Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T34: thebes, antigone, polynices, creon, eteocles, war, theban, gods, dear, country.
Dear Iustinian, Fortune hath nothing left that's worth my hope, But thy affection; at thy sole command, I would attempt to swim the midland sea, When Aeolus and Neptune are at wars, Expose myself to the fierce dragon's jaws, Enraged by the theft of Hercules; At thy command I'll live; hark, hark, what's that? It is the voice of my dead son, that calls For vengeance; see, see where he stands and points At his still-bleeding wound; he bids me think What he had done ere now, had we changed fates; Did you not see him? No, nor you yourself, 'Twas nothing but a strong impression made In your disturbed imagination. Could both mine eyes and ears be so deceived. That happens often to perplexed minds. Alas, what shall I do? Let me persuade you But to retire, perhaps some mild repose May softly steal upon your troubled spirits, To give you ease. If you will have it so, My passions in my breast shall silence keep, I'll be as tame, as (what you wish me) sleep. Wait on him in, I'll follow presently. THe unexpected death of his dear son, So wounds his soul, that his distracted fancy Suggests belief, he saw and heard him speak, But that cannot seem strange, if we consider How far imagination doth usurp Upon the power of Reason, though it be A faculty coincident to Bruits, Receiving objects from the common sense; But these his perturbations I suspect To flow from mixed affections, grief, and anger, The last of which, sinks deepest in the hearts Of most of us Italians, and I doubt That he thereby having involved himself In that, which is our nation's crime, Revenge; Hath been by th'other faction undermined: If this be, his disease is curable, Yet so, as every virtuous man must think The remedy as bad as the disease, Unless strict justice do become th'avenger, Or that their own sad fates appease his rage; O how it wounds my heart to see my friend And one that truly meriteth that name But for that vice, whereof not to be guilty Is made a vice here, by the Tyrant custom) Plunged in distress, that cannot receive counsel: But could he once with safety be restored To his own native ingenuity, He would detest such crimes; his candid soul Appears in this, that in the midst of fury, The sight or name of him he loved before Can Orpheus-like calm his enraged spirit: I therefore am obliged by sacred friendship Even to devote myself to all just means Of his recovery, and I will perform it, To cure Orestes (If the Heavens so please) There shall not want a faithful Pylades. ARe all things ready. Yes sir. Noble friends, Your presence gives addition to the honour Which some young Gentlemen are pleased to do me In the free presentation of their mirth Most seasonable in time of Carnival, And fit to celebrate this joyful feast Which we may challenge as our holiday.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Deare Iuſtinian, Fortune hath nothing left that's worth my hope, But thy affection; at thy ſole command, I would attempt to ſwim the mid-land ſea, When Aeolus and Neptune are at warres, Expoſe my ſelfe to the fierce Dragons jawes, Enraged by the theft of Hercules; At thy command I'le live; hark, hark, what's that? It is the voyce of my dead ſon, that cals For vengeance; ſee, ſee where he ſtands and points At his ſtill-bleeding wound; he bids me thinke What he had done ere now, had we chang'd fates; Did you not ſee him? No, nor you your ſelfe, 'Twas nothing but a ſtrong impreſſion made In your diſturb'd imagination. Could both myne eyes and eares be ſo deceiv'd. That happens often to perplexed mindes. Alas, what ſhall I do? Let me perſwade you But to retire, perhaps ſome milde repoſe May ſoftly ſteale upon your troubled ſpirits, To give you eaſe. If you will have it ſo, My paſſions in my breſt ſhall ſilence keepe, I'le be as tame, as (what you wiſh me) ſleepe. Waite on him in, I'le follow preſently. THe vnexpected death of his deare ſonne, So wounds his ſoule, that his diſtracted fancy Suggeſts beliefe, he ſaw and hard him ſpeake, But that cannot ſeeme ſtrange, if we conſider How far imagination doth uſurpe Vpon the power of Reaſon, though it be A faculty coincident to Bruites, Receiving objects from the common ſence; But theſe his perturbations I ſuſpect To flow from mixt affections, greife, and anger, The laſt of which, ſinkes deepeſt in the hearts Of moſt of us Italians, and I doubt That he thereby having involv'd himſelfe In that, which is our Nations crime, Revenge; Hath bin by th'other faction vndermin'd: If this be, his diſeaſe is cureable, Yet ſo, as every vertuous man muſt thinke The remedy as bad as the diſeaſe, Vnles ſtrickt Iuſtice do becom th'avenger, Or that their owne ſad fates appeaſe his rage; O how it wounds my heart to ſee my freind And one that truly meriteth that name But for that vice, whereof not to be guilty Is made a vice heere, by the Tyrant cuſtome) Plung'd in diſtreſſe, that cannot receive counſell: But could he once with ſafety be reſtor'd To his owne native ingenuity, He would deteſt ſuch crimes; his candid ſoule Appeares in this, that in the midſt of fury, The ſight or name of him he lov'd before Can Orpheus-like calme his enraged ſpirit: I therefore am oblig'd by ſacred freindſhip Even to devote my ſelfe to all iuſt meanes Of his recovery, and I will performe it, To cure Oreſtes (If the Heavens ſo pleaſe) There ſhall not want a faithfull Pylades. ARe all things ready. Yes ſir. Noble friends, Your preſence gives addition to the honor Which ſome young Gentlemen are pleas'd to do me In the free preſentation of their mirth Moſt ſeaſonable in time of Carnivall, And fit to celebrate this joyfull feaſt Which we may challenge as our holy-day.