Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T2: rome, caesar, senate, sulla, roman, consul, brutus, romans, men, marius.
We are undone. Scipio hath lost the day. But hope the best, and hearken to his news. O cruel fortune. These misfortunes yet must I report to sad Cornelia. Whose cease les grief (which I am sorry for) Will aggravate my former misery. Wretch that I am, why leave I not the world? Or wherefore am I not already dead? O world, O wretch. Is this th'undaunted heart that is required in extremities? Be more confirmed. And Madam, let not grief abuse your wisdom like a vulgar wit. Haply the news is better than the noise, Let's hear him speak. O no, for all is lost. Farewell dear Father. He is saved perhaps. methinks I hear my masters daughter speak. What sighs, what sobs, what plaints, what passions have we endured Cornelia for your sake? Where is thine Emperor? Where our Captains are. Where are our Legions? Where our men at Arms? Or where so many of our Roman souls? The earth, the sea, the vultures and the Crows, lions and Bears are their best sepulchres. O miserable. Now I see the heavens, are heaped with rage and horror 'gainst this house. O earth, why op'st thou not? Why wail you so? Assure yourself that Scipio bravely died, And such a death excels a servile life. Say Messenger, The manner of his end will haply comfort this your discontent. Discourse the manner of his hard mishap, And what disastrous accident did break, So many people bent so much to fight. Caesar, that wisely knew his soldiers hearts, And their desire to be approved in Arms, Sought nothing more than to encounter us. And therefore (faintly skirmishing) in craft, Lamely they fought, to draw us further on. Oft (to provoke our wary well-taught troops) He would attempt the entrance on our bars. Nay, even our Trenches, to our great disgrace, And call our soldiers cowards to their face. But when he saw his wiles nor bitter words, Could draw our Captains to endanger us, Coasting along and following by the foot, He thought to tire and weary us fro thence. And got his willing hosts to march by night, With heavy Armour on their hardened backs, Down to the Seaside; Where before fair Tapsus, He made his Pioneers (poor weary souls) The self-same day, to dig and cast new Trenches, And plant strong Barricades. Where he (encamped) Resolved by force to hold us hard at work. Scipio, no sooner heard of his designs, But being afeard to lose so fit a place, Marched on the sudden to the self-same City. Where few men might do much, which made him see Of what importance such a Town would be. The fields are spread, and as a household Camp Of creeping Emmets, in a Country Farm, That come to forage when the cold begins: Leaving their crannies to go search about, Cover the earth so thick, as scarce we tread
seed 43: T1 · seed 44: T2 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
We are vndone. Scipio hath lost the day. But hope the best, and harken to his newes. O cruell fortune. These mis-fortues yet must I report to sad Cornelia. Whose cease les griefe (which I am sorry for) Will agrauate my former misery. Wretch that I am, why leaue I not the world? Or wherefore am I not already dead? O world, O wretch. Is this th'vndaunted hart that is required in extremities? Be more confirmd. And Madam, let not griefe abuse your wisdom lyke a vulgar wit. Haply the newes is better then the noyse, Let's heare him speake. O no, for all is lost. Farwell deere Father. Hee is sau'd perhaps. Me thinks I heare my Maisters daughter speake. What sighes, what sobs, what plaints, what passions haue we endurde Cornelia for your sake? Where is thine Emperor? Where our Captaines are. Where are our Legions? Where our men at Armes? Or where so many of our Romaine soules? The earth, the sea, the vultures and the Crowes, Lyons and Beares are theyr best Sepulchers. O miserable. Now I see the heauens, are heapt with rage and horror gainst this house. O earth, why op'st thou not? Why waile you so? Assure your selfe that Scipio brauely dyed, And such a death excels a seruile life. Say Messenger, The manner of his end will haply comfort this your discontent. Discourse the manner of his hard mishap, And what disastrous accident did breake, So many people bent so much to fight. Caesar, that wisely knewe his souldiers harts, And their desire to be approou'd in Armes, Sought nothing more then to encounter vs. And therefore (faintly skyrmishing) in craft, Lamely they fought, to draw vs further on. Oft (to prouoke our warie wel-taught troopes) He would attempt the entrance on our barrs. Nay, euen our Trenches, to our great disgrace, And call our souldiers cowards to theyr face. But when he saw his wiles nor bitter words, Could draw our Captaines to endanger vs, Coasting along and following by the foote, He thought to tyre and wearie vs fro thence. And got hys willing hosts to march by night, With heauy Armor on theyr hardned backs, Downe to the Sea-side; Where before faire Tapsus, He made his Pyoners (poore weary soules) The selfe-same day, to dig and cast new Trenches, And plant strong Barricades. Where he (encampt) Resolu'd by force to hold vs hard at work. Scipio, no sooner heard of his designes, But being afeard to loose so fit a place, Marcht on the suddaine to the selfe-same Cittie. Where few men might doe much, which made him see Of what importance such a Towne would be. The fields are spred, and as a houshold Campe Of creeping Emmets, in a Countrey Farme, That come to forrage when the cold begins: Leauing theyr crannyes to goe search about, Couer the earth so thicke, as scarce we tread