Jonson, Ben · published 1602 · first performed or written 1601 (Annals) comedy · Children of the Chapel (second) · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T12 Olympian gods: Jupiter, Juno, Venus and · 492 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T12: iupiter, saturn, iuno, venus, gods, mars, earth, titan, love, fair.
In sincerity, I thank her, Sir. You have a Coach? ha you not? The Princess hath sent her own, Lady. O Venus! that's well: I do long to ride in a Coach most vehemently: But sweet Gallus, pray you, resolve me, why you give that heavenly praise, to this earthly Banquet? Because (Cytheris) it must be celebrated by the heavenly powers: All the Gods, and Goddesses will be there; to two of which, you two must be exalted. A pretty fiction in truth. A fiction indeed Chloë, and fit, for the fit of a Poet. Why, Cytheris, may not Poets (from whose divine spirits, all the honours of the Gods have been deduced) entreat so much honour of the Gods, to have their divine presence at a Poëticall Banquet? Suppose that no fiction: yet, where are your abilities to make us two Goddesses, at your Feast? Who knows not (Cytheris) that the sacred breath of a true Poet, can blow any virtuous Humanity, up to Deity? To tell you the female truth (which is the simple truth) Ladies; and to show that Poets (in spite of the world) are able to Deify themselves: At this Banquet, to which you are invited, we intent to assume the figures of the Gods; and to give our several Loves the Forms of Goddesses. Ovid, will be Iupiter: the Princess Iulia, Iuno: Gallus here Apollo; you Cytheris, Pallas: I will be Bacchus, and my Love Plautia, Ceres. And to install you, and your Husband, fair Chloë, in honours, equal with ours; you shall be a Goddess, and your Husband a God. A God? o my God A God; but a lame God, Lady: for he shall be Vulcan, and you Venus. And this will make our Banquet no less than heavenly. In sincerity, it will be sugared. Good Ioue, what a pretty foolish thing it is to be a Poet! But hark you, sweet Cytheris; could they not possibly leave out my Husband? me thinks a Body's Husband does not so well at Court; A body's Friend, or so: But Husband, 'tis like your Clog to your Marmoset, for all the world, and the heavens. Tut; never fear, Chloë: your Husband will be left without in the Lobby, or the great Chamber; when you shall be put in, i'the Closet, by this Lord, and by that Lady. Nay, than I am certified: he shall go. Horace! Welcome. Gentlemen, hear you the news? What news, my Quintus? Our melancholic Friend, Propertius, Hath closed himself, up, in his Cynthia's Tomb; And will by no entreaties be drawn thence. May, good Master Crispinus; Pray you bring near the Gentleman. Crispinus? Hid me, good Gallus; Tibullus shelter me. Make your approach, sweet Captain. What means this, Horace? I am surprised again; Farewell. Stay, Horace. What, and be tired on, by yond Vulture? No: Phoebus defend me. 'Slight! I hold my life, This same is he met him in Via sacra.
seed 43: T28 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
In ſincerity, I thanke her, Sir. You haue a Coach? ha' you not? The Princeſſe hath ſent her owne, Lady. O Venus! that's well: I doe long to ride in a Coach moſt vehemently: But ſweete Gallus, pray you, reſolue me, why you giue that heauenly praiſe, to this earthly Banquet? Becauſe (Cytheris) it muſt be celebrated by the heauenly powers: All the Gods, and Goddeſſes will be there; to two of which, you two muſt be exalted. A pretty fiction in truth. A fiction indeed Chloë, and fit, for the fit of a Poet. Why, Cytheris, may not Poets (from whoſe diuine ſpirits, all the honors of the Gods haue beene deduc't) intreat ſo much honor of the Gods, to haue their diuine preſence at a Poëticall Banquet? Suppoſe that no fiction: yet, where are your Habilities to make vs two Goddeſſes, at your Feaſt? Who knowes not (Cytheris) that the ſacred breath of a true Poet, can blow any vertuous Humanity, vp to Deity? To tell you the femall truth (which is the ſimple truth) Ladies; and to ſhew that Poets (in ſpight of the world) are able to Deify them ſelues: At this Banquet, to which you are inuited, we intend to aſſume the figures of the Gods; and to giue our ſeuerall Loues the Formes of Goddeſſes. Ouid, will be Iupiter: the Princeſſe Iulia, Iuno: Gallus here Apollo; you Cytheris, Pallas: I will be Bacchus, and my Loue Plautia, Ceres. And to inſtall you, and your Husband, faire Chloë, in honors, equall with ours; you ſhall be a Goddeſſe, and your Husband a God. A God? ô my God! A God; but a lame God, Lady: for he ſhall be Vulcan, and you Venus. And this will make our Banquet no leſſe then heauenly. In ſincerity, it will be ſugred. Good Ioue, what a pretty fooliſh thing it is to be a Poet! But harke you, ſweete Cytheris; could they not poſſibly leaue out my Husband? me thinkes a Bodies Husband do's not ſo well at Court; A bodies Friend, or ſo: But Husband, 'tis like your Clog to your Marmaſet, for all the world, and the heauens. Tut; neuer feare, Chloë: your Husband will be left without in the Lobby, or the great Chamber; when you ſhall be put in, i'the Cloſet, by this Lord, and by that Lady. Nay, then I am certified: he ſhall goe. Horace! Welcom. Gentlemen, heare you the newes? What newes, my Quintus? Our melancholike Friend, Propertius, Hath cloſ'd him ſelfe, vp, in his Cynthias Tombe; And will by no intreaties be drawne thence. May, good Maſter Criſpinus; Pray you bring neere the Gentleman. Criſpinus? Hide me, good Gallus; Tibullus ſhelter me. Make your approach, ſweete Captaine. What meanes this, Horace? I am ſurpriz'd againe; Farewell. Stay, Horace. What, and be tir'd on, by yond' Vulture? No: Phoebus defend me. 'Slight! I hold my life, This ſame is he met him in Via ſacra.