Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
And finding that delay no end affords, And that fair generals are th'abusers Art, She did repel him with disdainful words To raze all thought of her out of his heart. Love is a joy that upon pain depends, A drop of sweet drowned in a sea of sours, What Folly doth begin, oft Fury ends, They hate for ever, that have loved for hours. When all his arguments proved of no force, straight with disdain his soul in secret burned, And what he thought was evil, to make far worse, He unto furor all his favour turned. As he extremely loved, far more he hated, And mused of many means how to annoy her, Which was the best a long time he debated, To see her dead, or to see me enjoy her. What? saith he when he first had mused a space, So hard it is to quench a great affection: Shall I disfigure that angelic face, And make the world eclipsed of all perfection? Shall she by me be to confusion brought, To whom I vows and prayers did impart, To whom I sacrificed my secret thought, And on her beauty's altar burned my heart? Or shall I see her in another's power, And in his bosom lie t'upbraid my loss, Whilst both with scornful smiles then death more sour, To point me out for sport report my cross? That sight which sometime did me sweetly charm, Should it become a cause of grief to me? No, none that lives, shall glory in my harm, Since she will not be mine, she shall not be. Th'unloving Lover having vowed her death, Did with a cup of poison drown my joys. The fairest body from the sweetest breath Was parted thus, (O Ocean of annoys!) That Monster Fame, whose many mouths and ears Must know, but not conceal a rare thing long, And prodigal of ill, most chiefly bears The worst news first, informed me of this wrong. For neighbouring near the most unhappy part That had been spoiled of such a beauteous guest, No sooner had death seized on the chaste heart Then sorrow on my ears to rob my rest. How the sad news first sounded in my soul, I will not weary you with long laments, Rage did the outward signs of grief control; When great winds blow the fire, the smoke worst vents. Whilst generous disdain disguised my grief, (As one transported with a mighty rage) I ran unto the Theater of mischief, A tragic Actor for a bloody stage. For I was come no sooner to the place Whereas I thought the Murderer to have found, But I re-encountered (O unhappy case) Too dear a friend to catch an enemy's wound. Ah passions! dimmed mine eyes, wrath led my hand, I was no more myself, sorrow had killed me, The first ('twas night) that did before me stand, I fiercely did pursue, as Furor willed me.
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 finding that delay no ende affords, And that faire generals are th'abuſers Arte, She did repell him with diſdainfull words To raze all thought of her out of his harte. Loue is a ioy that vpon paine depends, A drop of ſweet drown'd in a ſea of ſowres, What Follie doth begin, oft Furie ends, They hate for euer, that haue lou'd for howres. When all his arguments prou'd of no force, Strait with diſdaine his ſoule in ſecret bur'nd, And what he thought was euill, to make farre worſe, He vnto furour all his fauour turn'd. As he extreamely lou'd, farre more he hated, And muſde of many meanes how to annoy her, Which was the beſt a long time he debated, To ſee her dead, or to ſee me enioy her. What? ſaith he when he firſt had muſde a ſpace, So hard it is to quench a great affection: Shall I disfigure that angelike face, And make the world ecclypſde of all perfection? Shall ſhe by me be to confuſion brought, To whom I vowes and prayers did impart, To whom I ſacrific'd my ſecret thought, And on her beauties altar burn'd my hart? Or ſhall I ſee her in anothers powre, And in his boſome lie t'vpbraid my loſſe, Whilſt both with ſcornefull ſmiles then death more ſowre, To poynt me out for ſport report my croſſe? That ſight which ſometime did me ſweetly charme, Should it become a cauſe of griefe to me? No, none that liue's, ſhall glorie in my harme, Since ſhe will not be mine, ſhe ſhall not be. Th'unlouing Louer hauing vow'd her death, Did with a cup of poiſon drowne my ioyes. The faireſt body from the ſweeteſt breath Was parted thus, (O Ocean of annoyes!) That Monſter Fame, whoſe many mouthes and eares Muſt know, but not conceale a rare thing long, And prodigall of ill, moſt chiefly beares The worſt newes firſt, inform'd me of this wrong. For neighbouring neere the moſt vnhappy part That had been ſpoild of ſuch a beeauteous gueſt, No ſooner had death ſeazde on the chaſte hart Then ſorrow on my eares to rob my reſt. How the ſadde newes firſt ſounded in my ſoule, I will not wearie you with long laments, Rage did the outward ſignes of griefe controule; When great windes blow the fire, the ſmoke worſt vents. Whilſt generous diſdaine diſguiſde my griefe, (As one tranſported with a mighty rage) I ranne vnto the Theater of miſchiefe, A tragicke Actor for a bloody ſtage. For I was come no ſooner to the place Whereas I thought the Murtherer to haue found, But I re'ncountred (O vnhappie caſe) Too deare a friend to catch an enemies wound. Ah paſſions! dim'd mine eyes, wrath led my hand, I was no more my ſelfe, ſorrow had kild me, The firſt (t'was night) that did before me ſtand, I fiercely did purſue, as Furor willd me.