Jonson, Ben · published 1602 · first performed or written 1601 (Annals) comedy · Children of the Chapel (second) · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint · 496 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
I, he'll be there too, and my Plautia. And why not your Delia? Yes, and your Corinna. True; but my sweet Tibullus, keep that secret: I would not, for all Rome, it should be thought I vail bright Iulia underneath that name: Iulia, the Gem, and jewel of my soul, That takes her honours from the golden Sky, As beauty doth all Lustre, from her Eye. The Air respires the pure Elysium sweets, In which she breathes: and from her looks descend, The glories of the Summer. Heaven she is, Praised in herself above all praise: and he, Which hears her speak, would swear the Tuneful Orbs Turned in his Zenith only. Publius, thou'lt lose thyself. O, in no Labyrinth, can I safelier err, Then when I lose myself in praising her. Hence Law, and welcome, Muses; though not rich, Yet are you pleasing: let's be reconciled, And new made one. Hence forth, I promise faith, And all my serious hours to spend with you: With you, whose Music striketh on my heart, And with bewitching Tones steals forth my spirit, In Iulias name; Fair Iulia, Iulias Love Shall be a Law, and that sweet Law I'll study, The Law, and Art of sacred Iulias Love: All other objects will but Abjects prove. Come, we shall have thee as passionate, as Propertius, anon. O, how does my Sextus? Faith, full of sorrow, for his Cynthia's death. What, still? Still, and still more, his grieves do grow upon him, As do his hours. Never did I know An understanding spirit so take to heart The common work of Fate. O my Tibullus, Let us not blame him: for against such chances, The heartiest strife of virtue is not proof. We may read Constancy and Fortitude, To other souls: but had ourselves been struck With the like Planet; had our Loves (like his) Been ravished from us, by injurious death, And in the height, and heat of our best days, It would have cracked our sinews, shrunk our veins, And made our very heart strings jar, like his. Come, let's go take him forth, and prove, if Mirth, Or Company will but abate his passion. Content, and I implore the Gods it may. MAster Crispinus, you are welcome; Pray, use a stool Sir. Your cozen Cytheris, will come down presently. We are so busy for the receceaving of these Courtiers here, that I can scarce be a minute with myself, for thinking of them; Pray you sit Sir, Pray you sit Sir. I am very well Sir. Near trust me, but you are most delicately seated here, full of sweet delight and blandishment; An excellent air, An excellent Air. I Sir, 'tis a pretty air: These Courtiers run in my mind still; I must look out: for Iupiters sake sit Sir, or please you walk into the Garden. there's a Garden on the backside. I am most strenuously well, I thank you Sir. Much good do you Sir.
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)
I, heele be there too, and my Plautia. And why not your Delia? Yes, and your Corinna. True; but my ſweete Tibullus, keepe that ſecret: I would not, for all Rome, it ſhould be thought I vaile bright Iulia vnderneath that name: Iulia, the Gem, and Iewell of my ſoule, That takes her honours from the goulden Sky, As beauty doth all Luſtre, from her Eye. The Ayre reſpires the pure Elyzium ſweetes, In which ſhe breathes: and from her lookes deſcend, The glories of the Summer. Heauen ſhe is, Praiſ'd in her ſelfe aboue all praiſe: and he, Which heares her ſpeake, would ſweare the Tune-full Orbes Turnd in his Zenith onely. Publius, thou'lt looſe thy ſelfe. O, in no Labyrinth, can I ſafelier erre, Then when I looſe my ſelfe in prayſing her. Hence Law, and welcome, Muſes; though not rich, Yet are you pleaſing: let's be reconcilde, And new made one. Hence foorth, I promiſe faith, And all my ſerious howres to ſpend with you: With you, whoſe Muſicke ſtriketh on my hart, And with bewitching Tones ſteals foorth my ſpirit, In Iulias name; Faire Iulia, Iulias Loue Shall be a Law, and that ſweete Law I'le ſtudy, The Law, and Arte of ſacred Iulias Loue: All other obiects will but Abiects proue. Come, we ſhall haue thee as paſſionate, as Propertius, anon. O, how does my Sextus? Faith, full of ſorrow, for his Cynthias death. What, ſtill? Still, and ſtill more, his grieues doe grow vpon him, As doe his howres. Neuer did I know An vnderſtanding ſpirit ſo take to hart The common worke of Fate. O my Tibullus, Let vs not blame him: for againſt ſuch chaunces, The hartieſt ſtrife of vertue is not proofe. We may read Conſtancy and Fortitude, To other ſoules: but had our ſelues beene ſtrooke With the like Planet; had our Loues (like his) Beene rauiſht from vs, by iniurious death, And in the height, and heat of our beſt daies, It would haue crackt our ſinnewes, ſhrunke our vaines, And made our very hart ſtrings iarre, like his. Come, let's goe take him foorth, and prooue, if Mirth, Or Company will but abate his paſſion. Content, and I implore the Gods it may. MAſter Criſpinus, you are welcome; Pray', vſe a ſtoole Sir. Your Coſen Cytheris, will come downe preſently. We are ſo buſie for the receceauing of theſe Courtiers here, that I can ſcarce be a minute with my ſelfe, for thinking of them; Pray you ſit Sir, Pray you ſit Sir. I am very well Sir. Nere truſt me, but you are moſt delicatly ſeated here, full of ſweete delight and blandiſhment; An excellent ayre, An excellent Ayre. I Sir, tis a pretty ayre: Theſe Courtiers runne in my minde ſtill; I muſt looke out: for Iupiters ſake ſit Sir, or pleaſe you walke into the Garden. Ther's a Garden on the backſide. I am moſt ſtrenuouſly well, I thanke you Sir. Much good doe you Sir.