Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T25: feare, kings, power, princes, lawes, loue, state, downe, honor, men.
Is not one, enuious there, in many eyes? Disease thus growne, the Crisis, and the Doome, Shew Princes must be ours, or we their Tombe. For as the Ocean, which is euer deepe, Vnder her smooth face, doth in secret keepe The vast content of deaths deuouring wombe, Where those desires which venture finde a tombe; AEolus, with sweet breath, making all things faire, Till he hath bound hope Prentise to his aire; Then adding more breath to that breath they spend, Makes tide with tide, and waue with waue contend? Enforcing men, for taxe, to throw their goods Into his mercilesse, entising floods; Where swallowing some in sight of those he spares, Euen they that prosper best must swarme with cares: So doth vast Power, at first, spread out her slights Of Grace, and Honor; smooth bewitching bayts; And when mens Liues, their Goods, and Libertie, Are left in trust once with her Tyrannie; Then, Ocean -like, blowne vp with stormes of passion, Which, but excesse, makes all seeme out of fashion, It takes aduange to deuoure the Iust, Because to Lawes, that limit Thrones, they trust Ruines the Wise, whose eye discernes too much, And thereby brings Powers errors to the touch; Discards the Learned, for the difference They make betweene the truth, and Princes sense; Staines the Religious, as if they withstood Powers will, the stampe of all that's currant good: Yet saues it some, that they may witnesse beare, Where Power raignes, there Worth must liue in feare. Thus are we Soothers, as all shaddowes be, Sworne to the bodies of Authority. Thus doe Inferiors, catch'd with their owne ends, Pay double vse for all the Scepter lends; Not seeing, while Man striues to stand by Grace, He offers Natures freedome vp to Place; Whose true relation, betweene Men, and Might, Assures vs, Thrones should not be infinite, Lastly, thus doe we suffer God to wayne, Vnder the Humors of a Sultans raigne. And in the fatall ruine of his Sonne, Cut off our owne liues, on a lesse threed spunne. WHo, standing in the shade of humble vallies, Lookes vp, and wonders at the state of hils; When he with toyle of weary limbes ascends, And feels his spirits melt with Phaebus glories, Or sinewes starke with AEolus bitter breathing, Or thunder-blasts, which comming from the skie, Doe fall most heauy on the places high: Then knowes (though farther seene, and farther seeing From hills aboue, than from the humble vallies) They multiply in woes, that adde in glories. Who weary is of Natures quiet Plaines, A meane estate, with poore, and chast desires; Whose Vertue longs for knees, Blisse for opinion; Who iudgeth pleasures Paradise in purple; Let him see me: No Gouernor of Castile, No petty Princes choice, whose weake dominions Make weake, vnnoble Counsels to be currant: But Bassha vnto Solyman; whose scepter, Nay seruants, haue dominion ouer Princes: Vnder whose feete, the foure forgotten Monarches, The footstooles lie of his eternall glorie: Euen I thus rais'd, this Solymans belou'd,
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)
Is not one, enuious there, in many eyes? Disease thus growne, the Crisis, and the Doome, Shew Princes must be ours, or we their Tombe. For as the Ocean, which is euer deepe, Vnder her smooth face, doth in secret keepe The vast content of deaths deuouring wombe, Where those desires which venture finde a tombe; AEolus, with sweet breath, making all things faire, Till he hath bound hope Prentise to his aire; Then adding more breath to that breath they spend, Makes tide with tide, and waue with waue contend? Enforcing men, for taxe, to throw their goods Into his mercilesse, entising floods; Where swallowing some in sight of those he spares, Euen they that prosper best must swarme with cares: So doth vast Power, at first, spread out her slights Of Grace, and Honor; smooth bewitching bayts; And when mens Liues, their Goods, and Libertie, Are left in trust once with her Tyrannie; Then, Ocean-like, blowne vp with stormes of passion, Which, but excesse, makes all seeme out of fashion, It takes aduange to deuoure the Iust, Because to Lawes, that limit Thrones, they trust Ruines the Wise, whose eye discernes too much, And thereby brings Powers errors to the touch; Discards the Learned, for the difference They make betweene the truth, and Princes sense; Staines the Religious, as if they withstood Powers will, the stampe of all that's currant good: Yet saues it some, that they may witnesse beare, Where Power raignes, there Worth must liue in feare. Thus are we Soothers, as all shaddowes be, Sworne to the bodies of Authority. Thus doe Inferiors, catch'd with their owne ends, Pay double vse for all the Scepter lends; Not seeing, while Man striues to stand by Grace, He offers Natures freedome vp to Place; Whose true relation, betweene Men, and Might, Assures vs, Thrones should not be infinite, Lastly, thus doe we suffer God to wayne, Vnder the Humors of a Sultans raigne. And in the fatall ruine of his Sonne, Cut off our owne liues, on a lesse threed spunne. WHo, standing in the shade of humble vallies, Lookes vp, and wonders at the state of hils; When he with toyle of weary limbes ascends, And feels his spirits melt with Phaebus glories, Or sinewes starke with AEolus bitter breathing, Or thunder-blasts, which comming from the skie, Doe fall most heauy on the places high: Then knowes (though farther seene, and farther seeing From hills aboue, than from the humble vallies) They multiply in woes, that adde in glories. Who weary is of Natures quiet Plaines, A meane estate, with poore, and chast desires; Whose Vertue longs for knees, Blisse for opinion; Who iudgeth pleasures Paradise in purple; Let him see me: No Gouernor of Castile, No petty Princes choice, whose weake dominions Make weake, vnnoble Counsels to be currant: But Bassha vnto Solyman; whose scepter, Nay seruants, haue dominion ouer Princes: Vnder whose feete, the foure forgotten Monarches, The footstooles lie of his eternall glorie: Euen I thus rais'd, this Solymans belou'd,