Fletcher, John · published 1610 · first performed or written 1608 [1608-1609] (Annals) pastoral; tragicomedy · Children of the Queen's Revels T22 Shepherds, flocks and Pan typicality 0.78 · 492 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T22: shepherd, pan, shepherds, love, sheep, flocks, fair, shepherdess, swain, away.
Hail holy earth, whose cold arms do embrace The truest man that ever fed his flocks: By the fat plains of fruitful Thessaly, Thus I salute thy grave, thus do I pay My early vows and tribute of mine eyes, To thy still loved ashes: thus I free myself from all ensuing heats and fires Of love, all sports, delights and games, That Shepherds hold full dears thus put I off. Now no more shall these smooth brows be girt, With youthful colonels, and lead the dance, No more the company of fresh fair Maids And wanton shepherds be to me delightful. Nor the shrill pleasing sound of merry pipes, Under some shady dell when the cool wind Plays on the leaves, all be far away: Since thou art far away: by whose dear side, How often have I sat crowned with fresh flowers For Summer's queen, whilst every shepherds boy Puts on his lustily green with gaudy hook, And hanging scrip of finest cordovan: But thou art gone, and these are gone with thee, And all are dead but thy dear memory: That shall outlive thee, and shall ever spring, Whilst there are pipes, or jolly shepherds sing. And here will I, in honour of thy love, Dwell by thy grave, forgetting all those joys, That former times made precious to mine eyes: Only remembering what my youth did gain, In the dark hidden virtuous use of herbs: That I will I practise, and as freely give All my endeavours, as I gained them free. Of all green wounds I know the remedies, In men or cattle, be they stung with snakes, Or charmed with powerful words of wicked art, Or be they lovesick, or through too much heat Grown wild or lunatic, their eyes or ears Thickened with misty film of dulling rheum, These I can cure, such secret virtue lies In herbs applied by a virgin's hand: My meat shall be what these wild woods afford, Berries, and Chestnuts, Plantains, on whose cheeks The Sun sits smiling, and the lofty fruit Pulled from the fair head of the strait grown pine: On these I'll feed with free content and rest, When night shall blind the world, by thy side blessed. Through yond same bending plain, That flings his arms down to the main, And through these thick woods have I run, whose bottom never kissed the Sun Since the lusty spring began, All to please my Master Pan, Have I trotted without rest To get him fruit, for at a feast, He entertains this coming night, His Paramour the Syrinx bright: But behold a fairer sight By that heavenly form of thine, Brightest fair thou art divine: Sprung from great immortal race Of the Gods: for in thy face, Shines more awful majesty, Then dull weak mortality Dare with misty eyes behold And live, therefore on this mould, Lowly do I bend my knee, In worship of thy deity,
nodes 0–66 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 1 of 40 in this edition
Length
492 words · 632 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T22 — Shepherds, flocks and Pancross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.775 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T24 · seed 44: T25 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
HAile holy earth, whose colde armes do embrace The truest man that euer fed his flockes: By the fat plaines of fruitfull Thessaly, Thus I salute thy graue, thus do I pay My early vowes and tribtute of mine eies, To thy still loued ashes: thus I free My selfe from all ensuing heates and fires Of loue, all sports, delights and games, That Shepheards hold full deares thus put I off. Now no more shall these smooth browes be git, With youthfull coronals, and lead the dance, No more the company of fresh faire Maids And wanton shepheards be to me delightfull. Nor the shrill pleasing sound of merry pipes, Vnder some shady dell when the coole winde Plaies on the leaues, all be farre away: Since thou art farre away: by whose deare side, How often haue I sat crownd with fresh flowers For Summers queene, whilst euery Shepheards boy Puts on his lustly greene with gaudy hooke, And hanging scrippe o finest cordeuan: But thou art gone, and these are gone with thee, And all are dead but thy deare memorie: That shall outliue thee, and shall euer spring, Whilst there are pipes, or Iolly shepheards sing. And heere will I, in honor of thy loue, Dwell by thy graue, forgetting all those ioyes, That former times made precious to mine eies: Onely remembring what my youth did gaine, In the darke hidden vertuous vse of hearbs: That I will I practise, and as freely giue All my endeauours, as I gaind them free. Of all greene wounds I know the remedies, In men or cattell, be they stung with snakes, Or charmd with powerfull words of wicked art, Or be they loue-sicke, or through too much heat Growne wilde or lunaticke, their eies or eares Thickned with misty filme of dulling rume, These I can cure, such secret vertue lies In hearbs applyed by a virgins hand: My meat shall be what these wilde woods affoord, Berries, and Chesnuts, Plantains, on whose cheeks The Sun sits smiling, and the lofty fruit Pld from the faire head of the straite grown pine: On these Ile feede with free content and rest, When night shal blinde the world, by thy side blest. Through yon same bending plaine, That flings his armes downe to the maine, And through these thicke woods haue I runne, whose botome neue kist the Sunne Since the lusty spring began, All to please my Mister Pan, Haue I trotted without rest To get him fruit, for at a feast, He entertaines this comming night, His Paramoure the Syrinx bright: But behold a fairer sight By that heauenly forme of thine, Brightest faire thou art deuine: Spong from great immortall race Of the Gds: for in thy face, Shines more awfull maiesty, Then dull weake mortalitie Dare with misty eies behould And liue, therefore on this mould, Lowly do I bend my knee, In worship of thy dietie,