Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T51: esau, iacob, father, son, isaac, god, love, birthright, parents, thing.
Must it be so? Have all those lavish signs Of undeserved favours heaped on you By your too careful father, and ourselves, Been spurs to your contempt? Or could the sweets Of our affection prodigally cast, Make you not relish what your duty owes? Else did you think because they always ran In such an unchecked current to your will, That no ingratitude could make the ebb? O impious times! wherein a parent's care, When she has combated the pangs of death To give her children life; stood all her time Like to a careful sentinel for their youth, And spent the nights in pensive watchfulness, (Forcing soft nature to forbear her rest) To plot their good; must all be frustrated? And by a child's proud will see all things crossed? Their Parents hopes, and their own fortunes lost? How hath our love to thee? our wishes toiled To build thy passage to a higher sphere, And by some noble match to raise thy House, And must thy base attempts look downward still? Mongrel our blood? and set a lasting scar Upon our progeny, by fixing thus Thy stubborn passions on base Iulia's child? Madam, not to yield what Nature makes us owe, Were to be made less reasonable than beasts; And nothing's more against a generous mind, And freeborn spirit, than foul Ingratitude: Yet must your Grace remember that we take Nor all from Parents: the hand of heaven and Fate Does by the last infusion of the soul Give the rich form, and by a secret tract, And unavoided path, leads us to what Seems good to it; and though our minds be free In this impulse, we love by Destiny. I must confess I love; nor was the flame Of my affection, when it kindled first, Like to a paper fire, that with a blaze Of lust, begins and ends at once, and leaves Nought but black infamy behind: nor can The least dishonour stain our dukedom's title From her, whose Blood stands firm by long descents, Even in the heart of unbought nobleness, Whose Reputation's sound, Revenues fair, Beauty able to enrich a Dukedom, and deserts To be an Empress. Were then our fortunes raised By those high steps to which I should aspire To join with greatness, I must join with vice, " For they are oft observed to join their hands, And he not stoops that stays where Virtue stands. Has Athens taught you be an Orator? Degenerous boy, I'll cool your virtuous flame, And make thee rue the baseness of thy choice. How deep a conflict do my thoughts endure 'Twixt Love and Duty! Wert not a mother's tongue That wronged thy worth Althaea, I would have torn it From out th'injurious throat in thy revenge, " And held it to their eyes, to let them see How it had wronged itself by wronging thee.
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)
Muſt it be ſo? Have all thoſe laviſh ſignes Of undeſerved favours heapt on you By your too carefull father, and our ſelf, Been ſpurres to your contempt? Or could the ſweets Of our affection prodigally caſt, Make you not reliſh what your duty owes? Elſe did you thinke becauſe they alwayes ranne In ſuch an uncheckt current to your will, That no ingratitude could make the ebbe? O impious times! wherein a parents care, When ſhee has combated the pangs of death To give her children life; ſtood all her time Like to a carefull Centinell for their youth, And ſpent the nights in penſive watchfulneſſe, (Forcing ſoft nature to forbeare her reſt) To plott their good; muſt all be fruſtrated? And by a childs proud will ſee all things croſt? Their Parents hopes, and their owne fortunes loſt? How hath our love to thee? our wiſhes toyl'd To build thy paſſage to a higher ſpheare, And by ſome noble match to raiſe thy Houſe, And muſt thy baſe attempts looke downeward ſtill? Mongrell our blood? and ſet a laſting ſcarre Vpon our progeny, by fixing thus Thy ſtubborne paſſions on baſe Iulia's childe? Madam, not to yeeld what Nature makes us owe, Were to bee made leſſe reas'nable than beaſts; And nothing's more againſt a generous minde, And freeborne ſpirit, than foule Ingratitude: Yet muſt your Grace remember that we take Nor all from Parents: the hand of heaven and Fate Does by the laſt infuſion of the ſoule Give the rich forme, and by a ſecret tract, And unavoyded path, leads us to what Seemes good to it; and though our mindes be free In this impulſe, wee love by Deſtinie. I muſt confeſſe I love; nor was the flame Of my affection, when it kindled firſt, Like to a paper fire, that with a blaze Of luſt, begins and ends at once, and leaves Nought but black infamie behinde: nor can The leaſt diſhonour ſtaine our Dukedomes title From her, whoſe Blood ſtands firme by long deſcents, Even in the heart of unbought nobleneſſe, Whoſe Reputation's ſound, Revenues faire, Beauty able to inrich a Dukedome, and deſerts To be an Empreſſe. Were then our fortunes rais'd By thoſe high ſteps to which I ſhould aſpire To joyne with greatneſſe, I muſt joyne with vice, "For they are oft obſerv'd to joyne their hands, "And he not ſtoops that ſtayes where Vertue ſtands. Has Athens taught you bee an Oratour? Degenerous boy, Ile coole your vertuous flame, And make thee rue the baſeneſſe of thy choiſe. How deepe a conflict doe my thoughts indure 'Twixt Love and Dutie! Wert not a mothers tongue That wrong'd thy worth Althea, I would have torne it From out th'injurious throat in thy revenge, "And held it to their eyes, to let them ſee "How it had wrong'd it ſelfe by wronging thee.