Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T36: hell, earth, gods, death, ghosts, blood, bloody, heaven, night, ghost.
Thou canst not fly me, There is no Cavern in the Earth's, vast entrails But I can through as pearcant as the light, And find thee, though thou were't entombed in stone, Thou canst not catch my unsubstantial part, For I am air, and am not to be touched. From flaming fires of burning Phlegeton, I have a time limited to walk, Until the morning Cock shall summon me For to retire to misty Erebus. My pilgrimage has no cessation, Until I bring thee with me to the place Where Rhadamant, and sable Aeacus dwell Alive or dead, 'tis I that must enjoy thee, To tell the story where we spirits live Would pluck Vermilion from thy Rosy cheeks, And make them pale, as Snowy Apennines, And from thine eyes draw liquid streams of tears More full of issue then a steepy Fountain, Alive or dead I must, and will enjoy thee, Think on thy promise. Distraction like an Ague seizes me, I know not whether I see here, or speak, My intellectual parts are frozen up At sight of thee, thou fiery Effigies Of my wronged Bateman. What weeping again? Do you not see it? See! what? I see nothing but a Bird fly o'er the house. Nor I, but a blind Buzzard looks as like her husband as may be. Are you blind, or will you make yourselves so? See! how like a dreadful magistrate it stands, Still pointing at me the black offender; And like a cunning poisoner, will not kill me, But lets me linger on, for days, and years. It stares, beckons, points, to the piece of Gold We broke between us; look, look there, here there! I see nothing, perceive nothing, feel nothing! Nor I, no quick thing, neither clothed nor naked. No, no, no! you drank Balm, Burrage or bugloss last night to bedward, that makes you think on your dreams this morning. But I will to't, hug, and embrace it. Thy time is not yet come; i'm now exiled I may not touch thee while thou art with child. you do not hear it neither? Whom should we hear? Young Batemans visage. In every limb as perfect as he lived. If it be so, 'tis done by sorcery. The father has combined, with some witch, To vex thy quiet patience, and gain credit, That he would haunt thee dead, as oft he said, Hell can put life into a senseless body, And raise it from the grave, and make it speak; Use all the faculties alive it did, To work the devil's hellish stratagems! If I but find he deals in exorcisms I'll make him burn to pacify the Witch, But do not believe it girl. 'Tis vanished in an instant! I will not be too confident in my eyes, Will you grant me leave to visit Bateman? Visit mine enemy?
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)
Thou can'st not fly me, There is no Cavern in the Earth's, vast entrailes But I can through as pearcant as the light, And finde thee, though thou wer't entomb'd in stone, Thou can'st not catch my unsubstantiall part, For I am aire, and am not to be touch'd. From flameing fires of burning Phlegeton, I have a time limited to walke, Vntill the morning Cocke shall summon me For to retire to misty Erebus. My pilgrimage has no cessation, Vntill I bring thee with me to the place Where Rhadamant, and sable Aeacus dwell Alive or dead, tis I that must enjoy thee, To tell the story where we spirits live Would plucke Vermilion from thy Rosie cheekes, And make them pale, as Snowy Apennines, And from thine eies draw liquid streames of teares More full of issue then a steepy Fountaine, Alive or dead I must, and will enjoy thee, Thinke on thy promise. Distraction like an Ague seizes me, I know not whether I see here, or speake, My intellectuall parts are frozen up At sight of thee, thou fiery Effigies Of my wrong'd Bateman. What weeping againe? Doe you not see it? See! what? I see nothing but a Bird fly o're the house. Nor I, but a blinde Buzzard lookes as like her husband as may be. Are you blinde, or will you make your selves so? See! how like a dreadfull magistrate it standes, Still pointing at me the blacke offender; And like a cunning poysoner, will not kill me, But lets me linger on, for daies, and yeares. It stares, beckons, points, to the peece of Gold We brake betweene us; looke, looke there, here there! I see nothing, perceive nothing, feele nothing! Nor I, no quicke thing, neyther cloath'd nor nak'd. No, no, no! you drancke Baulme, Burrage or Buglosse last night to bed-ward, that makes you thinke on your dreames this morning. But I will too't, hug, and embrace it. Thy time is not yet come; i'm now exild I may not touch thee while thou art with chil'd. you doe not heare it neyther? Whom should we heare? Young Batemans visage. In every limbe as perfect as he liv'd. If it be so, 'tis done by sorcery. The father has combined, with some witch, To vex thy quiet patience, and gaine credit, That he would haunt thee dead, as oft he said, Hell can put life into a senseles body, And raise it from the grave, and make it speake; Vse all the faculties alive it did, To worke the Devill's hellish stratagems! If I but finde he deales in exorcimes I'le make him burne to pacifie the Witch, But doe not beleive it girle. 'Tis vanish'd in an instant! I will not be too confident in my eies, Will you grant me leave to visit Bateman? Visit mine enemy?