Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T2: rome, caesar, senate, sulla, roman, consul, brutus, romans, men, marius.
The rugged Charon fainted, And asked a navy, rather than a boat, To ferry over the sad world that came: The maws, and dens of beasts could not receive The bodies, that those souls were frighted from; And even the graves were filled with men yet living, Whose flight, and fear had mixed them, with the dead. And this shall be again, and more, and more, Now Lentulus, the third Cornelius, Is to stand up in Rome. Nay, urge not that Is so uncertain. How! I mean, not cleared. And, therefore, not to be reflected on. The Sybill's leaves uncertain? or the Comments Of our grave, deep, divining men not clear? All Prophecies, you know, suffer the torture. But this, already, hath confessed without. And so been weighed, examined, and compared, As 't were malicious ignorance in him, Would faint in the belief. Do you believe it? Do I love Lentulus? or pray to see it? The Augurs all are constant, I am meant. They had lost their science else. They count from Cinna. And Sylla next, and so make you the third; All that can say the Sun is risen, must think it. Men mark me more, of late, as I come forth. Why, what can they do less? Cinna, and Sylla Are set, and gone: And we must turn our eyes On him that is, and shines. Noble Cethegus, But view him with me, here: He looks, already, As if he shook a Sceptre, o'er the Senate, And the awed purple dropped their rods, and axes. The Statues melt again; and household Gods In groans confess the travail of the City; The very walls sweat blood before the change; And stones start out to ruin, ere it comes. But he, and we, and all are idle still. I am your creature, Sergius: And what ere The great Cornelian Name shall win to be, It is not Augury, nor the Sibyl's Books, But Catiline that makes it. I am shadow To honoured Lentulus, and Cethegus here, Who are the heirs of Mars. By Mars himself, Catiline is more my parent: For whose virtue Earth cannot make a shadow great enough, Though Envy should come too. O, there theyare. Now we shall talk more, though we yet do nothing. Hail Lucius Catiline. Hail noble Sergius. Hail Publius Lentulus. Hail the third Cornelius. Caius Cethegus hail. Hail sloth, and words, In steed of Men, and Spirits. Nay, dear Caius; Are your eyes yet unseeled? Dare they look day In the dull face? he's zealous, for th'affair; And blames your tardy coming, Gentlemen. Unless, we had sold ourselves to sleep, and ease, And would be our slaves slaves. Pray you forbear. The North is not so stark, and cold. Cethegus. We shall redeem all, if your fire will let us. You are too full of lightning, noble Caius. Boy, see all doors be shut, that none approach us, On this part of the house. Go you, and bid The Priest, he kill the slave I marked last night; And bring me of his blood, when I shall call him: Till then, wait all without. How is't, Autronius!
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)
The rugged Charon fainted, Ad ask'd a naue, rather then a boate, To ferry ouer the sad world that came: The mawes, ad dennes of beasts could not receiue The bodies, that those soules were frighted from; Ad e'en te graues were fild with men yet liuing, Whose flight, and feare had mix'd them, with the dead. And this shall be againe, and more, and more, Now Lentulus, the third Cornelius, Is to stand vp in Rome. Nay, vrge not that Is so vncertaine. How! I meane, not clear'd. And, therefore, not to be reflected on. The Sybill's leaues vncertaine? or the Comments Of our graue, deepe, diuining men no cleare? All Prophecies, you know, suffer the torture. But this, already, hath confess'd without. And so beene weigh'd, examin'd, and compar'd, As 't were malicious ignorance in him, Woud aint in the beliefe. Doe you beleeue it? Doe I loue Lentulus? or pray to see it? The Augures all are constant, I am meant. They had lost their science else. They count from Cinna. And Sylla nex, and so make you the third; All that can say the Sunne is ris'n, must thinke it. Men marke me more, of late, as I come forth. Why, what can they doe lesse? Cinna, and Sylla Are set, and gone: And we must turne our eyes On him that is, and shines. Noble Cethegus, But view him with me, here: He lookes, already, As if he shooke a Scepter, o're the Senate, And the aw'd purple dropt their roddes, and axes. The Statues melt againe; and houshold Gods In grones confesse the trauaile of the City; The very walles sweate blood before the change; And stones start out to ruine, ere it comes. But he, and we, and all are idle still. I am your creature, Sergius: And what ere The great Cornelian Name shall winne to be, It is not Augury, nor the Sybils Bookes, But Catiline that makes it. I am shadow To honor'd Lentulus, and Cethegus here, Who are the heires of Mars. By Mars himselfe, Catiline is more my parent: For whose vertue Earth cannot make a shadow great inough, Though Enuie should come too. O, there they'are. Now we shall talke more, though we yet doe nothing. HAile Lucius Catiline. Haile noble Sergius. Haile Publius Lentulus. Haile the third Cornelius. Caius Cethegus haile. Haile sloth, and words, In steed of Men, and Spirits. Nay, deare Caius; Are your eyes yet vneel'd? Dare they looke day In the dull face? Hee's zealous, for the'affaire; And blames your tardy comming, Gentlemen. Vnlesse, we had sold our selues to sleepe, and ease, And would be our slaues slaues. Pray you forbeare. The North is not so starke, and cold. Cethegus. We shall redeeme all, if your fire will let vs. You are too full of lightning, noble Caius. Boy, see all doores be shut, that none approch vs, On this part of the house. Go you, and bid The Priest, he kill the slaue I mark'd last night; And bring me of his bloud, when I shall call him: Till then, waite all without. How is't, Autronius!