Daniel, Samuel · published 1615 · first performed or written 1614 [Feb 2] (Annals) pastoral; tragicomedy · before the Court T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.73 · 458 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
As fair and sweet as she? Palaemon peace: Ah what can pictures be unto the life, What sweetness can be found in Images? Which all nymphs else besides her seems to me. She only was a real creature, she, Whose memory must take up all of me. Should I another love, then must I have, Another heart, for this is full of her, And evermore shallbe: here is she drawn At length, and whole, and more, this table is A story, and is all of her; and all Wrought in the liveliest colours of my blood; And can there be a room for others here? Should I disfigure such a piece, and blot The perfectest workmanship love ever wrought. Palaemon no, ah no, it cost too dear, It must remain entire whilst life remains, The monument of her and of my pains. Thou mayest be such a fond Idolater To die for love; though that were very strange. Love hath few Saints, but many confessors. And time no doubt will raze out all these notes, And leave a room at length for other thoughts. Yes when there is no spring, no tree, no grove In all Arcadia to record our love: And tell me where we were (the time we were) How we did meet together, what we said; Where we did joy, and where we sat dismayed. And then I may forget her, not before. Till then I must remember one so dear, When every thing I see tells me of her. And you dear Relics of that martred Saint, My heart adores, you the perpetual books Whereon when tears permit, mine eye still looks: Ah you were with her last, and till my last You must remain with me; you were reserved To tell me she was lost, but yet alas, You cannot tell me how: I would you could. White spotless vail, clean, like her womanhood, Which whilom coveredst the most lovely face That ever eye beheld. Was there no message sent From her by thee? Ah yes, there seems it was; Here is a T made with her blood, as if She would have written, Thirsis, I am slain In seeking thee; sure so it should have been, And so I read it, and shall ever so. And thou sweet remnant of the fairest hair, That ever waved with wind. Ah thee I found When her I hoped to find, wrapped in a round, Like to an O, the character of woe; As if to say, O Thirsis, I die thine. This much you tell me yet, dumb messengers, Of her last mind; and what you cannot tell That I must think, which is the most extreme Of woefulness, that any heart can think.
nodes 177–231 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 4 of 31 in this edition
Length
458 words · 587 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.726 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
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)
As faire and sweete as she? Palaemon peace: Ah what can pictures be vnto the life, VVhat sweetnes can be found in Images? VVhich all Nimphes els besides her seemes to me. She onely was a reall creaturee, shee, VVhose memory must take vp all of mee. Should I another loue, then must I haue, Another heart, for this is full of her, And euermore shallbe: here is shee drawne At length, and whole, and more, this table is A storie, and is all of her; and all Wrought in the liueliest colours of my bloud; And can there be a roome for others heere? Should I disfigure such a peece, and blot The perfectst workmanship loue euer wrought. Palaemon no, ah no, it cost too deere, It must remaine intire whilst life remaines, The monument of her and of my paines. Thou maiest be such a fond I dolater To die for loue; though that were very strange. Loue hath few Saints, but many confessors. And time no doubt will raze out all these notes, And leaue a roome at length for other thoughts. Yes when there is no spring, no tree, no groue In all Arcadia to record our loue: And tell me where we were (the time we were) How we did meete together, what we said; Where we did ioy, and where we sate dismai'd. And then I may forget her, not before. Till then I must remember one so deere, VVhen euery thing I see tells me of her. And you deere Reliques of that martred Saint, My heart adores, you the perpetuall bookes Whereon when teares permit, mine eye still looks: Ah you were with her last, and till my last You must remaine with me; you were reseru'd To tell me shee was lost, but yet alas, You cannot tell me how: I wold you could. White spotlesse vaile, cleane, like her womanhood, Which whilome covredst the most louely face That euer eye beheld. Was there no message sent From her by thee? Ah yes, there seemes it was; Here is a T made with her blood, as if Shee would haue written, Thirsis, I am slaine In seeking thee; sure so it should haue beene, And so I reade it, and shall euer so. And thou sweet remnant of the fairest haire, That euer wau'd with winde. Ah thee I found When her I hop'd to finde, wrapt in a round, Like to an O, the character of woe; As if to say, O Thirsis, I die thine. This much you tell me yet, dumbe messengers, Of her last minde; and what you cannot tell That I must thinke, which is the most extreame Of wofulnesse, that any heart can thinke.