Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T25: feare, kings, power, princes, lawes, loue, state, downe, honor, men.
And is it nothing then to lose the State? Where chance is ripe, there counsell comes too late: Celica! by all thou ow'st the Gods, and me, I doe coniure thee; Leaue me to my chance. What's past was errors way; the truth it is, Wherein I wretch can only goe amisse. " If Nature saw no cause of suddaine ends, She; that but one way made to draw our breath, " Would not haue left so many doores to death. Yet Sir! if weaknesse be not such a sande, As neither wrong, nor counsell can manure; Choose, and resolue what death you will endure. This sword, thy hands, may offer vp my breath, And plague my lifes remissenesse in my death. Vnto that dutie if these hands be borne, I must thinke God, and Truth, but names of scorne. Againe, this iustice were, if life were lou'd; Now meerly grace; since death doth, but forgiue A life to you, which is a death to liue. Paine must displease that satisfies offence. Chance hath left death no more to spoile, but sense. Then sword! doe Iustice office thorough me; I offer more than that he hates to thee. Ah! Stay thy hand. My State no equall hath, And much more matchlesse my strange vices be: One kinde of death becomes not thee, and me. Kings plagues by chance, or destinie should fall; Headlong he perish must that ruines all. No cliffe, or rocke is so precipitate, But downe it eyes can leade the blinde a way; Without me liue, or with me dye you may. Celica! and wilt thou Alaham exceed? His crueltie is death, you torments vse; He takes my Crowne, you take my selfe from me; A Prince of this falne Empire let me be. Then be a King, no Tyrant of thy selfe: Be; and be what you will: what nature lent Is still in hers, and not our gouernment. If disobedience, and obedience both Still doe me hurt; in what strange state am I? But hold thy course: It well becomes my blood, To doe their parents mischiefe with their good. Yet Sir! harke to the poore oppressed teares, The iust mens moane, that suffer by your fall; A Princes charge is to protect them all. And shall it nothing be that I am yours? The world without, my heart within doth know, I neuer had vnkinde, vnreuerent powers. If thus you yeeld to Alahams treacherie; He ruines you; 'tis you, Sir, ruine me. Celica! Call vp the dead; awake the blinde; Turne backe the time; bid windes tell whence they come; As vainly strength speakes to a broken minde. Fly from me Celica! hate all I doe: Misfortunes haue in blood successions too. Will you doe that which Alaham can not? He hath no good: you haue no ill, but he: This Marre-right yeelding's honors Tyranny.
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)
And is it nothing then to lose the State? Where chance is ripe, there counsell comes too late: Celica! by all thou ow'st the Gods, and me, I doe coniure thee; Leaue me to my chance. What's past was errors way; the truth it is, Wherein I wretch can only goe amisse. " If Nature saw no cause of suddaine ends, " She; that but one way made to draw our breath, " Would not haue left so many doores to death. Yet Sir! if weaknesse be not such a sande, As neither wrong, nor counsell can manure; Choose, and resolue what death you will endure. This sword, thy hands, may offer vp my breath, And plague my lifes remissenesse in my death. Vnto that dutie if these hands be borne, I must thinke God, and Truth, but names of scorne. Againe, this iustice were, if life were lou'd; Now meerly grace; since death doth, but forgiue A life to you, which is a death to liue. Paine must displease that satisfies offence. Chance hath left death no more to spoile, but sense. Then sword! doe Iustice office thorough me; I offer more than that he hates to thee. Ah! Stay thy hand. My State no equall hath, And much more matchlesse my strange vices be: One kinde of death becomes not thee, and me. Kings plagues by chance, or destinie should fall; Headlong he perish must that ruines all. No cliffe, or rocke is so precipitate, But downe it eyes can leade the blinde a way; Without me liue, or with me dye you may. Celica! and wilt thou Alaham exceed? His crueltie is death, you torments vse; He takes my Crowne, you take my selfe from me; A Prince of this falne Empire let me be. Then be a King, no Tyrant of thy selfe: Be; and be what you will: what nature lent Is still in hers, and not our gouernment. If disobedience, and obedience both Still doe me hurt; in what strange state am I? But hold thy course: It well becomes my blood, To doe their parents mischiefe with their good. Yet Sir! harke to the poore oppressed teares, The iust mens moane, that suffer by your fall; A Princes charge is to protect them all. And shall it nothing be that I am yours? The world without, my heart within doth know, I neuer had vnkinde, vnreuerent powers. If thus you yeeld to Alahams treacherie; He ruines you; 'tis you, Sir, ruine me. Celica! Call vp the dead; awake the blinde; Turne backe the time; bid windes tell whence they come; As vainly strength speakes to a broken minde. Fly from me Celica! hate all I doe: Misfortunes haue in blood successions too. Will you doe that which Alaham can not? He hath no good: you haue no ill, but he: This Marre-right yeelding's honors Tyranny.