Day, John · published 1633 · first performed or written 1606 (Annals) comedy · Children of the Queen's Revels · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T21 Cupid, Venus and the nymphs · 500 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T21: cupid, venus, love, ceres, diana, fair, nymphs, goddess, bow, damon.
Your daughter? I'll slit her nose by this light, and she were ten Ladies, 'twas not for nothing my husband said he should meet her this Evening at Adonis' Chapel: but and I come to the God-speed on't, I'll tell 'em on't sound. I do good woman, tell 'em on't and spare not, but in any case do not scold. Why, may not a Gentlewoman scold in a good case? I know not what a Gentlewoman may do in a good case, but a Lady must not in any case. Though I may not scold, I may tell 'em roundly on't I hope. That you may do law. And I'll not be mealy mouthed I warrant 'em: will you bear me company to the Chapel Madam? With all my heart Mistress: What Dorus hath given me, I'll give my friend, No fool to company. FArewell bright Sun, thou lightner of all eyes, Thou fallest to give a brighter beam to rise. Each tree and shrub wear trammells of thy hair, But these are wires for none but Kings to wear, And my rude tongue, striving to blaze her forth, Like a bad Artsman, does disgrace her worth: But here's the place, upon this Crystal stream, Where Citharea did unyoake her team Of silver Doves to interchange a kiss With young Adonis, shall I meet my bliss? The gentle minutes crowned with crystal flowers, Losing their youths, are grown up perfect hours, To hasten my delight: The bashful Moon, That since her dalliance with Endymion Durst never walk by day, is under sail, In stead of sheets has spread her silver veil, Each gliding Brook and every bushy tree, Being tipped with silver, wear her livery; And the dim night, to grace our amorous wars, Hath stuck nine Spheres full of immortal stars, In stead of pearls; the way on which she treads Is strewed with crystal dew and silver beads: She comes, her feet make music with the ground, And the chaste air is ravished with the sound, My soul flies forth to meet her: hell, my wife, Her presence like a murderer drives the life Out of my pleasure's breast, her jealous eye Envies the heaven of my felicity. Zelmane, or my husband? life, or hate? What makes old Autumn out a bed so late? That snow should go a wooing to the Sun, When one warm kiss works her confusion! I have the jest, suspicion that keeps Court in my husband's thoughts, seeing my Love Elect this walk, hath brought him after him. She dog's her sure, and she to shake her off Hath ta'en some other walk, I'll place mine care In distance of her will. Could I but hear the innocent delivery of his breath, 'Twould be a second jubilee of mirth. Here comes my Love. Your Love? Alas poor Duke, Your forward hopes will meet a barren spring, My Sun appears. Fie, your love speaks too loud, Your sun's eclipsed, you dote upon a cloud.
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)
Your daughter? Ile ſlit her noſe by this light, and ſhe were ten Ladies, twas not for nothing my husband ſaid hee ſhould meete her this Evening at Adonis Chappell: but and I come to the Godſpeed on't, Ile tell em on't ſoundly. I doe good woman, tell em on't and ſpare not, but in any caſe doe not ſcold. Why, may not a Gentlewoman ſcold in a good caſe? I know not what a Gentlewoman may doe in a good caſe, but a Lady muſt not in any caſe. Though I may not ſcold, I may tell em roundly on't I hope. That you may doe law. And Ile not bee mealely mouth'd I warrant em: will you beare me company to the Chappell Madam? With all my heart Miſtris: What Dorus hath given me, Ile give my friend, No foole to company. FArewell bright Sunne, thou lightner of all eyes, Thou fall'ſt to give a brighter beame to riſe. Each tree and ſhrub weare trammells of thy haire, But theſe are wiers for none but Kings to weare, And my rude tongue, ſtriving to blaze her forth, Like a bad Arts-man, does diſgrace her worth: But here's the place, upon this Chriſtall ſtreame, Where Citharea did unyoake her teame Of ſiluer Doves to interchange a kiſſe With young Adonis, ſhall I meet my bliſſe? The gentle minutes crown'd with chryſtall flowers, Loſing their youths, are growne up perfect houres, To haſten my delight: The baſhfull Moone, That ſince her dalliance with Endymion Durſt never walke by day, is under ſaile, In ſtead of ſheetes has ſpread her ſilver vaile, Each gliding Brooke and every buſhy tree, Being tipt with ſilver, weare her livery; And the dimme night, to grace our amorous warres, Hath ſtucke nine Spheares full of immortall ſtarres, In ſtead of pearles; the way on which ſhe treads Is ſtrew'd with chryſtall deaw and ſilver beades: She comes, her feet make muſicke with the ground, And the chaſt aire is raviſht with the ſound, My ſoule flies forth to meet her: hell, my wife, Her preſence like a murtherer drives the life Out of my pleaſures breſt, her jealous eye Envies the heaven of my felicity. Zelmane, or my husband? life, or hate? What makes old Autumne out a bed ſo late? That ſnow ſhould goe a wooing to the Sunne, When one warme kiſſe workes her confuſion! I have the jeſt, ſuſpition that keepes Court in my husbands thoughts, ſeeing my Love Elect this walke, hath brought him after him. She dogs her ſure, and ſhe to ſhake her off Hath tane ſome other walk, Ile place mine care In diſtance of her will. Could I but heare the innocent delivery of his breath, 'Twould be a ſecond Iubile of mirth. Here comes my Love. Your Love? Alas poore Duke, Your forward hopes will meet a barren ſpring, My Sunne appeares. Fie, your love ſpeakes too loud, Your Sunne's eclips'd, you doate upon a cloud.