Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T25: feare, kings, power, princes, lawes, loue, state, downe, honor, men.
Fond Man! distract with diuers thoughts on foot, That rack'st thy selfe, & Natures peace do'st breake; Iudgenot the Gods aboue: it doth not boot, Nor doe thou see that which thou dar'st not speake. Power hath great scope; she walkes not in the wayes Of priuate truth: Vertues of common men Are not the same which shine in Kings aboue, And doe make feare bring forth the workes of loue. Admit that Mustapha not guilty bee; Who by his Prince will rise, his Prince must please; And they that please iudge with humility. Yonder they are, whose charge must be discharged, In Ross●'s face behold desire speaketh, He keepes the lawes, that all lawes forme breaketh. Is Mustapha in health, and coming? My Lord! already come: For what can stay, Where Lo●e, and Dutie both teach to obey? In what strange ballance are mans humors peised? Since each light change within vs, or without. Turnes feare to hope, and hope againe to doubt. If thus it worke in Man, much more in Thrones, Whose tender heights feele all thinne aires that moue, And worke that change below they vse aboue. For on the Axis of our humors turne Church-rites, and Lawes; Subiects desire, and wit; Al● which, in all men come, and goe with it. Rossa! a King ought therefore to suspect Feares, fearefull counsells which incline to blood, Wherein, but truths, no Influence is good. Else will inferior practise euer cast Such glasly shaddowes vpon all our errors, As he that sees not ruine, shall see terrors. Power therefore should affect the Peoples stampe, " Whose good, or ill thoughts, euer proue to Kings, Like aire, which either health, or sicknesse brings. Now Rossa! by these straight lines, if we sound The hollow depths of Rostens mysterie; He will the canker of this State be found. Long hath he wau'd betwixt my sonne, and me, Making succession sacred, whilst he felt Practise could not diuide the barke, and tree: His end being not to finde, or cherish truth, But rather vices, where his Art works ruth. Long hath he weigh'd our humors with his ends, To finde which nature was the fittest mould For him, to bring to passe in, what he would. And though his power be on my old age built, Yet that, as slow to ruine, he dislikes: Guilt seeking shields for euery blow it strikes. Now in my Sonne though actiue powers he finde, Yet what he cannot gouerne, giues offence; From birth, or worth, still fearing competence. He grounds this worke on iealousie of Kings, " Where hopefull goodnesses oft in Successors Seeme not strengths, as they bee, but strong oppressors. And when this Art could not procure his fall, Nor shape our humors like Procustes bed,
seed 43: T25 · seed 44: T6 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Fond Man! distract with diuers thoughts on foot, That rack'st thy selfe, & Natures peace do'st breake; Iudgenot the Gods aboue: it doth not boot, Nor doe thou see that which thou dar'st not speake. Power hath great scope; she walkes not in the wayes Of priuate truth: Vertues of common men Are not the same which shine in Kings aboue, And doe make feare bring forth the workes of loue. Admit that Mustapha not guilty bee; Who by his Prince will rise, his Prince must please; And they that please iudge with humility. Yonder they are, whose charge must be discharged, In Ross's face behold desire speaketh, He keepes the lawes, that all lawes forme breaketh. Is Mustapha in health, and coming? My Lord! already come: For what can stay, Where Loe, and Dutie both teach to obey? In what strange ballance are mans humors peised? Since each light change within vs, or without. Turnes feare to hope, and hope againe to doubt. If thus it worke in Man, much more in Thrones, Whose tender heights feele all thinne aires that moue, And worke that change below they vse aboue. For on the Axis of our humors turne Church-rites, and Lawes; Subiects desire, and wit; Al which, in all men come, and goe with it. Rossa! a King ought therefore to suspect Feares, fearefull counsells which incline to blood, Wherein, but truths, no Influence is good. Else will inferior practise euer cast Such glasly shaddowes vpon all our errors, As he that sees not ruine, shall see terrors. Power therefore should affect the Peoples stampe, " Whose good, or ill thoughts, euer proue to Kings, " Like aire, which either health, or sicknesse brings. Now Rossa! by these straight lines, if we sound The hollow depths of Rostens mysterie; He will the canker of this State be found. Long hath he wau'd betwixt my sonne, and me, Making succession sacred, whilst he felt Practise could not diuide the barke, and tree: His end being not to finde, or cherish truth, But rather vices, where his Art works ruth. Long hath he weigh'd our humors with his ends, To finde which nature was the fittest mould For him, to bring to passe in, what he would. And though his power be on my old age built, Yet that, as slow to ruine, he dislikes: Guilt seeking shields for euery blow it strikes. Now in my Sonne though actiue powers he finde, Yet what he cannot gouerne, giues offence; From birth, or worth, still fearing competence. He grounds this worke on iealousie of Kings, " Where hopefull goodnesses oft in Successors " Seeme not strengths, as they bee, but strong oppressors. And when this Art could not procure his fall, Nor shape our humors like Procustes bed,