Tasso, Torquato / Reynolds, Henry · published 1628 · first performed or written 1628 (Annals) pastoral unassigned nearest T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint · 529 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
I so, just such another peevish thing Like thee was I, when I was of thy years; So looked, so pac'de, so golden trest ', so ruddy My 'ticing lip, so in my rising cheek The damask rose was blown; and I remember Just such as thine is now, my mind was then, And even such silly pastimes as thine be I likewise vsd'e; as with limned twiggs to catch Unwares the feathered singers in the wood, Track the Deeres footing, till I had entrapped them And such like; when a gentle lover wood me, With such a peevish grace hang down the head And blush for scorn I would, as oft thou dost; And that unseemly form me thought became me, Nay even disliked what others lik'de in me, So much I counted it a fault, and shame To be desired or loved of any one; But what cannot time bring to pass? and what Cannot a true and faithful lover do With importunity, desert and love? And I confess plainly the troth to thee So was I vanquished; nor with other arms Then humble sufferance, sighs, and pity craving: But then I soon found in one short nights shade, What the broad light of many hundred days Can never teach me; then I could recall Myself, shake off my blind simplicity, And sighing say, here Cynthia take thy bow, Quiver, and horn, for I renounce thy life. And I hope yet to see another day Thy wild thoughts bridled too, and thy hard breast Yield, and grow softer at Aminta's plaints. Is he not young and fresh, and lovely too? Does he not love thee dearly ', and thee alone? For though beloved of many Nymphs, he never For others love, or thy hate, leaves to love thee. Nor canst thou think him to mean borne for thee; For (be thou daughter of Cidippe fair, Whose sire was god of this our noble flood) Yet is Aminta old Silvanus' heir, Of the high seed of Pan the Shepherd's god. The sleeke-browd ' Amarillis (if ere yet In any fountains glass thou saw'st thyself) Is not a whit less lovely than thou art; Yet all her sweet allurements he rejects, And madly dotes on thy despiteful loathe. Well, but suppose now, (and the heavens forbidden It come to more than supposition) That he falling from thee, his mind remove, And cleave to her, that so deserves his love; What will become of thee then? with what eye Wilt thou behold him in an others arms Happily twyn'de, and thyself laughed to scorn? Be it to ' Aminta and his loves, as best Shall like himself; I'm at a point for one; And so he be not mine, be ' he whose he list. But mine he cannot be against my will, Nor yet though he were mine, would I be his. Fie, whence grows this thy hate? Why from his love. Too soft a sire to breed so rough a Son; But who ere saw Tigers of mild Lambs bred, Or the black Rau'ne hatched of a silver Dove? Thou dost but mock me Silvia, dost thou not?
seed 43: T2 · seed 44: T3 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
I ſo, iuſt ſuch another peeuiſh thing Like thee was I, when I was of thy yeares; So look'd, ſo pac'de, ſo goulden trest', ſo ruddy My tyſing lipp, ſo in my riſing cheeke The damaske roſe was blowne; and I remember Iuſt ſuch as thine is now, my minde was then, And eu'ne ſuch ſilly paſtimes as thine be I likewiſe vſd'e; as with lim'd twiggs to catch Vnwares the fethred ſingers in the wood, Track the Deeres footing, till I had intrapt them And ſuch like; when a gentle louer woode me, With ſuch a peeuiſh grace hang downe the head And bluſh for ſcorne I would, as oft thou doe'ſt; And that vnſeemely forme me thought became mee, Nay eu'ne diſlik'd what others lik'de in me, So much I counted it a fault, and ſhame To be deſir'de or lou'de of any one; But what cannot time bring to paſſe? and what Cannot a true and faithfull louer do With importunity, deſert and loue? And I confeſſe plainely the troth to thee So was I vanquiſht; nor with other armes Then humble ſuff'rance, ſighes, and pitty crauing: But then I ſoone found in one ſhort nights ſhade, What the broade light of many hundred dayes Could neuer teach me; then I could recall My ſelfe, ſhake off my blinde ſimplicitie, And ſighing ſay, here Cinthia take thy bowe, Quiuer, and horne, for I renounce thy life. And I hope yet to ſee another day Thy wilde thoughts bridled too, and thy hard breſt Yeeld, and growe ſofter at Aminta's plaints. Is he not young and freſh, and louely too? Does he not loue thee dearely', and thee alone? For though belou'de of many Nymphes, he neuer For others loue, or thy hate, leaues to loue thee. Nor canſt thou thinke him to meane borne for thee; For (be thou daughter of Cidippe faire, Whoſe ſire was god of this our noble floud) Yet is Aminta ould Siluanus heire, Of the high ſeed of Pan the Shepherds god. The ſleeke-browd' Amarillis (if ere yet In any fountaines glaſſe thou ſaw'ſt thy ſelfe) Is not a whit leſſe louely then thou art; Yet all her ſweet alurements he reiects, And madly dotes on thy diſpightfull loathings. Well, but ſuppoſe now, (and the heau'ns forbid It come to more then ſuppoſition) That he falling from thee, his minde remooue, And cleaue to her, that ſo deſerues his loue; What will become of thee then? with what eye Wilt thou behould him in an others armes Happily twyn'de, and thy ſelfe laught to ſcorne? Be it to' Aminta and his loues, as beſt Shall like himſelfe; I'me at a point for one; And ſo he be not mine, be' he whoſe he liſt. But mine he cannot be againſt my will, Nor yet though he were mine, would I be his. Fye, whence grows this thy hate? Why from his loue. Too ſoft a ſyre to breed ſo rough a Sonne; But who ere ſawe Tygars of milde Lambes bred, Or the blacke Rau'ne hatcht of a ſiluer Doue? Thou doſt but mocke me Siluia, doſt thou not?