Knevet, Ralph · published 1631 · first performed or written 1631 [May 3] (Annals) pastoral T11 Siblings, kin and confidants typicality 0.79 · 484 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T11: sister, brother, love, friend, heart, father, mother, woman, lord, hear.
But I prithee friend, satisfy me in one thing. My bosom's yours, take from that Cabinet The choicest secret that can pleasure you: Tell me in what your will's to be resolved. There is a rumour spread through Thessaly, That your fair sister, Madame Eglantine, Shall be espoused to the Shepherd Rhodon, The prince of all the Swains that dwell on Hybla. From no ill grounds this rumor sprang, though The Fates did cross what was by us intended. Then there's no expectation of my Nuptial rite No; all's dissolved. I thank my Stars for that. Your reason, Noble friend. A kin he is to that male spirited Dame, That stout Virago, that proud Shepherdess Called Violetta: who complains of wrongs Late suffered at my hands: And he's the man by whom she hopes To be avenged on me, for this pretended injury; And had he matched your sister, sweet Eglantine, Then might I have had cause for to suspect Your love not to be sound, since you accepted So great a so of mine, for your near friend. Then I am glad the Fates would not agree That I should lose so true a friend as thee. Never till now, did my Hymettus flourish: More blessed effects hath thy sweet presence wrought, (Honoured Rhodon) then could have been produced By moist-winged Zephyrus, or Favonius, Who fans our flowers with his gentle breath. Thanks, good Anthophotus: Nor doth our sister Iris hold herself Meanly engaged to you, for this your gracious visit. To be the meanest servant of so sweet a saint, Is the full height and scope of my ambition. Fair Sr. I wish you would be pleased t'imploy Your service on an object of more worth. Dissemble not, admired Shepherdess; For thou art she, that art as far beyond That light piece of beauty, Helen of Greece, In outward perfections; as she was short of thee in inward graces. Yea, had those fifty Kings that did for her Engage themselves in a long tedious war, Seen but the Model of thy rare beauty, Drawn by the hand of but a rude painter, Doubtless, they had their honours forfeited, And broke that sacred oath which they had ta'en. Their work in hand they had relinquished quite, And left the walls of wretched Troy untouched; For each attracted with thy beauty's splendour, No Seas nor perils would have left unpassed, To find thee in the furthest angle of the world. Could my perfections, valued at the highest rate, But countervail a dram of your great worth, Then should I think myself borne under stars Most happy and auspicious. Surcease your Compliments, dear Rhodon, Let empty Casks, and hollow Cymbals speak That airy language, which unworthy is Of your realities. Pardon me, gentle Sir: this radiant star, My judgements feeble eyes did dazzle so, That I was forced to speak what passion did inform me.
nodes 332–395 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 6 of 27 in this edition
Length
484 words · 652 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T11 — Siblings, kin and confidantscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.788 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T15 · seed 44: T12 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
But I prethe friend, satisfie me in one thing. My bosome's yours, take from that Cabinet The choisest secret that can pleasure you: Tell me in what your will's to be resolu'd. There is a rumour spred through Thessaly, That your faire sister, Madame Eglantine, Shall be espoused to the Shepheard Rhodon, The prince of all the Swaines that dwell on Hybla. From no ill grounds this rumor sprang, thou The Fates did crosse what was by us intended. Then there's no expectation of my Nuptial rite No; all's dissolv'd. I thanke my Starres for that. Your reason, Noble friend. A kin he is to that male spirited Dame, That stout Virago, that proud Shepheardesse Call'd Violetta: who complaines of wrongs Late suffer'd at my hands: And hee's the man by whom she hopes To be aveng'd on me, for this pretended injury; And had he matcht your sister, sweet Eglantine, Then might I have had cause for to suspect Your love not to be sound, since you accepted So great a soe of mine, for your neere friend. Then I am glad the Fates would not agree That I should lose so true a friend as thee. Never till now, did my Hymettus flourish: More blest effects hath thy sweet presence wrought, (Honour'd Rhodon) then could have beene produc'd By moist-wing'd Zephyrus, or Favonius, Who fanns our flowers with his gentle breath. Thankes, good Anthophotus: Nor doth our sister Iris hold her selfe Meanely engag'd to you, for this your gracious visit. To be the meanest servant of so sweet a saint, Is the full height and scope of my ambition. Faire Sr. I wish you would be pleas'd t'imploy Your service on an object of more worth. Dissemble not, admired Shepheardesse; For thou art she, that art as farre beyond That light peece of beauty, Hellen of Greece, In outward perfections; as shee was short of thee in inward graces. Yea, had those fifty Kings that did for her Engage themselves in a long tedious warre, Seene but the Modell of thy rare beauty, Drawne by the hand of but a rude painter, Doubtlesse, they had their honours forfeited, And broke that sacred oath which they had tane. Their worke in hand they had relinquish'd quite, And left the walls of wretched Troy untoucht; For each attracted with thy beauties splendor, No Seas nor perils would have left unpast, To finde thee in the furthest angle of the world. Could my perfections, valu'd at the highest rate, But countervaile a dramme of your great worth, Then should I thinke my selfe borne under starres Most happy and auspicious. Surcease your Complements, deare Rhodon, Let empty Caskes, and hollow Cymbals speake That ayrie language, which unworthy is Of your reallities. Pardon me, gentle Sir: this radiant starre, My judgements feeble eyes did dazle so, That I was forc'd to speak what passion did informe me.