Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T36: hell, earth, gods, death, ghosts, blood, bloody, heaven, night, ghost.
" O God! 'Tis thou that suffrest here, not we: Wrong doth but like it selfe in working thus: " At thy will, Lord! Reuenge thy selfe, not vs. The fire straight vpward beares the soules in breath: Visions of horror circle in the flame, With shapes, and figures like to that of death; But lighter-tongu'd, and nimbler-wing'd than fame: Some to the Church; some to the People fly: A voyce cries out; Reuenge, and Liberty. Princes! Take heed; Your glory is your care; And Powers foundations, Strengths, not Vices, are. What change is this, that now I feele within? Is it disease that workes this fall of spirits? Or workes this fall of spirits my disease? Things seeme not as they did; horror appeares. What sinne imbodied, what strange sight is this? Doth sense bring backe but what within me is? Or doe I see those shapes which haunt the flame? What summons vp remorse? Shall Conscience rate Kings deeds, to make them lesse than their Estate? Ah silly ghost! is't you that swarme about? Would'st thou, that art not now, a father be? These body lawes doe with the life goe out. What thoughts be these that doe my entrailes teare? You wandring spirits frame in me your hell; I feele my brother, and my sister there. Where is my wife? There lacks no more but shee: Let all my owne together dwell with me. Wife! Is that name but stile of thy remorse? Must I goe where thy silly parents be? Thou yet but feel'st thy selfe: thou shalt feele me. A King? And in a Throne built out of blood: The ashes of your owne must giue you power. Glutton Ambition! now thy selfe deuoure. Looke in thy Conscience, that vnflattering glasse; See there the wounds of Caine, thy wrongs to me: Death triumphs now; And I doe giue it thee. Caine here beginnes to liue, whilst thou do'st feed Vpon the poyson, that thy wife deuis'd: Thy debter yet; but stay I will exceed. Now warre thy selfe: a King, with Kings must warre: We are too base for friends, or enemies: For lusts vse, not for loue, we women are. All paines of death my selfe in Caine did feele; And shall my rage aspire but to be iust? What is but once; be long in doing must. Infernall wombe! receiue thy right. Of old This body was thine owne, before I was. Obey my father, brother, sister, me: I gaue their ghosts; they must giue mine to thee. They call, I come. It was my sinne alone, That gloried many wayes to tyrannize: For all the doomes of ill let me suffice. My Griefe doth yet but roame it selfe in sense: Hala is more: Rage multiplies with vse: These doe but mourne; I must reuenge abuse. Euen through thy sense will I send in thine owne: This child, that by thee liu'd shall in thee die; In this will Caine, and I possesse thy Throne.
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)
" O God! 'Tis thou that suffrest here, not we: " Wrong doth but like it selfe in working thus: " At thy will, Lord! Reuenge thy selfe, not vs. The fire straight vpward beares the soules in breath: Visions of horror circle in the flame, With shapes, and figures like to that of death; But lighter-tongu'd, and nimbler-wing'd than fame: Some to the Church; some to the People fly: A voyce cries out; Reuenge, and Liberty. Princes! Take heed; Your glory is your care; And Powers foundations, Strengths, not Vices, are. What change is this, that now I feele within? Is it disease that workes this fall of spirits? Or workes this fall of spirits my disease? Things seeme not as they did; horror appeares. What sinne imbodied, what strange sight is this? Doth sense bring backe but what within me is? Or doe I see those shapes which haunt the flame? What summons vp remorse? Shall Conscience rate Kings deeds, to make them lesse than their Estate? Ah silly ghost! is't you that swarme about? Would'st thou, that art not now, a father be? These body lawes doe with the life goe out. What thoughts be these that doe my entrailes teare? You wandring spirits frame in me your hell; I feele my brother, and my sister there. Where is my wife? There lacks no more but shee: Let all my owne together dwell with me. Wife! Is that name but stile of thy remorse? Must I goe where thy silly parents be? Thou yet but feel'st thy selfe: thou shalt feele me. A King? And in a Throne built out of blood: The ashes of your owne must giue you power. Glutton Ambition! now thy selfe deuoure. Looke in thy Conscience, that vnflattering glasse; See there the wounds of Caine, thy wrongs to me: Death triumphs now; And I doe giue it thee. Caine here beginnes to liue, whilst thou do'st feed Vpon the poyson, that thy wife deuis'd: Thy debter yet; but stay I will exceed. Now warre thy selfe: a King, with Kings must warre: We are too base for friends, or enemies: For lusts vse, not for loue, we women are. All paines of death my selfe in Caine did feele; And shall my rage aspire but to be iust? What is but once; be long in doing must. Infernall wombe! receiue thy right. Of old This body was thine owne, before I was. Obey my father, brother, sister, me: I gaue their ghosts; they must giue mine to thee. They call, I come. It was my sinne alone, That gloried many wayes to tyrannize: For all the doomes of ill let me suffice. My Griefe doth yet but roame it selfe in sense: Hala is more: Rage multiplies with vse: These doe but mourne; I must reuenge abuse. Euen through thy sense will I send in thine owne: This child, that by thee liu'd shall in thee die; In this will Caine, and I possesse thy Throne.