Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T5: god, christ, david, sin, holy, israel, lord, mercy, sins, faith.
No where I fourther, but every where I noye, For I am Satan, the comen adversary, An enemy to Man, him seeking to destroy And to bring to nought, by my assaults most crafty. I watch every where, wanting no policy, To trap him in snare, and make him the child of hell. What number I win, it were very long to tell. I heard a great noise, in Jordan now of late, Upon one Iesus, sounding from heaven above. This is mine own son, which hath withdrawn all hate, And he that doth stand, most highly in my love. My wits the same sound, doth not a little move. He cometh to redeem, the kind of Man I fear, High time is it than, for me the cools to steer. I will not leave him▪ till I know what he is, And what he intendeth, in this same border hear. subtlety must help, else all will be amiss, A godly pretence, outwardly must I bear, Seeming religious, devout and sad in my gear. If he be come now, for the redemption of Man, As I fear he is, I will stop him if I can. It is a great joy, by my holydome to see, So virtuous a life, in a young man as you be. As here thus to wander, in godly contemplation. And to live alone, in the desert solitary. Your pleasure is it, to utter your fantasy. A brother am I, of this desert wilderness, And full glad would be, to talk with you of goodness▪ If ye would accept, my simple company. I disdain nothing, which is of God truly. Than will I be bold, a little with you to walk. Do so if ye list, and your mind freely talk. Now forsooth and God, it is joy of your life, That ye take sech pains, and are in virtue so rife. Where so small joys are, to recreate the heart. Here are for pastime, the wild beasts of the desert, With whom much better, it is to be conversant, Than with sech people, as are to God repugnant. Ye speak it full well, it is even as ye say, But tell me how long, ye have been here, I you pray. Forty days and nights, without any sustenance. So much I judged, by your pale countenance. Then is it no marvel, I trow, though ye hungry. My stomach declareth, the weakness of my body. Well, to be plain with you, abroad the rumour doth run Among the people, that ye should be God's son. If ye be God's son, as it hath great likelihood, Make of these stones bread, and give your body his food. No offence is it, to eat when men be hungry, But to make stones bread, it is unnecessary. He which in this fast, hath been my special guide, Food for my body, is able to provide. I thank my lord God, I am at no such need, As to make stones bread, my body so to feed.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T5 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
No where I fourther, but euery where I noye, For I am Sathan, the commen aduerſarye, An enemy to Man, hym ſekynge to deſtroye And to brynge to nought, by my aſſaultes moſt craftye. I watche euery where, wantynge no polycye, To trappe hym in ſnare, and make hym the chylde of hell. What nombre I wynne, it were very longe to tell. I hearde a great noyſe, in Iordane now of late, Vpon one Ieſus, ſoundynge from heauen aboue. Thys is myne owne ſonne, whych hath withdrawne al hate, And he that doth ſtande, moſt hyghly in my loue. My wyttes the ſame ſounde, doth not a lyttle moue. He cometh to redeme, the kynde of Man I feare, Hygh tyme is it than, for me the cooles to ſteare. I wyll not leaue hym▪ tyll I knowe what he ys, And what he entendeth, in thys ſame border heare. Subtyltie muſt helpe, els all wyll be amys, A godlye pretence, outwardly muſt I beare, Semynge relygyouſe, deuoute and ſad in my geare. If he be come now, for the redempcyon of Man, As I feare he is, I wyll ſtoppe hym if I can. It is a grat ioye, by my holydome to ſe, So vertuouſe a lyfe, in a yonge man as yow be. As here thus to wander, in godly contemplacyon. And to lyue alone, in the deſart ſolytarye. Your pleaſure is it, to vtter your fantaſye. A brother am I, of thys deſart wylderneſſe, And full glad wolde be, to talke with yow of goodneſſe▪ If ye wolde accept, my ſymple cumpanye. I dyſdayne nothynge, whych is of God trulye. Than wyll I be bolde, a lyttle with yow to walke. Do ſo if ye lyſt, and your mynde frely talke. Now forſoth and God, it is ioye of your lyfe, That ye take ſech paynes, and are in vertu ſo ryfe. Where ſo ſmall ioyes are, to recreate the hart. Here are for paſtyme, the wylde beaſtes of the deſart, With whom moch better, it is to be conuerſaunt, Than with ſech people, as are to God repugnaunt. Ye ſpeake it full well, it is euen as ye ſaye, But tell me how longe, ye haue bene here, I yow praye. Fourty dayes and nyghtes, without any ſuſtenaunce. So moch I iudged, by your pale countenaunce. Then is it no maruele, I trowe, though ye hungrye. My ſtomack declareth, the weakeneſſe of my bodye. Well, to be pleyne with yow, abroade the rumour doth rōne Amonge the people, that ye ſhuld be Gods ſonne. If ye be Gods ſonne, as it hath great lykelyhode, Make of theſe ſtones breade, and geue your bodye hys fode. No offence is it, to eate whan men be hungrye, But to make ſtones breade, it is vnneceſſarye. He whych in thys faſt, hath bene my ſpecyall gyde, Fode for my bodye, is able to prouyde. I thanke my lorde God, I am at no ſoche nede, As to make ſtones breade, my bodye ſo to fede.