Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T25: feare, kings, power, princes, lawes, loue, state, downe, honor, men.
Chance is not cast in moulds, like other Arts, Her counsells but the hope of rashnesse be; Aduice did neuer any man betray: If truth be luckie, counsell is the way. If counsell be the guide of vndertaking, Our powers best with our owne wits doe agree, Where both the meanes, and ends together be. Who trusts his passion multiplies his care; All paines within, all cures without vs are. If you captiued be I speake withall, Then from my passion into yours I fall. My state of minde, good will, and homage is; My being, reuerence; my end, your will; Selfe-loue it selfe payes tribute vnto this. If loue haue power to leaue, and breake her vow; How can I trust to that you promise now? If loue change not; how can I trust, and know, That you loue Mahomet, my ouerthrow? His place deferu'd respect, his vertue praise; Our freedome, not inhibited by you, Found many things indifferent to doe. Forbidding is the prison of the thought, A violence which on themselues they draw, That inwardly of nothing stand in awe. But marke the end: he first despiseth thee, Then triumphs in thy once forsaken loue; Proclaimes deceipt to be thy state of mind, Vncompetible, vnpossible to finde. So as if I should rule this glorious Throne, You ruling me (as he assumes you doe) The State and I at once were ouerthrowne. Good nature then (I see) is not the art, With which a womans honor safe may goe Through hollow seas of mans dissembling heart. His faithlesnesse yet doth this good to me, That I may freely hate all men, but thee. Hate is the band of furie in the heart, Without reuenge, no more but sense of smart. Hate is the print of iniurie violent, Only in ruine, and reuenge content. Reuenges, in your sex, dishonor be; And in your strength, impossibilitie. Impatience only doth with God make warre. Furie findes armes; wrong hath ill destinie; While God is, it is basenesse to despaire: For right more credit hath than power there. Yet God, and kings vse wisdome in their might, Reward, and grace doe from their owne hands part; They others vse for instruments of spite. Whom can we vse? Since he we hate is great, And we disgrac'd: Who hazard will his State With him, that for his owne good must intreat? Aspirers are not voyd of riuall hate: If any enuy him, or loue our right, Reuenge lies there; their liues desire Art. Of God I aske it; and in men will moue, As much as can be wrought with hope, or loue. But men vncertaine are, blowne here, and there, With loue, remorse, feares which in frayltie liue; Who need forgiuenesse, easily doe forgiue. The heart which feeles, most liuely can expresse Reuenge, that picture of his guiltinesse. Ruine, the power (not art) of Princes is: Caine is ingag'd as deep as we in this. The wounds are mine; to me belongs reuenge; Sense my aduiser is; you Sir, my end: What needs a womans passion more to friend?
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)
Chance is not cast in moulds, like other Arts, Her counsells but the hope of rashnesse be; Aduice did neuer any man betray: If truth be luckie, counsell is the way. If counsell be the guide of vndertaking, Our powers best with our owne wits doe agree, Where both the meanes, and ends together be. Who trusts his passion multiplies his care; All paines within, all cures without vs are. If you captiued be I speake withall, Then from my passion into yours I fall. My state of minde, good will, and homage is; My being, reuerence; my end, your will; Selfe-loue it selfe payes tribute vnto this. If loue haue power to leaue, and breake her vow; How can I trust to that you promise now? If loue change not; how can I trust, and know, That you loue Mahomet, my ouerthrow? His place deferu'd respect, his vertue praise; Our freedome, not inhibited by you, Found many things indifferent to doe. Forbidding is the prison of the thought, A violence which on themselues they draw, That inwardly of nothing stand in awe. But marke the end: he first despiseth thee, Then triumphs in thy once forsaken loue; Proclaimes deceipt to be thy state of mind, Vncompetible, vnpossible to finde. So as if I should rule this glorious Throne, You ruling me (as he assumes you doe) The State and I at once were ouerthrowne. Good nature then (I see) is not the art, With which a womans honor safe may goe Through hollow seas of mans dissembling heart. His faithlesnesse yet doth this good to me, That I may freely hate all men, but thee. Hate is the band of furie in the heart, Without reuenge, no more but sense of smart. Hate is the print of iniurie violent, Only in ruine, and reuenge content. Reuenges, in your sex, dishonor be; And in your strength, impossibilitie. Impatience only doth with God make warre. Furie findes armes; wrong hath ill destinie; While God is, it is basenesse to despaire: For right more credit hath than power there. Yet God, and kings vse wisdome in their might, Reward, and grace doe from their owne hands part; They others vse for instruments of spite. Whom can we vse? Since he we hate is great, And we disgrac'd: Who hazard will his State With him, that for his owne good must intreat? Aspirers are not voyd of riuall hate: If any enuy him, or loue our right, Reuenge lies there; their liues desire Art. Of God I aske it; and in men will moue, As much as can be wrought with hope, or loue. But men vncertaine are, blowne here, and there, With loue, remorse, feares which in frayltie liue; Who need forgiuenesse, easily doe forgiue. The heart which feeles, most liuely can expresse Reuenge, that picture of his guiltinesse. Ruine, the power (not art) of Princes is: Caine is ingag'd as deep as we in this. The wounds are mine; to me belongs reuenge; Sense my aduiser is; you Sir, my end: What needs a womans passion more to friend?