Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T36: hell, earth, gods, death, ghosts, blood, bloody, heaven, night, ghost.
You mountain nymphs which in these deserts reign, Cease off your hasty chase of savage beasts, Prepare to see a heart oppressed with care, Address your ears to hear a mournful style, No human strength, no work can work my weal, Care in my heart so tyrant like doth deal. You dryads and lightfoot Satiri, You gracious Fairies which at evening tide, Your closets leave with heavenly beauty stored, And on your shoulders spread your golden locks, You savage bears in caves and darkened dens, Come wail with me, the martial Locrine's death. Come mourn with me, for beauteous Estrilds death. Ah loving parents little do you know, what sorrow Sabren suffers for your thrall. But may this be, and is it possible, Lives Sabren yet to expiate my wrath? Fortune I thank thee for this courtesy, And let me never see one prosperous hour, If Sabren die not a reproachful death. Hard hearted death, that when the wretched call, Art furthest off, and seldom heerst at all. But in the midst of fortune's good success, Uncalled comes, and shears our life in twain: When will that hour, that blessed hour draw nigh, When poor distressed Sabren may be gone. Sweet Atropos cut off my fatal thread, What art thou death, shall not poor Sabren die? Yes damsel yes, Sabren shall surely die, Though all the world should seek to save her life, And not a common death shall Sabren die, But after strange and grievous punishments Shortly inflicted upon thy Bastard's head, Thou shalt be cast into the cursed streams, And feed the fishes with thy tender flesh. And thinkst thou then thou cruel homicide, That these thy deeds shall be unpunished? No traitor no, the gods will venge these wrongs, The fiends of hell will mark these injuries. Never shall these bloodsucking masty curs, Bring wretched Sabren to her latest home. For I myself inspire of thee and thine, Mean to abridge my former destinies, And that which Locrine's sword could not perform, This pleasant stream shall present bring to pass. One mischief follows another's neck, Who would have thought so young a maid as she With such a courage would have sought her death. And for because this River was the place Where little Sabren resolutely died, Sabren for ever shall this same be called. And as for Locrine our deceased spouse, Because he was the son of mighty Brute. To whom we owe our country, lives and goods, He shall be buried in a stately tomb, Close by his aged father Brutus' bones, With such great pomp and great solemnity, As well beseemes so braue a prince as e Let Estrild lie without the shallow vauts, Without the honour due unto the dead, Because she was the author of this war. Retire brave followers unto Troynouant, Where we will celebrate these exequies And place young Locrine in his father's tomb. Lo here the end of lawless treachery, Of usurpation and ambitious pride, And they that for their private amours dare Turmoil our land, and see their broils abroach, Let them be warned by these premises, And as a woman was the only cause That civil discord was then stirred up, So let us pray for that renowned maid, That eight and thirty years the sceptre swayed, In quiet peace and sweet felicity, And every wight that seeks her grace's smart, would that this sword were pierced in his heart.
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)
You mountain nimphs which in these desarts raign, Cease off your hatie chase of sauadge beasts, Prepare to see a heart opprest with care, Addresse your eares to heare a mournfull stile, No humane trength, no work can work my weale, Care in my hart so tyrant like doth deale. You Driades and lightfooe Satiri, You gracious Faries which at euening tide, Your closets leaue with heauenly beautie storde, And on your shoulders spread your golden locks, You sauadge beares in caues and darkened dennes, Come waile with me, the martiall Locrines death. Come mourn with me, for beateous Estrilds det. Ah loing parents little do you know, what sorrow Sabren suffers for your thrall. But may this be, and is it possible, Liues Sabren yet to expiat my wrath? Fortune I tanke thee for this curtesie, And let me neuer see one prosperous houre, If Sabren die not a reproachfull death. Hard harted death, that when the wretched call, Art furthest off, and sildom heert at all. But in the midst of fortunes good successe, Vncalled comes, and sheeres our life in twaine: VVhen wil that houre, that blessed houre draw nie, VVhen poore distressed Sabren may be gone. Sweet Atropos cut off my fatall thred, VVhat art thou death, shall not poore Sabren die? Yes damsell yes, Sabren shall surely die, Though all the world should seeke to saue her life, And not a common death shall Sabren die, But after strange and greeuous punishments Shortly inflicted vpo thy bastards head, Thou shalt be cast into the cursed streames, And feede the fishes with thy tender flesh. And thin thou then thou cruell homicid, That these thy deeds shall be vnpunished? No traitor no, the gods will venge these wrongs, The fiends of hell will marke these iniuries. Neuer shall these blood-sucking mastie curres, Bring wretched Sabren to her latest home. For I my selfe inspire of thee and thine, Meane to abridge my former destenies, And that which Locrines sword could not perform, This pleasant streame shall present bring to passe. One mischiefe followes anothers neke, VVho would haue thought so yoong a mayd as she VVith such a courage wold haue sougt her death. And for because his Riuer was the plac VVhere little Sbre resolutely died, Sabren for euer shall this same be call'd. And as for Locrine our deceased spouse, Because he was th sonn of mightie Brute To whom we owe our country, lius and goods, He shall be buried in a stately ombe, Close by his aged father Brtus bones, VVith such great pomp and great solemnitie As well beseemes so braue a prince as e Let Estrild lie without the shllow VVithout the honour due vnto the dead Because she was the author of this warre. Retire braue followers vnto Troyno VVhere we will celebrate thes exequies And place yoong Locri in his fathers tombe. Lo here the end of lawlesse trecherie, Of vsurpation and ambitious pride, And they that for their priuate amours dare Turmoil ou land, and sheir brolles abroach, Let them be warned by these premisses, And as a womn was the onely cause That ciuill discord was then stirred vp, So let vs pray for that renowned , That eight and thirtie yeares wyd, In quiet peace and sweet elicitie, And euery wight that seekes her ges smart, wold that this sword wer piee in his hart.