Fletcher, John · published 1610 · first performed or written 1608 [1608-1609] (Annals) pastoral; tragicomedy · Children of the Queen's Revels unassigned nearest T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint · 439 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
Sure I have lost much blood. 'tis no matter, 'twas not good, Mortal you must leave your wooing, Though there be alloy in doing, Yet it brings much grief, behind it, They best feel it, that do find it, Come bring him in, I will attend his sore, When you are well, take heed you lust no more, shepherd see what comes of kissing By my head 'twere better missing, brightest if there, be remaining, Any service, without feigning, I will do it, were I set, To catch the nimble wind or get, Shadows gliding on the green, Or to steal from the great Queen, Of Fairies, all her Beauty, I would do it so much duty, Do I owe those precious Eyes, I thank the honest Satire, if the Cries, Of any other that be hurt, or ill, Draw thee unto them, prithee do thy will? To bring them hither, I will and when the weather: Serves to Angle in the brook, I will bring a silver hook, With a line of finest silk, And a rod as white as milk, To deserve the little fish, So I take my leave and wish, On this bower may ever dwell, Spring, and summer. Friend farewell. This place is Ominous for here I lost, My love and almost life, and since have crossed, All these woods over, never a Nook or dell, Where any little Bird, or beast doth dwell, But I have sought it, never a bending brow, Of any hill or Glade, the wind sings through, Nor a green bank or shade where shepherd's use, To sit and Riddle sweetly pipe or choose, Their valentines but I have missed to find. My love in, Perigot, Oh to unkind. Why hast thou fled me? whether art thou gone, How have I wronged thee? was my love alone, To thee, worthy this scorned Recompense? 'tis well, I am content to feel it; but I tell Thee shepherd: and these lusty woods shall hear. Forsaken Amoret is yet as clear, Of any stranger fire, as Heaven is. From foul Corruption, or the deep: Abyss, From light, and happiness, and thou mayst know, All this for truth and how that fatal blow, Thou gavest me, never from desert of mine, Fell on my life, but from suspect of thine, Or fury more than Madness therefore, here. Since I have lost my life, my love, my dear, Upon this cursed place, and on this green, That first divorced us, shortly shall be seen, A sight of so great pity that each eye, Shall daily spend his spring in memory. Of my untimely fall.
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)
Sure I haue lost much blood. Tis no matter, twas not good, Mortall you must leaue your woing, Though ther be aloye in doing, Yet it brings much griefe, behynd it, They best eele it, that doe find it, Come bringe him in, I will attend his sore, When you are well, take heed you lust no moe, Sheapeard see what comes of kissinge By my head twere better missing, Bryghtest if ther, bee ramayning, Any seruice, without fayninge, I will do it, were I sett, To catch the nimble wind or gett, Shaddowes glydinge on the greene, Or to steale from the great Queene, Of Fayryes, all her Beautye, I would do it so much dutye, Doe I owe those pretious Eyes, I thancke the honest Satyre, if the Cryes, Of any other that be hurt, or ill, Draw thee vnto thm, prithee do thy will? To bring them hether, I will and when the weathe: Seues to Angle in the brooke, I will bring a siluer hooke, With a lyne of finest silke, And a rodd as white as mike, To deserue the little fishe, Soe I take my leaue and wish, On this bowre may euer dwell, Springe, and sommer. Friend farewell. This place is Ominous sor here I lost, My loue and almost life, and since haue crost, All theise woodes ouer, neuer a Nooke or dell, Where any litle Byrd, or beast doth dwell, But I haue sought it neuer a bending browe, Of any hill or Glade, the wind sings through, Nor a greene bancke or shade whee Sheapeards vse, To sit and Riddle sweetely pipe or chuse, Their valentynes but I haue mist to find. My loue in, Perigot, Oh to vnkind. Why hast thou fled mee? whether art thou gone, Howe haue I wrong'd thee? was my loue alone, To thee, worthy this scorned Recompence? tis well, I am content to fee eit; but I tell Thee Sheapeard: and theise lusty woods shall heare. Forsaken Aomret is yet as cleare, Of any stranger fier, as Heauen is. From foule Corruption, or the deepe: Abisse, From light, and happynesse, and thou mayst knowe, All this for truth and how that fatall blowe, Thou gauest mee, neuer from desert of myne, Fell on my life, but from suspect of thyne, Or fury more then Madnes therefore, here. Since I haue lost my life, my loue, my deae, Vpon this cursed place, and on this greene, That first devorced vs, shortly shall bee seene, A sight of so great pitty that each eye, Shall dayly spen his spring in memorye. Of my vntymely fall.