Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T60: caesar, rome, emperor, empire, honour, lord, lucius, great, palsgrave, kings.
Did I that strong Cadusian first affront, Who durst advance himself to brave our bands, Then turned applauded, and in high account, Charged with his spoils the honour of my hands? And could I then all kind of doubt removing, adventure only to an Army's shame? And should I now that ancient praise disproving, With squadrons compassed lose that glorious name? Blind fortune, O, thy stratagems are strange: Thou wrack'st my greatness, wound'st mine honour to, And having made my state the stage of change, Hast acted all inconstancy could do. Lo I, who late of swarming troops did boast, Am spoiled of all in whom I then reposed, And those imprisoned, whom I fancy most, Are to th'insulting victors pride exposed. O torment but to think, death to believe, That any may command my dearest part, And wretched I notable to relieve The jewel of mine eye, joy of my heart. Dear object of my thoughts, my life, my love, Sweet source of my delights, my one, my all, Bright Image of excellencies above, What? dost thou breathe, and com'st not when I call? And can I be, and not be where thou art? Hath heaven the force me from thy face to bar? Or are my hands grown traitors to my heart, That they should shrink from doing what it dare? O could my mind but distribute a space These emulating thoughts that toss my breast, Among those pointless Ciphers that spend place: Then I alone might animate the rest. Since in this great disgrace I chanced to fall, Now nothing rests to raze my fame forlorn, But to do desperately, and hazard all. I'll live with praise, or by my death fly scorn. Some prosperous issue afterward may purge This crime, with which th'event would burden me, This crime, that carries with itself a scourge: No greater torment than the want of thee. But what hope rests to reobtain that treasure, Which avaricious tyrants once possess? Another now disposes at his pleasure Of all my wealth: how can I look for less? Now, not till now, I deem my state in danger, When I imagine how my best beloved Must entertain my enemy a stranger, I being far from offering aid removed. A host of furies in my breast I find, Which do my soul with dreadful horrors fill, And foster in my melancholious mind Strange apprehensions that affright me still. And this surmized disgrace, grown thoroughly strong, Reads hourly in my ears a hateful scroll Of an imagined, yet recureless wrong, Such poisoned thoughts like serpents sting my soul. Blind love beguiles me not, sharpsighted fears Find great appearances for to suspect thee: Would God I had no heart, nor eyes, nor ears, To think, to see, or hear thou shouldst neglect me. This aggravates the wight of my despair, When doubt objects, t'annull loves fast defence, How he is young and fierce, she young, and fair, He bent t'offend, and she exposed t'offence,
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)
Did I that ſtrong Caduſian firſt affront, Who durſt aduance himſelfe to braue our bandes, Then turn'd applauded, and in high account, Charg'd with his ſpoiles the honour of my hands? And could I then all kinde of doubt remoouing, Aduenter only to an Armies ſhame? And ſhould I now that auncient praiſe diſprouing, With ſquadrons compaſt looſe that glorious name? Blinde fortune, O, thy ſtratagems are ſtrange: Thou wrak'ſt my greatnes, wound'ſt mine honour to, And hauing made my ſtate the ſtage of change, Haſt acted all inconſtancie could do. Lo I, who late of ſwarming troupes did boſt, Am ſpoil'd of all in whome I then repos'd, And thoſe impriſon'd, whome I fancie moſt, Are to th'inſulting victours pride expos'd. O torment but to thinke, death to beleeue, That any may command my deereſt part, And wretched I notable to releeue The Iewell of mine eye, ioy of my hart. Deere obiect of my thoughtes, my life, my loue, Sweete ſource of my delights, my one, my all, Bright Image of excellencies aboue, What? do'ſt thou breath, and com'ſt not when I call? And can I be, and not be where thou art? Hath heauen the force me from thy face to barre? Or are my hands growne traitors to my hart, That they ſhould ſhrinke from doing what it dare? O could my minde but diſtribute a ſpace Theſe emulating thoughts that toſſe my breſt, Among thoſe pointles Cyphers that ſpend place: Then I alone might animate the reſt. Since in this great diſgrace I chanc'd to fall, Now nothing reſts to raſe my fame forlorne, But to doe deſperatly, and hazard all. Ile liue with praiſe, or by my death flie ſcorne. Some proſperous iſſue afterward may purge This crime, with which th'euent would burthen me, This crime, that carries with it ſelfe a ſcourge: No greater torment than the want of thee. But what hope reſts to re-obtaine that treaſure, Which auaritious tyrants once poſſeſſe? Another now diſpoſes at his pleaſure Of all my wealth: how can I looke for leſſe? Now, not till now, I deeme my ſtate in danger, When I imagine how my beſt belou'd Muſt entertaine my enemy a ſtranger, I being far from offering aide remou'd. A hoſt of furies in my breſt I finde, Which do my ſoule with dreadfull horrours fill, And foſter in my melancholious minde Strange apprehenſions that affright me ſtill. And this ſurmiz'd diſgrace, grown throughly ſtrong, Reades hourely in my eares a hatefull ſcroule Of an imagin'd, yet recureles wrong, Such poiſon'd thoughtes like ſerpents ſting my ſoule. Blind loue beguiles me not, ſharpe-ſighted feares Finde great apparances for to ſuſpect thee: Would God I had no hart, nor eyes, nor eares, To thinke, to ſee, or heare thou ſhouldſt neglect me. This aggrauates the wight of my diſpaire, When doubt obiects, t'annull loues faſt defence, How he is young and feirce, ſhe young, and faire, He bent t'offend, and ſhe expoſd t'offence,