Townshend, Aurelian · published 1631 · first performed or written 1632 [Jan 8] (Annals) masque · before the Court T12 Olympian gods: Jupiter, Juno, Venus and typicality 0.69 · 484 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T12: iupiter, saturn, iuno, venus, gods, mars, earth, titan, love, fair.
Behold! I come not from above, To hide, or hunt out wanton Love, Or do what Man can do: But to spread all my nimble wings, And like a God, do Godlike things Grateful, and Gracious too. Observe! But see ye be not nice, Prepare to give, and take advice, As wise-Men ought to do: Lest when your subtle wits have done, Your Notes, like Motes, thought in the Sun Prove far beneath us too. Admire! but censure not their Powers, That sink not with Times sandy hours, As mortal Creatures do. And since the Shaft that is addressed, At Heaven may hurt the shooter's breast, Be pleased and please us too. Happy, thrice happy is that hour Wherein a God descends, Either in person, or in power And Man's poor state befriends. olympian JOVE to the bright ALBA sends No vulgar God to bear his dear Commends. And with pure eyes, and a paternal hand, This Universe having surveyed, and spanned, In Council with himself, he hath decreed, From fair ALBIPOLIS shall soon proceed A Triumph: Mighty, as the Man designed To wear those bays; Heroic, as his mind; Just, as his actions; Glorious, as his Reign. And like his Virtues, Infinite in Train. Th' Immortal Swans, contending for his Name, Shall bear it singing, to the House of Fame. And though at distance yet High JOVE is pleased Your laboring eyes shall with his sight be eased, This from a God, unto a Goddess sent, A God Relates, that could use Compliment: But when such States, negotiate by such means We speak in Acts, and scorn words trifling Scenes. Ye Powers Divine make room, prepare a Seat On the Northside, for ALBANACT the Great, Earth is not fruitless: nor your numbers full, there's One to come will make some Stars look dull. What mak's me so vnnimbly ryse, That did descend so fleete? There is no vp-hill in the skyes; Clouds stay not feathered feete. Thy wings are sing'd: and thou canst fly But slowly now, swift MERCVRY. Some Lady heere, is sure too blame That from Loves starry skyes, Hath shot some Beame, or sent some flame, Like Lghtning, from her Eyes. Taxe not the Starrs, with what the Sunne, Too neere aproch't (insens't) hath done. I'le rowle me in Auroras Dew, Or lye in Tethis bed; Or from coole Iris begge a few, Pure Opale shewrs new shed. Nor Dew, nor shewers, nor sea can slake Thy quenchlesse heate, but Lethes lake. Though I have earned it with the sweat of my brows in Ianuary, yet I am glad I saw it, for there never was such a sight seen. What sight Publius? The Triumph. Whose Triumph? The Triumph of ALBANACTUS. Didst thou see it? See it, yes, and feel it too. Every one there (I can assure you) went not upon his own feet. No, I think, some rid.
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)
Behold! I come not from above, To hyde, or hunt out wanton Love, Or doe what Man can doe: But to spred all my nimble wings, And like a God, doe Godlike things Gratefull, and Gratious too. Obserue! But see ye be not nyce, Prepare to give, and take advice, As wise-Men ought to doe: Lest when your subtile witts haue done, Your Notes, like Motes, thought in the Sunne Proove farre beneath vs too. Admyre! but censure not their Powers, That sinke not with Times sandy howres, As mortall Creatures doe. And since the Shaft that is adrest, At Heaven may hurt the Shooters breast, Be pleas'a and please vs too. Happy, thrice happy is that houre Wherein a God descends, Eyther in person, or in powre And Mans poore state befriends. Olimpian IOVE to the bright ALBA sends No vulgar God to beare his deare Commends. And with pure eyes, and a paternall hand, This Vniverse having survey'd, and span'd, In Councll with himselfe, he hath decreed, From fayre ALBIPOLIS shall soone proceede A Triumph: Mighty, as the Man design'd To weare those Bayes; Heroicke, as his mind; Iust, as his actions; Glorious, as his Reigne. And like his Vertues, Infinite in Treyne. Th' Immort all Swannes, contending for his Name, Shall beare it singing, to the House of Fame. And though at distance yet High IOVE is plea'd Your laboring eyes shall with his sight be eas'd, This from a God, vnto a Goddesse sent, A God Relates, that could vse Complement: But when such States, negotiate by such meanes We speake in Acts, and scorne words trifling Scenes. Ye Powers Divine make roome, prepare a Seate On the Northside, for ALBANACT the Great, Earth is not fruitless: nor your nombers full, Ther's One to come will make some Starrs looke dull. What mak's me so vnnimbly ryse, That did descend so fleete? There is no vp-hill in the skyes; Clouds stay not feathered feete. Thy wings are sing'd: and thou canst fly But slowly now, swift MERCVRY. Some Lady heere, is sure too blame That from Loves starry skyes, Hath shot some Beame, or sent some flame, Like Lghtning, from her Eyes. Taxe not the Starrs, with what the Sunne, Too neere aproch't (insens't) hath done. I'le rowle me in Auroras Dew, Or lye in Tethis bed; Or from coole Iris begge a few, Pure Opale shewrs new shed. Nor Dew, nor shewers, nor sea can slake Thy quenchlesse heate, but Lethes lake. Though I have earn'd it with the sweat of my browes in Ianuary, yet I am glad I saw it, for there never was such a sight seene. What sight Publius? The Triumph. Whose Tryumph? The Triumph of ALBANACTVS. Didst thou see it? See it, yes, and feele it too. Every one there (I can assure you) went not vpon his owne feete. No, I thinke, some rid.