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 0.73 · 505 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T22: shepherd, pan, shepherds, love, sheep, flocks, fair, shepherdess, swain, away.
Darest thou abide To see this holy earth at once divide And give her body up, for sure it will, If thou pursuest with wanton flames to fill This hallowed place: therefore repent and go, Whilst I with prays appease his Ghost below, That else would tell thee what it were to be, A rival in that virtuous love, that he Embraces yet. 'tis not the white or red Inhabits in your cheek, that thus can wed My mind to adoration: nor your eye, Though it be full and fair, your forehead high, And smooth as Pelops shoulder: not the smile Lies watching in those dimples, to beguile The easy soul, your hands and fingers long, With veins enameled richly, nor your tongue, Though it spoke sweeter than Arion's Harp, Your hair woven into many a curious warp, Able in endless error to unfold The wandering soul, not the true perfect mould, Of all your body, which as pure doth show, In Maiden whiteness as the Alpsian snow, All these, were but your constancy away, Would please me less than a black stormy day The wretched Seaman toiling through the deep. But whilst this honoured strictness you dare keep, Though all the plagues that ere begotten were, In the great womb of air were settled here In opposition, I would like the tree, Shake off those drops of weakness, and be free Even in the arm of danger. Wouldst thou have Me raise again fond man, from silent grave, Those sparks that long ago were buried here, With my dead friends cold ashes? Dearest dear, I dare not ask it, nor you must not grant, Stand strongly to your vow, and do not faint: Remember how he loved ye, and be still, The same opinion speaks ye, let not will, And that great god of wowen Appetite, Set up your blood again, do not invite Desire, and fancy for their long exile, To seat them once more in a pleasing smile: Be like a Rock made firmly up 'gainst all The power of angry heaven, or the strong fall Of Neptune's battery, if ye yield I die To all affection: 'tis that loyalty Ye tie unto this grave I so admire, And yet there's something else I would desire, If you would hear me, but withal deny, O Pan, what an uncertain destiny Hangs over all my hopes! I will retire, For if I longer stay, this double fire, Will lick my life up. Do, and let time wear out, What Art and Nature cannot bring about. Farewell thou soul of virtue, and be blessed For ever, whilst I wretched rest Thus to myself, yet grant me leave to dwell In kenning of this Arbour, yond same dell o'er topped with mourning Cypress and sad Ewe, Shall be my Cabin, where I'll early rue, Before the Sun hath kissed this dew away, The hard uncertain chance which Fate doth lay Upon this head. The Gods give quick release And happy cure unto thy hard disease.
nodes 733–801 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 12 of 40 in this edition
Length
505 words · 644 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T22 — Shepherds, flocks and Pancross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.734 (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)
Darest thou abide To see this holy earth at once deuide And giue her bodie vp, for sure it will, If thou pursuest with wanton flames to fill This hallowed place: therefore repent and goe, Whilst I with praies appease his Ghost belowe, That else would tell thee what it were to be, A riuall in that vertuous loue, that he Imbraces yet. Tis not the white or red Inhabits in your cheeke, that thus an wed My minde to adoration: nor your eye, Though it be full and faire, your forehead hye, And smooth as Pelops shoulder: not the smile Lies watching in those dimples, to beguile The easie soule, your hands and fingers long, With vaines inameld richly, nor your tongue, Though it spoke sweeter then Arions Harpe, Your haire wouen into many a curious warpe, Able in endles errour to vnfould The wandring soule, not the true perfect mould, Of all your bodie, which as pure doth showe, In Maiden whitenes as the Alpsien snowe, All these, were but your constancy away, Would please me lesse then a blacke stormy day The wretched Seaman toyling through the deep. But whilst this honourd strictnes you dare keepe, Though all the plagues that ere begotten were, In the great wombe of aire were setled here In opposition, I would like the tree, Shake off those drops of weakenes, and be free Euen in the arme of danger. Wouldst thou haue Me raise againe fond man, from silent graue, Those sparckes that long agoe were buried here, With my dead friends cold ashes? Deerest deare, I dare not aske it, nor you must not graunt, Stand strongly to your vow, and do not faint: Remember how he lou'd ye, and be still, The same opinion speakes ye, let not will, And that great god of wowen Appetite, Set vp your blood againe, do not inuite Desire, and fancy for their long exile, To seat them once more in a pleasing smile: Be like a Rocke made firmely vp gainst all The power of angry heauen, or the strong fall Of Neptunes battery, if ye yeild I die To all affection: tis that loialtie Ye tie vnto this graue I so admire, And yet theres something else I would desire, If you would heare me, but withall deny, O Pan, what an vncertaine desteny Hanges ouer all my hopes! I will retire, For if I longer stay, this double fier, Will licke my life vp. Do, and let time weare out, What Art and Nature cannot bring about. Farewell thou soule of virtue, and be blest For euer, whilst I wretched rest Thus to my selfe, yet graunt me leaue to dwell In kenning of this Arbor, yon ame dell Ore topt with mourning Cipresse and sad Ewe, Shall be my Cabin, where I'le earely rw, Before the Sunne hath kist this dewe away, The hard vncertaine chance which Fate doth lay Vpon this head. The Gods giue quicke release And happy cure vnto thy hard disease.