Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T50: sea, honour, general, soldiers, men, ship, fight, soldier, king, vittori.
And fought as freshly as they first began. Like two fierce lions fighting in a Desert, To win the love of some fair Lioness, When they have vomited their long-grown rage, And proved each other's force sufficient, Passant regardant softly they retire. Their jaw-bones died with foaming forth and blood. Their lungs like sponges, rammed within their sides, Their tongues discovered, and their tails long trailing. Till jealous rage (engendered with rest,) Returns them sharper set then at the first; And makes them couple when they see their prize, With bristled backs, and fire-sparkling eyes, Till tyered or conquered, one submits or flies. Caesar, whose kinglike looks like day-bright stars, Both comfort and encourage his to fight, Marched through the battle (laying still about him.) And subtly marked whose hand was happiest. Who nicely did but dip his spear in blood, And who more roughly smeared it to his fist. Who (staggering) fell with every feeble wound, And who (more strongly) paced it through the thickest, Him he inflamed, and spurred, and filled with horror. As when Allecto in the lowest hell, Doth breath new heat within Orestes breast, Till outward rage with inward grief begins, A fresh remembrance of our former sins. For then (as if provoked with pricking goads,) Their warlike Armies, (fast locked foot to foot,) Stooping their heads low bent to toss their staves, They fiercely open both Battalions. Cleave, break, and raging tempest-like o'erturn, whate'er makes head to meet them in this humour. Our men at Arms (in brief) begin to fly. And neither prayers, entreaty, nor example Of any of their leaders left alive, Had power to stay them in this strange carrier. Straggling, as in the fair Calabrian fields, When Wolves for hunger ranging fro the wood, Make forth amongst the flock, that scattered flies Before the Shepherd, that resistless lies. O cruel fortune. None resisting now, the field was filled with all confusion, of murder, death, and direful massacres. The feeble bands that yet were left entire, Had more desire to sleep then seek for spoil. No place was free from sorrow, everywhere Lay Armed men, o'ertrodden with their horses. Dismembered bodies drowning in their blood, And wretched heaps lie mourning of their maims. Whose blood, as from a sponge, or bunch of Grapes Crushed in a Winepress, gusheth out so fast, As with the sight doth make the sound aghast. Some should you see that had their heads half cloven, And on the earth their brains lie trembling. Here one new wounded, helps another dying. Here lay an arm, and there a leg lay shivered. Here horse and man (o'erturned) for mercy cried, With hands extended to the merciless. That stopped their ears, and would not hear a word, But put them all (remorseless) to the sword. He that had hap to scape, doth help afresh, To reinforce the side whereon he served. But seeing that there the murdering Enemy,
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
And fought as freshly as they first beganne. Like two fierce Lyons fighting in a Desart, To winne the loue of some faire Lyonesse, When they haue vomited theyr long-growne rage, And proou'd each others force sufficient, Passant regardant softly they retyre. Theyr iawbones dy'd with foming forth and blood. Their lungs like spunges, ramm'd within their sides, Theyr tongues discouerd, and theyr tailes long trailing. Till iealous rage (engendered with rest,) Returnes them sharper set then at the first; And makes them couple when they see theyr prize, With bristled backs, and fire-sparkling eyes, Tyll tyer'd or conquer'd, one submits or flyes. Caesar, whose kinglike lookes like day-bright starrs, Both comfort and encourage his to fight, Marcht through the battaile (laying still about him.) And subt'ly markt whose hand was happiest. Who nicely did but dyp his speare in blood, And who more roughly smear'd it to his fiste. Who (staggering) fell with euery feeble wound, And who (more strongly) pac'd it through the thickest, Him he enflam'd, and spur'd, and fild with horror. As when Alecto in the lowest hell, Doth breathe nw heate within Orestes brest, Till out-ward rage with inward griefe begins, A fresh remembrance of our former sins. For then (as if prouokt with pricking goades,) Theyr warlike Armies, (fast lockt foote to foote,) Stooping their heads low bent to tosse theyr staues, They fiercely open both Battalions. Cleaue, breake, and raging tempest-like o're-turne, What e're makes head to meet them in this humor. Our men at Armes (in briefe) begin to flye. And neither prayers, intreatie, nor example Of any of theyr leaders left aliue, Had powre to stay them in this strange carrier. Stragling, as in the faire Calabrian fields, VVhen Wolues for hunger ranging fro the wood, Make forth amongst the flock, that scattered flyes Before the Shepheard, that resistles lyes. O cruell fortune. None resisting now, the field was fild with all confusion, of murder, death, and direfull massacres. The feeble bands that yet were left entyre, Had more desire to sleepe then seeke for spoyle. No place was free from sorrow, euery where Lay Armed men, ore-troden with theyr horses. Dismembred bodies drowning in theyr blood, And wretched heapes lie mourning of theyr maimes. VVhose blood, as from a spunge, or bunche of Grapes Crusht in a VVine-presse, gusheth out so fast, As with the sight doth make the sound agast. Some should you see that had theyr heads halfe clouen, And on the earth theyr braines lye trembling. Here one new wounded, helps another dying. Here lay an arme, and there a leg lay shiuer'd. Here horse and man (o're-turnd) for mercy cryde, With hands exstended to the merciles. That stopt theyr eares, and would not heare a word, But put them all (remorceles) to the sword. He that had hap to scape, doth helpe a fresh, To re-enforce the side wheron he seru'd. But seeing that there the murdring Enemie,