Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T50: sea, honour, general, soldiers, men, ship, fight, soldier, king, vittori.
Call not that cruelty, which is our fate, believe me Iolas, the honest Swain that from the brow of some steep cliff far off, beholds a ship labouring in vain against the boisterous and unruly Elements, ne'er had less power, or more desire to help than I; at every sigh, I die, and every look, does move; and any passion you will have but Love, I have in store: I will be angry, quarrel with destiny, and with myself that 'tis no better; be melancholy; And (though mine own disasters well might plead to be in chief,) yours only shall have place, I'll pity, and (if that's too low) I'll grieve, as for my sins, I cannot give you ease; all this I do, and this I hope will prove 'tis greater Torment not to love, than Love.— So perishing Sailours pray to storms, and so they hear again. So men with death about them, look on Physicians that have given them o'er, and so they turn away: Two fixed Stars that keep a constant distance, and by laws made with themselves must know no motion eccentric, may meet as soon as we: The anger that the foolish Sea does show, when it does brave it out, and roar against a stubborn rock that still denies it passage, is not so vain and fruitless, as my prayers. Ye mighty Powers of Love and Fate, where is your Justice here? It is thy part (fond Boy) when thou dost find one wounded heart, to make the other so, but if thy Tyranny be such, that thou wilt leave one breast to hate, If we must live, and this survive, how much more cruell's Fate?— A Glorious night! Pray Heaven it prove so. Are we not there yet? 'Tis about this hollow. How now! what region are we got into? th'inheritance of night; Are we not mistaken a turning Ziriff, and stepped into some melancholy Devil's Territory? Sure 'tis a part of the first Chaos, that would endure no change. No matter Sir, 'tis as proper for our purpose, as the Lobby for the waiting woman's. Stay you here, I'll move a little backward, and so we shall be sure to put him past retreat: you know the word if't be the Prince. Here Sir, follow me, all's quiet yet.— He is not come then? No. Where's Ariaspes? Waiting within. I do not like this waiting, nor this fellows leaving us. This place does put odd thoughts into thee, than thou art in thine own nature too, as jealous as either Love, or Honour: Come, wear thy sword in readiness, and think how near we are a crown. Revenge! So let's drag him to the light, and search his pockets, there may be papers there that will discover the rest of the Conspirators. Iol●…s, your hand— Whom have we here? the King!
seed 43: T47 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Call not that crueltie, which is our fate, beleeve me Iolas, the honest Swaine that from the brow of some steepe cliffe far off, beholds a ship labouring in vaine against the boysterous and unruly Elements, ne're had lesse power, or more desire to help than I; at everie sigh, I die, and everie looke, does move; and any passion you will have but Love, I have in store: I will be angrie, quarrell with destinie, and with my selfe that 'tis no better; be melancholy; And (though mine owne disasters well might plead to be in chiefe,) yours only shall have place, Ile pitie, and (if that's too low) Ile grieve, as for my sinnes, I cannot give you ease; all this I doe, and this I hope will prove 'tis greater Torment not to love, than Love.— So perishing Sailours pray to stormes, and so they heare agen. So men with death about them, looke on Physitians that have given them o're, and so they turne away: Two fixed Stars that keepe a constant distance, and by lawes made with themselves must know no motion excentrick, may meet as soone as wee: The anger that the foolish Sea does shew, when it does brave it out, and rore against a stubborne rock that still denies it passage, is not so vaine and fruitlesse, as my prayers. Yee mightie Powers of Love and Fate, where is your Justice here? It is thy part (fond Boy) when thou do'st finde one wounded heart, to make the other so, but if thy Tyranny be such, that thou wilt leave one breast to hate, If wee must live, and this survive, how much more cruell's Fate?— A Glorious night! Pray Heav'n it prove so. Are wee not there yet? 'Tis about this hollow. How now! what region are we got into? Th'enheritance of night; Are wee not mistaken a turning Ziriff, and stept into some melancholy Devils Territorie? Sure 'tis a part of the first Chaos, that would endure no change. No matter Sir, 'tis as proper for our purpose, as the Lobbie for the waiting womans. Stay you here, Ile move a little backward, and so wee shall be sure to put him past retreat: you know the word if't be the Prince. Here Sir, follow mee, all's quiet yet.— Hee is not come then? No. Where's Ariaspes? Waiting within. I doe not like this waiting, nor this fellowes leaving us. This place does put odd thoughts into thee, then thou art in thine owne nature too, as jealous as either Love, or Honor: Come, weare thy sword in readines, and thinke how neere wee are a crowne. Revenge! So let's drag him to the light, and search his pockets, there may be papers there that will discover the rest of the Conspiratours. Iols, your hand— Whom have wee here? the King!