Poem fractal

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0.031 apart. A smaller distance means the lines are built more alike.

This number is read from the build of the lines. The bright edge is that number, carried outward until the pattern repeats.

There is a lady sweet and kind

by Thomas Ford

0.4104 − 0.6174i

Drawing the boundary…

Pluck the fruit and taste the pleasure

by Thomas Lodge

0.3846 − 0.5995i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

Each poem scrolls on its own, so the two texts stay beside each other.

There is a lady sweet and kind

by Thomas Ford

There is a lady sweet and kind,
Was never face so pleased my mind;
I did but see her passing by,
And yet I love her till I die.

Her gesture, motion, and her smiles,
Her wit, her voice, my heart beguiles—
Beguiles my heart, I know not why,
And yet I love her till I die.

Her free behaviour, winning looks,
Will make a lawyer burn his books;
I touched her not—alas, not I—
And yet I love her till I die.

Had I her fast betwixt mine arms,
Judge you that think such sports were harms;
Were’t any harm? no, no—fie, fie—
For I will love her till I die.

Should I remain confined there
So long as Phoebus in his sphere,
I to request, she to deny—
Yet would I love her till I die.

Cupid is winged and doth range;
Her country so my love doth change;
But change the earth or change the sky,
Yet will I love her till I die.

Pluck the fruit and taste the pleasure

by Thomas Lodge

Pluck the fruit and taste the pleasure,
Youthful lordings, of delight;
Whilst occasion gives you seizure,
Feed your fancies and your sight:
After death, when you are gone,
Joy and pleasure is there none.

Here on earth nothing is stable,
Fortune's changes well are known;
Whilst as youth doth then enable,
Let your seeds of joy be sown:
After death, when you are gone,
Joy and pleasure is there none.

Feast it freely with your lovers,
Blithe and wanton sweets do fade;
Whilst that lovely Cupid hovers
Round about this lovely shade,
Sport it freely one to one;
After death is pleasure none.

Now the pleasant spring allureth,
And both place and time invites:
Out, alas! what heart endureth
To disclaim his sweet delights?
After death, when we are gone,
Joy and pleasure is there none.

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