Tailor, Robert · published 1614 · first performed or written 1613 [Feb 21] (Annals) comedy unassigned nearest T22 Shepherds, flocks and Pan · 484 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T22: shepherd, pan, shepherds, love, sheep, flocks, fair, shepherdess, swain, away.
How did you know my sorrows sir? What though I have lost a wife, Must I be therefore grieved; am I not happy To be so freed of a continual trouble? Had many a man such fortune as I, In what a heaven would they think themselves? Being released of all those threatening clouds, Which in the angry skies, called women's brows, Sit ever menacing tempestuous storms: But yet I needs must tell you, old December, My wife was clear of this; within her brow, she'd not a wrinkle nor a storming frown; But like a smooth well polished Ivory. It seemed so pleasant to the looker on, She was so kind, of nature so gentle, That if she'd done a fault she'd straight go die for't: Was not she then a rare one? What weep'st thou aged Nestor? Take comfort man, Troy was ordained by fate To yield to us, which we will ruinate. Good sir walk with me, but where you see The shadowing Elms, within whose circling round There is a holy spring about encompassed, By dandling sycamores and violets, Whose waters cure all human maladies: Few drops thereof being sprinkled on your temples, Revives your fading memory, and restores Your senses lost unto their perfect being. Is it clear water sir, and very fresh? For I am thirsty; gives it a better relish Than a cup of dead wine with sties in't? Most pleasant to the taste, pray will you go. Faster than you I believe sir. I am walked forth from my preservers cave, To search about these woods, only to see The penitent Albert, whose repentant mind Each tree expresseth: o that some power divine Would hither send my virtuous Carracus; Not for my own content, but that be might See how his distressed friend repents the wrong, Which his rash folly, most unfortunate Acted against him and me, which I forgive A hundred times a day, for that more often My eyes are witness to his said complaints, How the good Hermit seems to share his moans, Which in the day time he deplores 'mongst trees, And in the night his Cave is filled with sighs; No other bed doth his weak limbs support Then the cold earth, no other harmony To rock his cares asleep, but blustering winds, Or some swift Current, headlong rushing down From a high mountains top, pouring his force Into the Ocean's gulf, where being swallowed, Seems to be wail his fall with hideous words: No other sustentation to suffice What Nature claims, but raw unsavory roots, With troubled waters, where untamed beasts, Do bathe themselves: Ay me! what things are these? What pretty harmless things they seem to be? As if delight had nowhere made abode, But in their nimble sport. Yonder's the courteous Hermit, and with him Albert it seems, o see 'tis Carracus, joy do not now confound me.
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)
How did you know my ſorrowes ſir? What though I haue loſt a wife, Muſt I be therefore grieued; am I not happy To be ſo freed of a continuall trouble? Had many a man ſuch fortune as I, In what a heauen would they thinke themſelues? Being releaſt of all thoſe threatning cloudes, Which in the angry skies, cal'd womens browes, Sit euer menacing tempeſtuous ſtormes: But yet I needs muſt tell you, old December, My wife was cleere of this; within her browe, Sh'ad not a wrinkle nor a ſtorming frowne; But like a ſmooth well poliſhe Inory. It ſeem'd ſo pleaſant to the looker on, She was ſo kinde, of nature ſo gentle, That if ſh'ad done a fault ſhee'd ſtraight go die for't: Was not ſhe then a rare one? What weep'ſt thou aged Neſtor? Take comfort man, Troy was ordain'd by fate To yeeld to vs, which we will ruinate. Good ſir walke with me, but where you ſee The ſhaddowing Elmes, within whoſe circling round There is a holy ſpring about incompaſt, By dandling ſiccamores and violes, Whoſe waters cure all homane maladies: Few drops thereof being ſprinkled on your temples, Reuiues your fading memory, and reſtores Your ſences loſt vnto their perfect being. Is it cleere water ſir, and very freſh? For I am thirſty; giues it a better relliſh Then a cup of dead wine with ſties in't? Moſt pleaſant to the taſte, pray will you goe. Faſter then you I beleeue ſir. I am walkt forth from my preferuers caue, To ſearch about theſe woods, only to ſee The penitent Albert, whoſe repentant minde Each tree expreſſeth: ô that ſome power diuine Would hither ſend my vertuous Carracus; Not for my owne content, but that be might See how his diſtreſt friend repents the wrong, Which his raſh folly, moſt vnfortunate Acted againſt him and me, which I forgiue A hundred times a day, for that more often My eyes are witnes to his ſaid complaints, How the good Hermit ſeemes to ſhare his mones, Which in the day time he deplores'mongſt trees, And in the night his Caue is fild with ſighs; No other bed doth his weake limbs ſupport Then the cold earth, no other harmony To rocke his cares aſleepe, but bluſtering windes, Or ſome ſwift Current, headlong ruſhing downe From a high Mountaines top, powring his force Into the Oceans gulfe, where being ſwallowed, Seemes to be waile his fall with hideous words: No other ſuſtentation to ſuffice What Nature claimes, but rawe vnſauowry rootes, With troubled waters, where vntamed beaſts, Do bathe themſelues: Ay me! what things are theſe? What pretty harmeleſſe things they ſeeme to be? As if delight had no where made abode, But in their nimble ſport. Yonders the courteous Hermit, and with him Albert it ſeeemes, ô ſee tis Carracus, Ioy do not now confound me.