Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T2: rome, caesar, senate, sulla, roman, consul, brutus, romans, men, marius.
But since his fortune did confound them all, That in the fields to match him did begin; Whilst he by thousands made their bands to fall, With hoary legions always used to win. As Pompey's, Scipio's, and Petreius ghosts, In lightlesse shades may by experience tell, That after th'overthrow of their numbrous hosts, All famous (though infortunately) fell, And since provided for the Parthian war, His army in arms attends on his decree, Where we sequestered from such forces far, Would, if suspected, straight prevented be; With some few friends, whom all things now t'assay, A love to us, or to their country binds, We to his wrack must walk another way, Whilst ere our tongues, our hands do tell our minds. Now when most high, and therefore hated most, Th'assembled Senate seeks to make him king; We must go give the blow before we boast, And him to death, Rome out of bondage bring. In all this course I only one thing blame, That we should steal, what we may justly take, By clothing honour with a cloak of shame, Which may our cause (though good) more odious make. O, I could wish, with honourable wounds T'affront Rome's enemy in the battles dust; No sweeter music than the Trumpets sounds, When Right and Valour keep a consort just. Then free if quick, else dead for nought being feared, I always once contented might remain; What tomb t'a man more glorious can be reared, Than mountains made of them that he hath slain? But how are my transported thoughts grown such, That they disdain a measure now t'admit? As bent not what to do, but to do much, I on the throne of Glory strived to sit. No, to the state me from myself I give, Free from particular respects, t'expose My life and all for it, and whilst I live, So that it gain, I care not what I lose. I'll never rest till he for ever rest, That gives my country such a cause of grief; And that t'effect no form I will detest, Nor for my fame endanger Rome's relief. But (worthy Cassius) ere we further do, Let us the minds of our familiars feel, Of which I hope to have assistance too, Who will not hazard for his country's weal. Now whilst my soul rests ravished in a trance, I think I see great Rome her courage raise, Bent to beat th'air with songs, th'earth with a dance, And crown thy virtues with deserved praise. MY dearest half, my comfort, my delight, That only servest to sweeten all my sours, Thou in my bosom used t'uncharge thy sprite, And in my presence spared afflictions powers. Still when domestic broils disturbed thy rest, Whilst by thyself thou laboured for relief, Thou with calm words disguised a stormy breast, Lest I had been infected with thy grief: For such of me was thy respective care, No cause of miscontentment was made known, But with affections colours painted fair, All that might make me glad, was gladly shown.
seed 43: T1 · seed 44: T2 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
But ſince his fortune did confound them all, That in the fields to match him did beginne; Whilſt he by thouſands made their bands to fall, With hoarie legions alwayes vſde to winne. As Pompeys, Scipioes, and Petreius ghoſts, In lightleſſe ſhades may by experience tell, That after th'ouerthrow of their numbrous hoſts, All famous (though infortunately) fell, And ſince prouided for the Parthian wrarre, His armie in armes attends on his decree, Where we ſequeſtred from ſuch forces farre, Would, if ſuſpected, ſtrait preuented be; With ſome few friends, whom all things now t'aſſay, A loue to vs, or to their countrie bindes, We to his wracke muſt walke another way, Whilſt ere our tongues, our handes doe tell our mindes. Now when moſt high, and therefore hated moſt, Th'aſſembled Senate ſeekes to make him king; We muſt goe giue the blow before we boaſt, And him to death, Rome out of bondage bring. In all this courſe I onely one thing blame, That we ſhould ſteale, what we may iuſtly take, By clothing honour with a cloake of ſhame, Which may our cauſe (thogh good) more odious make. O, I could wiſh, with honourable wounds T'affront Romes enemy in the battells duſt; No ſweeter muſicke than the Trumpets ſounds, When Right and Valour keepe a conſort iuſt. Then free if quicke, elſe dead for nought being feard, I alwayes once contented might remaine; What tombe t'a man more glorious can be rear'd, Than mountaines made of them that he hath ſlaine? But how are my tranſported thoughts growne ſuch, That they diſdaine a meaſure now t'admit? As bent not what to doe, but to do much, I on the throne of Glorie ſtriu'd to ſit. No, to the ſtate me from my ſelfe I giue, Free from particular reſpects, t'expoſe My life and all for it, and whilſt I liue, So that it gaine, I care not what I loſe. Ile neuer reſt till he for euer reſt, That giues my country ſuch a cauſe of griefe; And that t'effect no forme I will deteſt, Nor for my fame endanger Romes reliefe. But (worthy Caſsius) ere we further doe, Let vs the mindes of our familiars feele, Of which I hope to haue aſſiſtance too, Who will not hazard for his countries weale. Now whilſt my ſoule reſts rauiſht in a traunce, I thinke I ſee great Rome her courage raiſe, Bent to beat th'aire with ſongs, th'earth with a daunce, And crowne thy vertues with deſerued praiſe. MY deareſt halfe, my comfort, my delight, That onely ſeru'ſt to ſweeten all my ſowres, Thou in my boſome vſde t'vncharge thy ſpright, And in my preſence ſparde afflictions powres. Still when domeſtike broiles diſturbde thy reſt, Whilſt by thy ſelfe thou labord for reliefe, Thou with calme wordes diſguiſde a ſtormie breaſt, Leſt I had bin infected with thy griefe: For ſuch of me was thy reſpectiue care, No cauſe of miſcontentment was made knowne, But with affections colors painted faire, All that might make me glad, was gladly ſhowne.