Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T36: hell, earth, gods, death, ghosts, blood, bloody, heaven, night, ghost.
What unknown corner from the world removed T'inhabit in th'horizon of despair Shall I go now possess and be approved By monsters like myself that hate repair. I'll go indeed whom all the world detests, Who have no interest in the fields of bliss, And barbarize among the barbarous beasts, Where tiger's rage, Toads spue, and Serpents hiss. Yet though both th'Arctic and Antarctic Pole I should overpass, and find th'unpeopled zones, A wilderness where nought were to control My damnable cruelties but trees and stones: Yet of my deeds which all the world do tell, All this could not deface th'infamous scroll, Within my breast I bear about my hell, And can not scape the horrors of my soul. Those fearful monsters of confused aspects, chimaera, Gorgon, Hydra, hellish apes, Which in the world wrought wonderful effects, And borrowed from th'infernal shades their shapes. Their devilish forms that did the world amaze, Not half so monstrous as myself I find, When on mine own deformities I gaze, In the black depth of a polluted mind. No, but my mind untainted still remains, My thoughts in this delict have had no part, Which accidentally this foul fact stains, My hands had no commission of my heart. Yet, whether it was fortune or my fate, Or some hell-hag that did direct my arm, I quailed the Lydians hopes abortive date, And am the instrument of all their harm. Then swelling mountains come and fall upon me, Your height may hide me from the wrath of heaven: But this needs not, my fault hath else undone me, No torment can with my offence be even. Ah of what desert shall I now make choice, T'avoid the countenance of an angry King? I know th'avenging sword of Croesus' voice, To wound my soul hosts of rebukes doth bring. No, th'object of distress I'll stand alone, A memorable monster of mishap, For though Pandora's plagues were poured in one, All were too few so vile a wretch t'entrap. O how the King is moved with Atis death, His face th'impression of a passion bears With bended eyes, crossed arms, and quivering breath, His princely robe he desperately tears. Lo, with a silent pity-pleading look, Which shows with sorrow mixed a high disdain, He whilst his soul seems to dissolve in smoke, Whiles eyes the corpse whiles him by whom 'tis slain. Thou ruthless Tyrant, ruin of my bliss, And didst thou so disguise thy devilish nature To recompense my courtesies with this? Ah cruel wretch, abominable creature. Thy Tigrish mind who could have well detected? In mortal breasts so great barbarity? What forward sprite could have such spite suspected? In hospitality hostility? Did I revive thee when thy hopes were dead, whenas thy life thy parents had not spared? And having heaped such favours on thy head, Is this? Is this? he would say the reward.
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)
What vnknowne corner from the world remou'd T'inhabit in th'horizon of diſpaire Shall I go now poſſeſſe and be approu'd By monſters like my ſelfe that hate repaire. Ile go indeed whom all the world deteſts, Who haue no intereſt in the fields of bliſſe, And barbarize among the barbarous beaſts, Where Tigers rage, Toades ſpue, and Serpents hiſſe. Yet though both th'Artike and Antartike Pole I ſhould ouerpaſſe, and find th'vnpeopled zones, A wilderneſſe where nought were to controule My damnable cruelties but trees and ſtones: Yet of my deeds which all the world do tell, All this could not deface th'infamous ſcroule, Within my breaſt I beare about my hell, And can not ſcape the horrours of my ſoule. Thoſe fearefull monſters of confuſd aſpects, Chimera, Gorgon, Hydra, helliſh apes, Which in the world wrought wonderfull effects, And borrowed from th'infernall ſhades their ſhapes. Their deuiliſh formes that did the world amaze, Not halfe ſo monſtrous as my ſelfe I finde, When on mine owne deformities I gaze, In the black depth of a polluted minde. No, but my mind vntainted ſtill remaines, My thoughts in this dilict haue had no part, Which accidentallie this foule fact ſtaines, My hands had no commiſſion of my hart. Yet, whether it was fortune or my fate, Or ſome hell-hag that did direct my arme, I quaild the Lidians hopes abortiue date, And am the inſtrument of all their harme. Then ſwelling mountaines come and fall vpon me, Your height may hide me from the wrath of heauen: But this needes not, my fault hath elſe vndone me, No torment can with my offence be euen. Ah of what deſart ſhall I now make choice, T'auoid the count'nance of an angrie King? I know th'auenging ſword of Croeſus voice, To wound my ſoule hoſtes of rebukes doth bring. No, th'obiect of diſtreſſe ile ſtand alone, A memorable monſter of miſhap, For though Pandoraes plagues were pour'd in one, All were too few ſo vile a wretch t'entrap. O how the King is mou'd with Atis death, His face th'impreſſion of a paſſion beares With bended eyes, croſtarmes, and quiuering breath, His princely roabe he deſperately teares. Lo, with a ſilent pittie-pleading looke, Which ſhewes with ſorrow mixt a high diſdeine, He whilſt his ſoule ſeemes to diſſolue in ſmoake, Whiles eyes the corps whiles him by whom t'is ſlaine. Thou ruthleſſe Tyrant, ruine of my bliſſe, And didſt thou ſo diſguiſe thy deuiliſh nature To recompence my courteſies with this? Ah cruell wretch, abhominable creature. Thy Tigriſh mind who could haue well detected? In mortall breaſts ſo great barbaritie? What forward ſprite could haue ſuch ſpight ſuſpected? In hoſpitalitie hoſtilitie? Did I reuiue thee when thy hopes were dead, When as thy life thy parents had not ſpar'd? And hauing heapt ſuch favours on thy head, Is this? Is this? he would ſay the reward.