Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T19: virtue, fortune, virtues, honour, fame, vice, envy, world, pride, great.
(That secret would have burnt his reverend mouth, Had he not spit it out, now:) by the gods, You carry things too— let me borrow'a man, Or two, to bear these— That of freeing Drusus, CAESAR projected as the last, and utmost; Not else to be remembered. Here are servants. These to Arruntius, these to Lepidus, This bear to COTTA, this to LATIARIS. If they demand you'of me: say, I have ta'en Fresh horse, and am departed. You (my lord) To your colleague, and be you sure, to hold him With long narration, of the new fresh favours, Meant to Sejanus, his great patron; ay, With trusted LACO, here, are for the guards: Then, to divide. For, night hath many eyes, Whereof, though most do sleep, yet some are spies. BE all profane far hence; Fly, fly far off: Be absent far. far hence be all profane. We have been faulty, but repent us now, And bring pure hands, pure vestments, and pure minds. Pure vessels. And pure offerings. Garlands pure. Bestow your garlands: and (with reverence) place The vervin on the altar. Favour your tongues. Great mother FORTUNE, Queen of human state, rectress of action, Arbitress of fate, To whom all sway, all power, all empire bows, Be present, and propitious to our vows. Favour it with your tongues. Be present, and propitious to our vows. Accept our offering, and be pleased, great goddess. See, see, the image stirs! And turns away! Fortune averts her face! Avert, you gods, The prodigy. Still! still! Some pious rite We have neglected. Yet! heaven, be appeased. And be all tokens false, or void, that speak Thy present wrath. Be thou dumb, scrupulous priest: And gather up thyself, with these thy wares, Which I, in spite of thy blind mistress, or Thy juggling mystery, religion, throw Thus, scorned on the earth. Nay, hold thy look Averted, till I woo thee, turn again; And thou shalt stand, to all posterity, Th'eternal game, and laughter, with thy neck Writhed to thy tail, like a ridiculous cat. Avoid these fumes, these superstitious lights, And all these cozening ceremonies: you, Your pure, and spiced conscience. ay, the slave, And mock of fools, (scorn on my worthy head) That have been titled, and adored a god, Yea, sacrificed unto, myself, in Rome, No less than JOVE: and I be brought, to do A peevish giglet rites? Perhaps, the thought, And shame of that made Fortune turn her face, Knowing herself the lesser deity, And but my servant. Bashful queen, if so, Sejanus thanks thy modesty. Who's that? HIs fortune suffers, till he hears my news: I have waited here too long. MACRO, my lord— Speak lower, & withdraw. Are these things true? Thousands are gazing at it, in the streets. What's that? Minutius tells us here, my lord, That, a new head being set upon your statue, A rope is since found wreathed about it! and, But now, a fiery meteor, in the form Of a great ball, was seen to roll along The troubled air, where yet it hangs, unperfect, The amazing wonder of the multitude!
seed 43: T13 · seed 44: T16 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
(That secret would haue burn't his reuerend mouth, Had he not spit it out, now:) by the gods, You carry things too—let me borrow'a man, Or two, to beare these— That of freeing DRVSVS, CAESAR proiected as the last, and vtmost; Not else to be remembred. Here are seruants. These to ARRVNTIVS, these to LEPIDVS, This beare to COTTA, this to LATIARIS. If they demand you'of me: say, I haue tane Fresh horse, and am departed. You (my lord) To your colleague, and be you sure, to hold him With long narration, of the new fresh fauours, Meant to SEIANVS, his great patron; I, With trusted LACO, here, are for the guards: Then, to diuide. For, night hath many eies, Whereof, though most doe sleepe, yet some are spies. BE all profane farre hence; Flie, flie farre off: Be absent farre. Farre hence be all profane. We haue beene faultie, but repent vs now, And bring pure hands, pure vestments, and pure minds. Pure vessells. And pure offrings. Garlands pure. Bestow your garlands: and (with reuerence) place The veruin on the altar. Fauour your tongues. Great mother FORTVNE, Queene of humane state, Rectresse of action, Arbitresse of fate, To whom all sway, all power, all empire bowes, Be present, and propitious to our vowes. Fauour it with your tongues. Be present, and propitious to our vowes. Accept our offring, and be pleas'd, great goddesse. See, see, the image stirres! And turnes away! Fortune auerts her face! Auert, you gods, The prodigie. Still! still! Some pious rite We haue neglected. Yet! heau'n, be appeas'd. And be all tokens false, or void, that speake Thy present wrath. Be thou dumbe, scrupulous priest: And gather vp thy selfe, with these thy wares, Which I, in spight of thy blind mistris, or Thy iuggling mysterie, religion, throw Thus, scorned on the earth. Nay, hold thy looke Auerted, till I woo thee, turne againe; And thou shalt stand, to all posteritie, Th'eternall game, and laughter, with thy neck Writh'd to thy taile, like a ridiculous cat. Auoid these fumes, these superstitious lights, And all these coos'ning ceremonies: you, Your pure, and spiced conscience. I, the slaue, And mock of fooles, (scorne on my worthy head) That haue beene titled, and ador'd a god, Yea, sacrific'd vnto, my selfe, in Rome, No lesse then IOVE: and I be brought, to doe A peeuish gigglot rites? Perhaps, the thought, And shame of that made Fortune turne her face, Knowing her selfe the lesser deitie, And but my seruant. Bashfull queene, if so, SEIANVS thankes thy modestie. Who's that? HIs fortune suffers, till he heares my newes: I haue waited here too long. MACRO, my lord— Speake lower, & with-draw. Are these things true? Thousands are gazing at it, in the streets. What's that? MINVTIVS tells vs here, my lord, That, a new head being set vpon your statue, A rope is since found wreath'd about it! and, But now, a fierie meteor, in the forme Of a great ball, was seene to rowle along The troubled ayre, where yet it hangs, vnperfect, The amazing wonder of the multitude!