Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T59: andrea, spain, portugal, tribute, horatio, king, bellimperia, prince, lord, lorenzo.
Art thou not counterfeit? Now by my scars I am not. I'll call thee honest Soldier then, and woo thee To be an often Visitant. Your servant; Yet must I be a stone upon a hill, For though I do no good, I'll not lie still. WHen first you came from Florence, would the world Had with an universal dire eclipse been over whelmed, no more to gaze on day, That you to Spain had never found the way, Here to be lost for ever. We from one Climate Drew inspiration: as thou then hast eyes To read my wrongs, so be thy head an Engine To raise up ponderous mischief to the height, And then thy hands the Executioners: A true Italian spirit is a ball Of Wildfire, hurting most when it seems spent; Great ships on small rocks beating oft, are rent; And so let Spain by us: but (Malateste) Why from the Presence did you single me Into this Gallery? To show you, Madam, The picture of yourself, but so defaced, And mangled by proud Spanyards, it wooed whet A sword to arm the poorest Florentine In your just wrongs. As how? let's see that picture. Here 'tis then: Time is not scarce four days old. Since I, and certain Dons (sharp-witted fellows, And of good rank) here with two Iesuits (Grave profound Scholars) in deep argument Of various propositions; at the last, Question was moved touching your marriage, And the Kings precontract. So; and what followed? Whether it were a question moved by chance, Or spitefully of purpose (I being there, And your own Countryman) I cannot tell, But when much tossing Had bandied both the King and you, as pleased Those that took up the Rackets; in conclusion, The Father Iesuits (to whose subtle Music Every care there was tied) stood with their lives In stiff defence of this opinion— Oh pardon me if I must speak their language. Say on. That the most Catholic King in marrying you, Keeps you but as his whore. Are we their themes? And that Medina's Niece (Onaelia) Is his true wife: her bastard son they said (The King being dead) should claim and wear the Crown; And whatsoever children you shall bear, To be but bastards in the highest degree, As being begotten in Adultery. We will not grieve at this, but with hot vengeance Beat down this armed mischief: Malateste! What whirlwinds can we raise to blow this storm Back in their faces who thus shoot at me? If I were fit to be your Counsellor, Thus would I speak: Feign that you are with child; The mother of the Maids, and some worn Ladies, Who oft have guilty beene to court great be llies, May, though it be not so, get you with child With swearing that 'tis true. Say 'tis believed, Or that it so doth prove?
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)
Art thou not counterfeit? Now by my skarres I am not. 'le call thee honest Souldier then, and woo thee To be an often Visitant. Your servant; Yet must I be aston upon a hill, For tho I doe no good, I'le not lye still. WHen first you came from Florence, wud the world Had with an universal dire ecclipse Bin ouer whelm'd, no more to gaze on day, That you to Spaine had never found the way, Here to be lost for ever. We from one Climate Drew inspiration: as thou then hast eyes To read my wrongs, be thy head an Engine To raise up ponderous mischiefe to the height, And then thy hands the Executioners: A true Italian spirit is a ball Of Wild-fire, hurting most when it seemes spent; Great ships on small rockes beating oft, are rent; And so let Spaine by us: but (Malateste) Why from the Presence did you single me Into this Gallery? To shew you, Madam, The picture of your selfe, but so defac'd, And mangled by proud Spanyards, it woo'd whet A sword to arme the poorest Florentine In your just wrongs. As how? let's see that picture. Here 'tis then: Time is not scarce foure dayes old. Since I, and certaine Dons (sharp-witted fellowes, And of good ranke) ere with two Iesuits (Grave profound Schollers) in deepe argument Of various propositions; at the last, Question was movd touching your marriage, And the ings precontract. So; and what followed? Whether it were a question mov'd by chance Or spitefully of purpose (I being there, And your owne Country-man) I cannot tell, But when much tossing Had bandyed both the King and you, as pleas'd Those that tooke up the Rackets; in conclusion, The Father Iesuits (to whose subtile Musicke Every care there was tyed) stood with their lives In stiffe defence of this opinion— Oh pardon me if I must speake their language. Say on. That the most Catholike King in marrying you, Keepes you but as his whore. Are we their Theames? And that Medina's Neece (Onaelia) Is his true wife: her bastard sonne they said (The King being dead) should claim and weare the Crown; And whatsoever children you shall beare, To be but bastards in the highest degree, As being begotten in Adultery. We will not grieve at this, but with hot vengeance Beat downe this armed mischiefe: Malateste! What whirlewinds can we raise to blow this storme Backe in their faces who thus shoot at me? If I were fit to be your Counsellor, Thus would I speake: Feigne that you are with childe; The mother of the Maids, and some worne Ladies, Who oft have guilty beene to court great be llies, May, tho it be not so, get you with childe With swearing that 'tis true. Say 'tis beleev'd, Or that it so doth prove?