn me to observe what followeth.
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)
But ye play too far off, ye ſhould touch me. O mightie Gods! what do I ſee? am I In heauen or earth? y'haue no ſuch hrmonie. But you that blind and faithleſſe proue, That calleth me to play this houre, Behold I play and with my hand Hit your backe and by you ſtand. I play and round about you run, And for I trust not you I ſhun. Here am I no and there againe, Whilst you take me ſtriue in vaine. The reaſon is my hart is free, Therefore you cannot handle mee. I thought I had Licoris caught, and I Haue got a tree. I heare you laugh full well. Oh would I were that tree. Me thinkes I ſee Coriſca Hidden in yonder ſhrubs, ſhe nods to mee, Tis eu'n ſhe, ſhe beckens ſtill to mee. Free harts haue euer feet to fly, And ſo (entiſing power) haue I▪ Yet will you tempt me in to traine? In ſaith (ſweet) no: t's all in vaine. The reaſon is my harts is free, Therefore you cannot handle mee. I would this tree were burn'd, now had I thought I had Eſa ta'en. Yet doth Coriſca point, She threatens me, ſh'would haue me put my ſelfe Among theſe Nimphes. Belike thus I all day Muſt play with trees. I muſt ſpite of my hart Go out and ſpeake. Why ſtaiſt thou fearfull wretch? Vntill ſhe come into thy armes? let her take thee, Giue me thy (foole) go and meet with her. How ill agree my hart with my deſire? Th'one dares ſo little, th'other ſeekes ſo much. T'is time I turne againe vnto the ſport, I almoſt weary am. Fie, ie: you make Me run too much, in faith y'are too blame. Now looke about triumphant powre, That the worlds tribute dost deuoure. Now bearst thou mocks and many a bat, And like an Owle th'art wondred at. About whom birds flcke thicke and round, Vt hilst them ſhe ſtriues in vaine to wound. So art thou loue this inſtant tide Laught at and mockt on euery ſide. Some hit thy backe and ſome hy face, Sparing thee neither time nor place. It will not boote thee ſpread thy wings, Nor that thy pitons whistling ſtings. Catch how thou wilt thou geiſt not mee, The reaſon is my hart is free. Him thou haſt caught it is no wonder, For loue holds all his ſences vnder. IN faith Auglaura I haue catcht you now. Will you be gone? nay Ile hold you faſt. Truſt me had I not vnawares to him Thruſt him on her, this labour had bene loſt. What not a word? are you ſhe or not ſhe? Here do I take this dart, and in this groue I turne me to obſerue what followeth.