Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T36: hell, earth, gods, death, ghosts, blood, bloody, heaven, night, ghost.
Thinkst thou to dare me bold Thrasimachus? Thinkst thou to fear me with thy taunting braves, Or do we seem too weak to cope with thee? Soon shall I show thee my fine cutting blade, And with my sword the messenger of death, Seal thee an acquittance for thy bold attempts. O fair Estrilda, we have lost the field, Thrasimachus hath won the victory, And we are left to be a laughing stock, Scoffed at by those that are our enemies, Ten thousand soldiers armed with sword & shield, Prevail against an hundredth thousand men, Thrasimachus incensed with fuming ire, Rageth amongst the faint heart soldiers Like to grim Mars, when covered with his targe He fought with Diomedes in the field, Close by the banks of silver Simois, O lovely Estrild now the chase begins, ne'er shall we see the stately Troynovant Mounted on the coursers garnished all with pearls ne'er shall we view the fair Concordia, Unless as captives we be thither brought. Shall Locrine then be taken prisoner, By such a youngling as Thrasimachus? Shall Guendolina captivate my love? ne'er shall mine eyes behold that dismal hour, ne'er will I view that ruthful spectacle, For with my sword this sharp curtleaxe, I'll cut in sunder my accursed heart. But O you judges of the ninefold Styx, Which with incessant torments rack the ghosts Within the bottomless Abissus pits, You gods commanders of the heavenly spheres, Whose will and laws irrevocable stands, Forgive, forgive, this soul accursed sin, Forget O gods this foul condemned fault: And now my sword that in so many fights kiss his sword. Hast saved the life of Brutus and his son, End now his life that wisheth still for death, Work now his death that wisheth still for death, Work now his death that hateth still his life. Farewell fair Estrild, beauty's paragon, Framed in the front of forlorn miseries, ne'er shall mine eyes behold thy sunshine eyes, But when we meet in the Elysian fields, Thither I go before with hastened pace. Farewell vain world, and thy enticing snares. Forwell foul sin, and thy enticing pleasures. And welcome death the end of mortal smart, Welcome to Locrine's overburdened heart. Break heart with sobs and grievous suspires, Stream forth you tears from forth my watery eyes, Help me to mourn for warlike Locrine's death, power down your tears you watery regions, For mighty Locrine is bereft of life. O fickle fortune, O unstable world, What else are all things that this globe contains, But a confused chaos of mishaps? Wherein as in a glass we plainly see, That all our life is but as a Tragedy. Since mighty kings are subject to mishap, I mighty kings are subject to mishap, Since martial Locrine is bereft of life, Shall Estrild live then after Locrine's death? Shall love of life bar her from Locrine's sword? O no, this sword that hath bereft his life, Shall now deprive me of my fleeting soul: Strengthen these hands O mighty Iupiter, That I may end my woeful misery. Locrine I come, Locrine I follow thee.
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)
Thinkst thou to dare me bold Thrasimachus? Thinkst thou to feare me with thy taunting braues, Or do we seeme too weake to cope with thee? Soone shall I shew thee my fine cutting blade, And with my sword the messenger of death, Seal thee an acquitāce for thy bold attempts. O faire Estrilda, we haue lost the field, Thrasimachus hath wonne the vicorie, And we are lest to be a laughing socke, Scoft at by those that are ou enemies, Ten thousand souldiers armd with sword & shield, Preuaile against an hundreth thousand men, Thrasimachus incenst with uming ire, Rageth amongst the faint heart souldiers Like to grim Mars, when couered wih his arge He fought with Diomedes in the field, Close by the bankes of siluer Simois, O louely Estrild now the chase begins, Ner shall we see the stately Traynouant Mounted on the coursers garnisht all with pearl Ner shall we view the faire Concordia, Vnlesse as captiues we be thither brought. Shall Locrine then be taken prisoner, By such a yoongling as Thrasimachus? Shall Guendolina captiuate my loue? Ner shall mine eies behold that dismall houre, Ner will I view that ruthfull spectacle, For with my sword this sharpe curtlaxe, Ile cut in sunder my accursed heart. But O you iudges of the nineold Stix, Which with incessant torments racke the ghoas Within the bottomlesse Abissus pits, You gods commanders of the heauenly spheres, Whoe will and lawes irreuocable stands, Forgiue, forgiue, this soule accursed sinne, Forget O gods this foule condemned fault: And now my sword that in so many fights kisse his sword. Hast sau'd the life o Brutus and his sonne, End now his life that wisheth still for death, Worke now his death that wisheth still for death, Worke now his death that hateth still his life. Farwell faire Estrild, beauties paragon, Fram'd in the front of forlorne miseries, Ner shall mine eies behold thy sunshine eies, But when we meet in the Elysian fields, Thither I go before with hastenened pace. Farwell vaine world, and thy inticing snares. Forwell oule sinne, and thy inticing pleasures. And welcome death the end of mortall smart, Welcome to Locries ouerburthened hart. Break hart with sobs and greeuous suspirs, Streame forth you teares from forth my watry eies, Helpe me to mourne for warlike Locrines death, Powre downe your teares you watry regions, For mightie Locrine is bereft of life. O ickle fortnne, O vnstable world, What else are all things that this globe containes, But a confused chaos of mishaps? VVherein as in a glasse we plainly see, That all our life is but as a Tragedie. Since mightie kings are subiect to mishap I mightie kings are subiect to mishap, Since martiall Locrine is bereft of life, Shall Estrild liue then after Locrines death? Shall loue of life barre her from Locrines sword? O no, this sword that hath bereft his life, Shall now depiue me of my fleeting soule: Strengthen these hands O mightie Iupiter, That I may end my wofull miserie. Locrine I come, Locrine I follow thee.