Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T20: hercules, hercles, ioue, deianeira, alcides, hand, lo, death, skies, hell.
A glorious loam to set lazy spiders a work in, an office for birds to mute in, if these be your glorious monuments for men of arms, I'll e'en live to sin out my merit (as you call it) then when I die, the world and I will shake hands, and cry quit of all sides. He that should hear thee talk thus, and not know thee well, would doubt thy valour. Hercules! an he did he should try it. 'twere punishment enough. Gonçales— I gratulate thy naval victory; France will have cause hereafter to mention thee in sad story, Thou giv'st them but a churlish salutation. Such as they deserved, It seems they came rather to steal than fight, They were as ill prepared, as they had meant To bear our empty hulks away unquestioned; For soon as they perceived we descried 'em, Pale, as the lilies in their trembling flags, They turned their sails, and fled; we made after 'em, With swift winged lightning from our canon's mouth, Which sunk and fired 'em all, ere they could quit The channel, or gain the wider Ocean; Believe me, noble Soldier, thou art dear To fame; as old in victory, as in years, Yet still thou toil'st t'undo thyself, and benefit Thy ingrateful soil, which never will be able To requite thy meanest service. Yet you for the same cause, i'th' pride of youth, Opposed yourself betwixt the state and danger, When their sick hopes, were as their fortunes, desperate; Reduced a Kingdom to your sway, in whose Rich spoils, your gawdy Soldier triumphs; Whilst boasting of their rifled plumes, they drink healths to victory; yet those so moderate, Their bowls increase their fury, not their surfeits. How these tall men o'th' sword claw one another? They have an itch of pride runs through 'em. The Hero's, when thou com'st into Elysium, To give thee place, shall shift their blessed mansions. And load thee with their laurels. How my fears betray me! shunning One toil, I run into another. Che va la? Oh me! I'm surprised. Spirit of valour thouart my prisoner. Ha! whom have you there? (Valenzo! my voice betrays me.) A young Sicilian, shall I draw my steel, And give him a gentle stroke? Lend me my sword— and be thou what thou wilt I dare thee to thy worst. Bravely spoke,— set forward then.— Traitor! the Princess! Calantha! All the better; she's skilful at her weapon, We'll but exchange a thrust in sport. Ha! what means this flight? Dare none of you fight? Dear Lady, not with you. Then you are cowards, they speak you so i'th' City, And I came out thus purposely to try you. If you please, you shall quickly see that, Command us sheathe our swords in one another's Bosoms— we'll fly like lightning to execute your Commands;— you're our Princess. No, I'm your Prince's murderess. How? I've killed your King: will none Dispatch me yet? Sure she's distracted.
seed 43: T17 · seed 44: T19 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
A glorious loame to ſet lazie ſpiders a worke in, an office for birds to mute in, if theſe be your glorious monumēts for men of armes, I'le e'en live to ſin out my merit (as you call it) then when I die, the world and I will ſhake hands, and cry quit of all ſides. Hee that ſhould heare thee talke thus, and not know thee well, would doubt thy valour. Hercules! an hee did he ſhould try it. T'were puniſhment enough. Gonçales— I gratulate thy navall victory; France will have cauſe hereafter to mention thee in ſad ſtory, Thou giv'ſt them but a churliſh ſalutation. Such as they deſerv'd, It ſeemes they came rather to ſteale than fight, They were as ill prepar'd, as they had meant To beare our empty hulkes away unqueſtion'd; For ſoone as they perceived we deſcri'd 'em, Pale, as the lillies in their trembling flagges, They turn'd their ſailes, and fled; we made after 'em, With ſwift wing'd lightning from our Canons mouth, Which ſunke and fir'd 'em all, ere they could quit The channell, or gaine the wider Ocean; Beleeve mee, noble Souldier, thou art deare To fame; as old in victory, as in yeares, Yet ſtill thou toyl'ſt t'undoe thy ſelfe, and benefit Thy ingratefull ſoyle, which never will be able To requite thy meaneſt ſervice. Yet you for the ſame cauſe, i'th pride of youth, Oppos'd your ſelfe betwixt the ſtate and danger, When their ſicke hopes, were as their fortunes, deſperate; Reduc'd a Kingdome to your ſway, in whoſe Rich ſpoyles, your gawdie Souldier triumphs; Whilſt boaſting of their rifled plumes, they drinke Health's to victory; yet thoſe ſo moderate, Their bowles encreaſe their fury, not their ſurfeits. How theſe tall men o'th ſword claw one another? They have an itch of pride runnes through 'em. The Hero's, when thou com'ſt into Elyzium, To give thee place, ſhall ſhift their bleſſed manſions. And load thee with their lawrells. How my feares betray mee! ſhunning One toyle, I runne into another. Che va la? Oh mee! I'me ſurpriz'd. Spirit of valour th'art my priſoner. Ha! whom have you there? (Valenzo! my voyce betrayes mee.) A young Sicilian, ſhall I draw my ſteele, And give him a gentle ſtroke? Lend mee my ſword — and be thou what thou wilt I dare thee to thy worſt. Bravely ſpoke,—ſet forward then.— Traytour! the Princeſſe! Calantha! All the better; ſhe's skilfull at her weapon, We'le but exchange a thruſt in ſport. Ha! what meanes this flight? Dare none of you fight? Deare Lady, not with you. Then you are cowards, they ſpeake you ſo i'th Citty, And I came out thus purpoſely to try you. If you pleaſe, you ſhall quickly ſee that, Command us ſheath our ſwords in one anothers Boſomes— we'le fly like lightning to execute your Commands; — you're our Princeſſe. No, I'me your Prince's murthreſſe. How? I've kill'd your King: will none Diſpatch mee yet? Sure ſhe's diſtracted.