Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
What makes thee then thy courage thus to lose, That thou can look so sad, and in my sight? Lend me (dear love) a portion of thy woes, A burden being divided doth grow light. I see the Roses fading in thy face, The Lilies languish, Violets take their place. Thou hast (dear Lord) prevented my design, Which was to ask of thee, what makes me pale; It Phoebus had no light, could Phoebe shine? No, with the cause of force th'effect must fail. The mirror but gives back as it receives, A just resemblance of th'objected form: And such impression as th'engraver leaves, The wax retains still to the stamp conform. O I'm the mirror that reflects thy mind, According to the influence of thine eyes, I take the state in which thy state I find, Such is my colour as thy countenance dies. Then how can I rejoice whilst thou art sad, Whose breast of all thy crosses is the scroll? I am still as thou art, if grieved, or glad, Thy Body's shadow, th'essence of thy soul. On that great planet that divides the years, As th'increase of th'inferior fields depends; And as it doth evanish, or appears, In th'earth's could bosom life begins, or ends: Sun of my soul, so I subsist by thee, Whose course rests to thy secret motions thrall, For when thou art from cloudy fortunes free, I rise in joys, but if thou faint, I fall. This countenance with my custom but accords, That as you know yet never from my birth, Light gestures used joined with lascivious words, Nor yet ridiculous fashions that move mirth. My melancholious nature feeds on cares, Whilst smothered sorrow by a habit smokes, A thoughtful breast that's burdened with affairs, Doth make a silent mouth, and speaking looks. As for my paleness it imports but good, Th'abasing of the body mounts the mind: Where fatness comed from food, but serves for food, In fattest bodies leanest sprites we find. Ah, since I saw th'abhorred Thessalian bounds All drenched with blood of Senators and kings: (As if my soul yet smarted in their wounds,) A secret sorrow oftentimes me stings. But since thy famous father with strange blows, In the most hideous form affronted death, To him my mind a sad remembrance owes, Which sorrow shall exact still whilst I breathe. Yet am I grieved t'have given thee cause of grief, That thought some new mishap did me dismay; To such old sores it's worst to give relief, But time in end may wear my woes away. Why shouldst thou so from me thy thoughts conceal? From thine own soul that in thy bosom sleeps, To whom, though shown, thou dost them not reveal, But in thyself more inwardly them keep'st? And thou canst hardly hide thyself from me, That straight in thee each alteration spy, I can comment on all that comes from thee, True love still looks with a suspicious eye.
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)
What makes thee then thy courage thus to loſe, That thou can looke ſo ſad, and in my ſight? Lend me (deere loue) a portion of thy woes, A burden being diuided doth grow light. I ſee the Roſes fading in thy face, The Lillies languiſh, Violets take their place. Thou haſt (deere Lord) preuented my deſigne, Which was to aske of thee, what makes me pale; It Phoebus had no light, could Phoebe ſhine? No, with the cauſe of force th'effed muſt faile. The mirrour but giues backe as it receiues, A iuſt reſemblance of th'obiected forme: And ſuch impreſſion as th'engrauer leaues, The wax retaines ſtill to the ſtampe conforme. O I'm the mirrour that reflects thy minde, According to the influence of thine eies, I take the ſtate in which thy ſtate I finde, Such is my colour as thy countnance dies. Then how can I reioyce whilſt thou art ſad, Whoſe breaſt of all thy croſſes is the ſcroule? I am ſtill as thou art, if grieu'd, or glad, Thy bodies ſhadow, th'eſſence of thy ſoule. On that great planet that diuides the yeares, As th'increaſe of th'inferiour fields depends; And as it doth euaniſh, or appeares, In th'earths cold boſome life beginnes, or ends: Sunne of my ſoule, ſo I ſubſiſt by thee, Whoſe courſe reſts to thy ſecret motions thrall, For when thou art from cloudie fortunes free, I riſe in ioyes, but if thou faint, I fall. This countnance with my cuſtome but accords, That as you know yet neuer from my birth, Light geſtures vſde ioynd with laſciuious words, Nor yet ridiculous faſhions that mooue mirth. My melancholious nature feedes on cares, Whilſt ſmotherd ſorrow by a habite ſmokes, A thoughtfull breaſt thats burdend with affaires, Doth make a ſilent mouth, and ſpeaking lookes. As for my paleneſſe it imports but good, Th'abaſing of the bodie mounts the mind: Where fatneſſe com'd from food, but ſerues for food, In fatteſt bodies leaneſt ſprites we finde. Ah, ſince I ſaw th'abhorr'd Theſſalian bounds All drench'd with blood of Senators and kings: (As if my ſoule yet ſmarted in their wounds,) A ſecret ſorrow oftentimes me ſtings. But ſince thy famous father with ſtrange blowes, In the moſt hideous form affronted death, To him my minde a ſad remembrance owes, Which ſorrow ſhall exact ſtill whilſt I breath. Yet am I grieu'd t'haue giuen thee cauſe of griefe, That thought ſome new miſ-hap did me diſmay; To ſuch olde ſoares it's worſt to giue reliefe, But time in end may weare my woes away. Why ſhouldſt thou ſo from me thy thoghts conceale? From thine owne ſoule that in thy boſome ſleepes, To whom, though ſhewne, thou doſt them not reueale, But in thy ſelfe more inwardly them keepſt? And thou canſt hardly hide thy ſelfe from me, That ſtraight in thee each alteration ſpie, I can comment on all that comes from thee, True loue ſtill lookes with a ſuſpitious eye.