Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T2: rome, caesar, senate, sulla, roman, consul, brutus, romans, men, marius.
NOw, do our ears, before our eyes, Like men in mists, Discover, who'd the State surprise, And who resists? And, as these clouds do yield to light, Now, do we see, Our thoughts of things, how they did fight, Which seemed t'agree? Of what strange pieces are we made, Who nothing know; But, as new Airs our ears invade, Still censure so? That now do hope, and now do fear, And now envy; And then do hate, and then love dear, But know not, why: Or, if we do, it is so late, As our best mood, Though true, is then thought out of date, And empty of good. How have we changed, and come about In every doom, Since wicked Catiline went out, And quitted Rome? One while, we thought him innocent; And, then, w' accused The Consul, for his malice spent; And power abused. Since, that we hear, he is in Arms, We think not so: Yet charge the Consul, with our harms, That let him go. So, in our censure of the State, We still do wander; And make the careful Magistrate The mark of slander. What age is this, where honest men, Placed at the helm, A Sea of some foul mouth, or pen, Shall overwhelm? And call their diligence, deceit; Their virtue, vice; Their watchfulness, but lying in wait▪ And blood, the price. O, let us pluck this evil seed Out of our spirits; And give, to every noble deed, The name it merits. Lest we seem fallen (if this endures) Into those times, To love disease: and brook the cures Worse, than the crimes. IT is my fortune, and my glory, Soldiers, This day, to lead you on; the worthy Consul Kept from the honour of it, by disease: And I am proud, to have so brave a cause To exercise your arms in. We not, now, Fight for how long, how broad, how great, and large th'extent, and bounds o'th' people of Rome shall be; But to retain what our great Ancestors, With all their labours, counsels, arts, and actions, For us, were purchasing so many years. The quarrel is not, now, of fame, of tribute, Or of wrongs, done unto Confederates, For which, the Army of the people of Rome Was wont to move: but for your own Republic, For the raised Temples of th'immortal Gods, For all your Fortunes, Altars, and your Fires, For the dear souls of your loved Wives, and Children, Your Parents tombs, your Rites, Laws, Liberty, And, briefly, for the safety of the World: Against such men, as only by their crimes Are known; thrust out by riot, want, or rashness. One sort, Sylla's old troops, left here in Fesulae, Who suddenly made rich, in those dire times, Are since, by their unbounded, vast expense, Grown needy, and poor, and have but left t'expect, From Catiline, new Bills, and new Proscriptions. These men (they say) are valiant; yet, I think 'em Not worth your pause: For either their old virtue Is, in their sloth, and pleasures lost; or, if It tarry with 'em, so ill match to yours,
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)
NOw, do our eares, before our eyes, Like men in mistes, Discouer, who'ld the State surprise, And who resists? And, as these clouds doe yeeld to light, Now, do we see, Our thoughts of things, how they did fight, Which seem'd t'agree? Of what strange pieces are we made, Who nothing know; But, as new Ayres our eares inuade, Still censure so? That now do hope, and now doe feare, And now enuie; And then doe hate, and then loue deare, But know not, why: Or, if we doe, it is so late, As our best moode, Though true, is then thought out of date, And empty of good. How haue we chang'd, and come about In euery doome, Since wicked Catiline went out, And quitted Rome? One while, we thought him innocent; And, then, w' accus'd The Consul, for his malice spent; And power abus'd. Since, that we heare, he is in Armes, We thinke not so: Yet charge the Consul, with our harmes, That let him goe. So, in our censure of the State, VVe still do wander; And make the carefull Magistrate The marke of slaunder. VVhat age is this, where honest men▪ Plac'd at the helme, A Sea of some foule mouth, or pen, Shall ouerwhelme? And call their diligence, deceipt; Their vertue, vice; Their watchfulnesse, but lying in waite▪ And bloud, the price. O, let vs plucke this euill eede Out of our spirits; And giue, to euery noble deede, The name it merits. Least we seeme falne (if this endures) Into those times, To loue disease: and brooke the cures Worse, then the crimes. IT is my fortune, and my glory, Souldiers, This day, to lead you on; the worthy Consul Kept from the honor of it, by disease: And I am proud, to haue so braue a cause To exercise your armes in. We not, now, Fight for how long, how broad, how great, and large Th'extent, and bounds o'th' people of Rome shall bee; But to retaine what our great Ancestors, With all their labours, counsels, arts, and actions, For vs, were purchasing so many yeares. The quarrell is not, now, of fame, of tribute, Or of wrongs, done vnto Confederates, For which, the Army of the people of Rome VVas wont to moue: but for your owne Republique, For the rais'd Temples of th'immortall Gods, For all your Fortunes, Altars, and your Fires, For the deere soules of your lou'd Wiues, and Children, Your Parents tombes, your Rites, Lawes, Liberty, And, briefly, for the safety of the World: Against such men, as onely by their crimes Are knowne; thrust out by riot, want, or rashnesse. One sort, Sylla's old troopes, left here in Fesulae, Who sodainly made rich, in those dire times, Are since, by their vnbounded, vast expence, Growne needie, aud poore, and haue but left t'expect, From Catiline, new Billes, and new Proscriptions. These men (they say) are valiant; yet, I thinke 'hem Not worth your pause: For either their old vertue Is, in their sloth, and pleasures lost; or, if It tarry with 'hem, so ill match to yours,