Fletcher, Phineas · published 1631 · first performed or written 1615 [Mar 13] (Annals) pastoral · at University unassigned nearest T36 Hell, Furies and the language of punishm · 517 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T36: hell, earth, gods, death, ghosts, blood, bloody, heaven, night, ghost.
This his wives quick fate lamenting, Orpheus sat his soul tormenting: While the speedy wood came running, And rivers stood to hear his cunning The hares ran with the dogs along, Not from the dogs, but to his song: But when all his verses turning, Only framed his poor hearts burning: Of the higher powers complaining, Down he went to hell disdaining: There his silver Lute-strings hitting, And his potent verses fitting: All the sweets that ere he took From his sacred mother's brook: What his double sorrow gives him, And love that doubly double grieves him: There he spends to move deaf hell, Charming Devils with his spell: And with sweetest asking leave Does the Lord of ghosts deceive. Charon amazed his boat foreslows, While the boat, the sculler rows, And of itself to'th' shore doth float, slipping on the dancing moat. The threeheaded Porter priest to hear, Pricked up his thrice double ear, The Furies, plagues for Guilt up-heaping, Now as guilty, fell a weeping: Ixion, though his wheel stood still, Still was wrapped with Musics skill. Tantal might have eaten now, The fruit as still as was the bough, But he fool no longer fearing, Starved his taste to feed his hearing. Thus since love hath won the field, Heaven and Hell, to Earth must yield, Blessed soul that diest in love's sweet sound, That lost in love in love art found. If but a truelove's joy thou once do prove, Thou wilt not love to live, unless thou live to love. TEll me, Alcippus, is it day or night? The light you bear, shows you there is no light. This is none: light was light in her eyes, In them it lived, put out with them it dies. The sun is quenched. Yet soon will shine again. Not possible! heaven's light will ever plain. When her two living stars can sink and die, How can the sun dream immortality? Sir, if your to me, or mine to you, might give me privilege, I fain would tell you, that this too fixed love seems rather doting. Alcippus, didst thou ever love? I think sir never. I think so too, nor canst know what love is. Yet this I know, love still is of the fairest, Fond then the love, that loves the withered, But madness seems to dote upon the dead. True, true, Alcippus, love is of the fairest, And therefore never tied unto the body: Which if compared unto the minds fair graces, Seems like the block that Luna's face defaces. But grounded on the mind, whose virtuous parts. And living beauties are love's surest darts, Which makes me now as freely love as ever: Her virtue and my love decayeth never. Seest thou this rock, Alcippus? 'tis a temple, Olinda's temple! 'tis a sacred shrine, Where virtue, beauty, and whate'er divine, Are to be worshipped, prithee friend now leave me, Here is an Altar, I must sacrifice. If you will leave your grief. I will, I will: Indeed I will; leave me: griefs ebb grows low, When private heart th' eye-banks overflow.
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)
This his wiues quicke ate lamenting, Orphus sate his soule tormenting: While the speedy wood came running, And riuers stood to heare his cunning The hares ran with the dogs along, Not from the dogs, but to his song: But when all his verses turning, Onely fram'd his poore hearts burning: Of the higher powers complaining, Downe he went to hell disdaining: There his siluer Lute-strings hitting, And his potent verses fitting: All the sweets that ere e tooke From his sacred mothers brooke: What his double sorrow giues him And loue that doubly double grieues him: There he spends to mooue deafe hell, Chrming Deuils with his spell: And ith sweetest asking leau Does the Lord of ghosts deceaue. Caron amaz'd his boate foreslowes, While the boate, the sculler rowes, And of it selfe to'th' shoare dth floate, ipping on the dancing moate. The treeheaded Porter preast to heare, Prickt vp his thrice double are, The Furies, plague for Guilt vp-heaping, Now as guilty, fell a weeping: Ixion, though his wheele stood still, Still was wrapt with Musickes skill. Tantale might haue eaten now, The fruite as still as was the bough, But he foole no longer fearing, Staru'd his tast to feede his hearing. Thus since loue hath wonne the field, Heauen and Hell, to Earth must yeeld, Blest soule that dyest in loues sweete sound, That lst in loue in loue art found. If but a true-loues ioy thou once doe proue, Thou wilt not loue to liue, vnlesse thou liue to lou. TEll me, Alipp, is it day or night? The light you beare, shews you there is no light. This is none light was light in her eyes, In them it liu'd, put out with them it dies. The sunne is quench't. Yet soone will shine againe. Not possible! heauens light will euer plaine. When her two liuing stars can sinke and die, How can the sunne dreame immortality? Sir, if your to mee, or mine to you, might giue me priuiledge, I faine would tell you, that this too fixed loue seemes raher doing. Alcippus, didst thou euer loue? I thinke sir neuer. I thinke so too, nor canst know what loue is. Yet this I know, loue still is of the fairest, Fond then the loue, that loues the withered, But madnesse seemes to dote vpon the dead. True, true, Alcippus, loue is of the fairest, And therefore neuer tyed vnto the body: Which if compared vnto the mindes faire graces, Seemes like the blocke that Lunaes face defaces. But grounded on the mind, whose vertuous parts. And liuing beauties are loues surest darts, Which makes me now as freely loue as euer Her vertue and my loue decayeth neuer. Seest thou this rocke, Alcippus? tis a temple, Olindaes temple! 'tis a sacred shrine, Where vertue, beauty, and what ere diuine, Are to be worshipt, prethee friend now leaue me, Here is an Altar, I must sacrifice. If you will leaue your griefe. I will, I will: Indeede I will; leaue me: griefs ebbe growes lowe, When priuate heart th' eye-bankes ouerflow.