Jonson, Ben · published 1616 · first performed or written 1601 (Annals) comedy · Children of the Chapel (second) unassigned nearest T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint · 501 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
OVID? Who's there? Come in. Good morrow, Lawyer. Good morrow (dear TIBULLUS) welcome: sit down. Not I. What: so hard at it? Let's see, what's here? Nay, I will see it— Pray thee away— If thrice in field, a man vanquish his foe, 'Tis after in his choice to serve, or no. How now OVID! Law— cases in verse? In troth, I know not: they run from my pen Unwittingly, if they be verse. What's the news abroad? Off with this gown, I come to have thee walk. No, good TIBULLUS, I'm not now in case, Pray let me alone. How? not in case! 'Slight thou'rt in too much case, by all this law. Troth, if I live, I will new dress the law, In sprightly poesies habiliments. The hell thou wilt. What, turn law into verse? Thy father has schooled thee, I see. Here, read that same. There's subject for you: and if I mistake not, A Supersedeas to your melancholy. How! subscribed JULIA! O, my life, my heaven! Is the mood changed? Music of wit! Note for th' harmonious spheres! Celestial accents, how you ravish me! What is it, OVID? That I must meet my JULIA, the Princess JULIA. Where? Why, at— heart, I have forgot: my passion so transports me. I'll save your pains: it is at ALBIUS house, The jewellers, where the fair LYCORIS lies. Who? CYTHERIS, CORNELIUS GALLUS love? ay, 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 JULIA underneath that name: JULIA 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 elyzian 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 now made one. Henceforth, 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 Julia's name; fair JULIA: Julia's love Shall be a law, and that sweet law I'll study, The law, and art of sacred Julia's 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.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T3 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
OVID? Who's there? Come in. Good morrow, Lawyer. Good morrow (deare TIBVLLVS) welcome: sit downe. Not I. What: so hard at it? Let's see, what's here? Nay, I will see it— Pray thee away— If thrice in field, a man vanquish his foe, 'Tis after in his choice to serue, or no. How now OVID! Law—cases in verse? In troth, I know not: they runne from my pen Vnwittingly, if they be verse. What's the newes abroad? Off with this gowne, I come to haue thee walke. No, good TIBVLLVS, I'm not now in case, Pray' let me alone. How? not in case! S'light thou'rt in too much case, by all this law. Troth, if I liue, I will new dresse the law, In sprightly poesies habillaments. The hell thou wilt. What, turne law into verse? Thy father has school'd thee, I see. Here, reade that same. There's subiect for you: and if I mistake not, A Supersedeas to your melancholy. How! subscrib'd IVLIA! Ô, my life, my heauen! Is the mood chang'd? Musique of wit! Note for th' harmonious spheares! Celestiall accents, how you rauish me! What is it, OVID? That I must meete my IVLIA, the Princesse IVLIA. Where? Why, at—hart, I haue forgot: my passion so transports mee. Ile saue your paines: it is at ALBIVS house, The iewellers, where the faire LYCORIS lies. Who? CYTHERIS, CORNELIVS GALLVS loue? I, heele be there too, and my PLAVTIA. And why not your DELIA? Yes, and your CORINNA. True, but my sweet TIBVLLVS, keepe that secret: I would not, for all ROME, it should be thought, I vaile bright IVLIA vnderneath that name: IVLIA the gemme, and iewell of my soule, That takes her honours from the golden skie, As beautie doth all lustre, from her eye. The ayre respires the pure elyzian sweets, In which she breathes: and from her lookes descend The glories of the summer. Heauen she is, Prays'd in her selfe aboue all praise: and he, Which heares her speake, would sweare the tune-full orbes Turn'd in his zenith onely. PVBLIVS, thou'lt lose thy selfe. O, in no labyrinth, can I safelier erre, Then when I lose my selfe in praysing her. Hence Law, and welcome, Muses; though not rich, Yet are you pleasing: let's be reconcilde, And now made one. Hencefoorth, I promise faith, And all my serious houres to spend with you: With you, whose musicke striketh on my heart, And with bewitching tones steales forth my spirit, In IVLIAS name; faire IVLIA: IVLIAS loue Shall be a law, and that sweet law I'le studie, The law, and art of sacred IVLIAS loue: All other obiects will but abiects prooue. Come, wee shall haue thee as passionate, as PROPERTIVS, anon. O, how does my SEXTVS? Faith, full of sorrow, for his CYNTHIAS death. What, still? Still, and still more, his grieues doe grow vpon him, As doe his houres. Neuer did I know An vnderstanding spirit so take to heart The common worke of fate.