Time Vindicated to Himself and to His Honors · chunk 5 of 6
Jonson, Ben · published 1623 · first performed or written 1623 [Jan 19] (Annals) masque · before the Court T21 Cupid, Venus and the nymphs typicality 0.77 · 522 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T21: cupid, venus, love, ceres, diana, fair, nymphs, goddess, bow, damon.
What grief, or envy had it been, That these, and such had not been seen, but still obscured in shade! Who are the glories of the Time, Of youth, and feature too, the prime, And for the light were made? 1 Their very number, how it takes! 2 What harmony their presence makes! 3 How they inflame the place! Now they are nearer seen, and viewed; For whom could Love have better sued? or Time have done the grace? The night could not these glories miss, Good Time, I hope, is ta'en with this. If Time were not, I am sure Love is. Between us it shall be no strife: For now 'tis Love, gives Time his life. Let Time then so with Love conspire, as straight be sent into the court A little Cupid, armed with fire, Attended by a jocund Sport, To breed delight, and a desire of being delighted in the nobler sort. The wish is crowned, as soon as made. And CUPID conquers, e're he doth invade. His Victories of lightest trouble prove. For there is never labour, where is Love.. Take breath a while, young Bloods, to bring Your forces up, whilst we go sing Fresh charges, to the Beauties here. Or, if they charge you, do not fear, Though they be better armed than you: It is but standing the first view, And then they yield. Or quit the field. Nay, that they'll never do, They'll rather fall upon the place Then suffer such disgrace. You are but Men at best, they say, And they from those ne'er ran away. You, Sir, that are the Lord of Time, Receive it not as any crime 'Gainst Majesty, that Love and Sport To night have entered in your Court. Sir, doubt him more of some surprise Upon yourself. He hath his eyes. You are the noblest object here, And 'tis for you alone I fear: For here are Ladies, that would give A brave reward, to make Love live Well, all his life, for such a draught. And therefore, look to every shaft, The Wag's a Deacon in his Craft. My Lords, the Honours of the Crown, Put off your sourness, do not frown, Bid cares departed, and business hence: A little, for the Time dispense. Trust nothing that the Boy let's fall, My Lords, he hath plots upon you all. A pensioner unto your wives, To keep you in uxorious gives, And so your sense to fascinate, To make you quit all thought of state, His amorous questious to debate. But, hear his Logic, he will prove There is no business, but to be in love. The words of Sport, my Lords, and course. Your Ladies yet, will not think worse Of love for this,, They shall command My Bow, my Quiver, and my Hand. What, here to stand and kill the Flies? Alas, thy service they despise. One Beauty here, hath in her eyes, More shafts then from thy bow ere flew, Or that poor quiver knew. These Dames They need not love's, they ' have Natures flames. I see that Beauty, that you so report.
nodes 289–367 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 5 of 6 in this edition
Length
522 words · 693 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T21 — Cupid, Venus and the nymphscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.766 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T21 · seed 44: T24 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
What griefe, or enuy had it beene, That theſe, and ſuch had not bin ſeene, but ſtill obſcur'd in ſhade! Who are the glories of the Time, Of youth, and feature too, the prime, And for the light were made? 1 Their very number, how it takes! 2 What harmony their preſence makes! 3 How they inflame the place! Now they are neerer ſeene, and view'd; For whom could Loue haue better ſued? or Time haue done the grace? The night could not theſe glories miſſe, Good Time, I hope, is ta'ne with this. If Time were not, I' am ſure Loue is. Betweene vs it ſhall be no ſtrife: For now 'tis Loue, giues Time his life. Let Time then ſo with Loue conſpire, as ſtrait be ſent into the court A little Cupid, arm'd with fire, Attended by a iocund Sport, To breed delight, and a deſire of being delighted in the nobler ſort. The wiſh is crown'd, as ſoone as made. And CVPID conquers, e're he doth inuade. His Victories of lighteſt trouble proue. For there is neuer labour, where is Loue. Take breath a while, yong Bloods, to bring Your forces vp, whilst we goe ſing Freſh charges, to the Beauties here. Or, if they charge you, doe not feare, Though they be better arm'd then you: It is but ſtanding the first view, And then they yeeld. Or quit the field. Nay, that they'l neuer doe, They'l rather fall vpon the place Then ſuffer ſuch diſgrace. You are but Men at beſt, they ſay, And they from thoſe ne're ran away. You, Sir, that are the Lord of Time, Receiue it not as any crime 'Gainſt Maieſty, that Loue and Sport To night haue entred in your Court. Sir, doubt him more of ſome ſurpriſe Vpon your ſelfe. He hath his eyes. You are the nobleſt obiect here, And 'tis for you alone I feare: For here are Ladyes, that would giue A braue reward, to make Loue liue Well, all his life, for ſuch a draught. And therefore, looke to euery ſhaft, The Wag's a Deacon in his Craft. My Lords, the Honors of the Crowne, Put off your ſowreneſſe, do not frowne, Bid cares depart, and buſineſſe hence: A little, for the Time diſpence. Truſt nothing that the Boy lets fall, My Lords, he hath plots vpon you all. A penſioner vnto your wiues, To keepe you in vxorious giues, And ſo your ſenſe to faſcinate, To make you quit all thought of ſtate, His amorous queſtious to debate. But, heare his Logicke, he will proue There is no buſines, but to be in loue. The words of Sport, my Lords, and courſe. Your Ladies yet, will not thinke worſe Of loue for this,, They ſhall command My Bowe, my Quiuer, and my Hand. What, here to ſtand and kill the Flies? Alas, thy ſeruice they deſpiſe. One Beauty here, hath in her eyes, More ſhafts then from thy bow ere flew, Or that poore quiuer knew. Theſe Dames They need not Loue's, they 'haue Natures flames. I ſee that Beauty, that you ſo report.