Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T12: iupiter, saturn, iuno, venus, gods, mars, earth, titan, love, fair.
BEfore the starry threshold of Ioves Court My mansion is, where those immortal shapes Of bright aerial Spirits live ensphered In Regions mild of calm and serene air, Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot Which men call Earth, and with low-thoughted care Confined, and pestered in this pinfold here, Strive to keep up a frail, and feverish being Unmindful of the crown that Virtue gives After this mortal change to her true Servants Amongst the enthroned gods on Sainted seats. Yet some there be that by due steps aspire To lay their just hands on that golden key That opes the palace of Eternity: To such my errand is, and but for such I would not soil these pure ambrosial weeds With the rank vapours of this Sin-worn mould. But to my task. Neptune besides the sway Of every salt Flood, and each ebbing Stream Took in my lot twixt high, and neither love Imperial rule of all the Sea-girt Isles That like to rich, and various gems inlay The unadorned bosom of the Deep, Which he to grace his tributary gods By course commits to several government And gives them leave to wear their Saphire crowns, And wield their little tridents, but this I'll The greatest, and the best of all the main He quarters to his blue-haired deities, And all this tract that fronts the falling Sun A noble Peer of mickle trust, and power Has in his charge, with tempered awe to guide An old, and haughty Nation proud in Arms: Where his fair offspring nursed in Princely lore Are coming to attend their Father's state, And new-entrusted sceptre, but their way Lies through the perplexed paths of this drear wood, The nodding horror of whose shady brows Threats the forlorn and wandering Passenger. And here their tender age might suffer peril But that by quick command from Sovereign Iove I was dispatched for their defence and guard, And listen why, for I will tell ye now What never yet was heard in Tale or Song From old, or modern Bard in hall, or bower. Bacchus that first from out the purple Grape Crushed the sweet poison of misused Wine After the Tuscan Mariners transformed Coasting the Tyrrhenic shore, as the winds listed, On Circe's Island fell (who knows not Circe The daughter of the Sun? whose charmed Cup Whoever tasted lost his upright shape And downward fell into a groveling Swine) This Nymph that gazed upon his clustering locks With Ivy berries wreathed, and his blithe youth Had by him, ere he parted thence, a Son Much like his Father, but his Mother more, Whom therefore she brought up and Comus named, Who ripe, and frolic of his full grown age Roving the Celtic, and Iberian fields At last betakes him to this ominous wood, And in thick shelter of black shades embowered Excels his Mother at her mighty Art Offering to every weary Traveller His orient liquour in a Crystal glass To quench the drought of Phoebus, which as they taste
seed 43: T28 · seed 44: T22 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
BEfore the starrie threshold of Ioves Court My mansion is, where those immortall shapes Of bright aëreall Spirits live insphear'd In Regions mild of calme and serene aire, Above the smoake and stirre of this dim spot Which men call Earth, and with low-thoughted care Confin'd, and pester'd in this pin-fold here, Strive to keepe up a fraile, and feaverish being Vnmindfull of the crowne that Vertue gives After this mortall change to her true Servants Amongst the enthron'd gods on Sainted seats. Yet some there be that by due steps aspire To lay their just hands on that golden key That ope's the palace of Aeternity: To such my errand is, and but for such I would not soile these pure ambrosial weeds With the ranck vapours of this Sin-worne mould. ut to my task. Neptune besides the sway Of every salt Flood, and each ebbing Streame Tooke in y lot 'twixt high, and neather love Imperial rule of all the Sa-girt Iles That like to rich, and various gemms inlay The unadorned bosome of the Deepe, Which he to grace his tributarie gods By course commits to severall government And gives them leave to weare their Saphire crowns, And weild their little tridents, but this Ile The greatest, and the best of all the maine He quarters to his blu-hair'd deities, And all this tract that fronts the falling Sun A noble Peere of mickle trust, and power Has in his charge, with temper'd awe to guide An old, and haughtie Nation proud in Armes: Where his faire off-spring nurs't in Princely lore Are comming to attend their Fathers state, And new-entrusted Seepter, but their way Lies through the perplex't paths of this dreare wood, The nodding horror of whose shadie brows Threats the forlore and wandring Passinger. And here their tender age might suffer perill But that by quck command from Soveraigne Iove I was dispcht for their defence and guard, And listen why, for I will tell yee now What never yet was heard in Tale or Song From old, or moderne Bard in hall, or bowre. Bacchus that first from out the purple Grape Crush't the sweet poyson of mis-used Wine After the Tuscan Mariners transform'd Coasting the Tyrrhenc shore, as the winds listed, On Circes Iland fell (who knowes not Circe The daughter of the Sun? whose charmed Cup Whoever tasted lost his upright shape And downward fell into a grovling Swine) This Nymph that gaz'd upon his clustring locks With Ivie berries wreath'd, and his blith youth Had by him, ere he parted thence, a Son Much like his Father, but his Mother more, Whom therefore she brought up and Comu nam'd, Who ripe, and frolick of his full growne age Roaving the Celtick, and Iberian fields At last betakes him to this ominous wood, And in thick shelter of black shades imbowr'd Excells his Mother at her mightie Art Offring to every wearie Travailer His orient liquor in a Chrystall glasse To quench the drouth of Phoebus, which as they tast