Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T2: rome, caesar, senate, sulla, roman, consul, brutus, romans, men, marius.
Of our great cause, in form of battle, stood. Whilst Catiline came on, not with the face Of any man, but of a public ruin: His Countenance was a civil war itself. And all his host had standing in their looks The paleness of the death, that was to come. Yet cried they out like Vultures, and urged on, As if they would precipitate our fates. Nor stayed we longer for 'em; But himself Struck the first stroke: And, with it, fled a life. Which cut, it seemed a narrow neck of land Had broke between two mighty Seas; and either Flowed into other; for so did the slaughter: And whirled about, as when two violent Tides Meet, and not yield. The Furies stood, on hills Circling the place, and trembled to see men Do more, than they: whilst Piety left the field, Grieved for that side, that, in so bad a cause, They knew not, what a crime their valour was. The Sun stood still, and was, behind the cloud The battle made, seen sweeting, to drive up His frighted Horse, whom still the noise drove backward. And now had fierce Enyo, like a flame, Consumed all it could reach, and then itself; Had not the Fortune of the Commonwealth Come Pallas-like, to every Roman thought. Which Catiline seeing, and that now his Troops. Covered that earth, they ' had fought on, with their trunks, Ambitious of great fame, to crown his ill, Collected all his fury, and ran in (Armed with a glory, high as his despair) Into our battle, like a Lybian Lion, Upon his hunters, scornful of our weapons, Careless of wounds, plucking down lives about him, Till he had circled in himself with death: Then fell he too, t'embrace it where it lay. And as, in that rebellion against the Gods, Minerva holding forth Medusa's head, One of the Giant Brethren felt himself Grow marble at the kill sight, and now, Almost made stone, began t'inquire, what flint, What rock it was, that crept through all his limbs, And, ere he could think more, was that he feared; So Catiline, at the fight of Rome in us, Became his Tomb: yet did his look retain Some of his fierceness, and his hands still moved, As if he laboured, yet, to grasp the State, With those rebellious parts. A brave bad death. Had this been honest now, and for his Country, As 'twas against it, who had ere fallen greater? Honoured Petreius, Rome, not I must thank you. How modestly has he spoken of himself! He did the more. Thanks to the'immortall Gods, Romans, I now am paid for all my labours, My watchings, and my dangers. Here conclude Your praises, triumphs, honours, and rewards Decreed to me: only the memory Of this glad day, if I may know it live Within your thoughts, shall much affect my conscience, Which I must always study before fame. Though both be good, the latter yet is worst, And ever is ill got, without the first.
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)
Of our great cause, in forme of battaile, stood. Whilst Catiline came on, not with the face Of any man, but of a publique ruine: His Count'nance was a ciuill warre it selfe. And all his host had standing in their lookes The palenesse of the death, that was to come. Yet cryed they out like Vultures, and vrg'd on▪ As if they would praecipitate our fates. Nor staid we longer for 'hem; But himselfe Strooke the first stroke: And, with it, fled a life. Which cut, it seem'd a narrow necke of land Had broke betweene two mighty Seas; and either Flow'd into other; for so did the slaughter: And whirl'd about, as when two violent Tides Meete, and not yeeld. The Furies stood, on hilles Circling the place, and trembled to see men Doe more, then they: whilst Piety left the field, Grieu'd for that side, that, in so bad a cause, They knew not, what a crime their valour was. The Sunne stood still, and was, behinde the cloud The battaile made, seene sweating, to driue vp His frighted Horse, whom still the noise droue backward. And now had fierce Enyo, like a flame, Consum'd all it could reach, and then it selfe; Had not the Fortune of the Common-wealth Come Pallas-like, to euery Roman thought. Which Catiline seeing, and that now his Troopes. Couer'd that earth, they' had fought on, with their trunkes, Ambitious of great fame, to crowne his ill, Collected all his fury, and ranne in (Arm'd with a glory, high as his despaire) Into our battaile, like a Lybian Lion, Vpon his hunters, scornefull of our weapons, Carelesse of wounds, plucking downe liues about him, Till he had circled in himselfe with death: Then fell he too, t'embrace it where it lay. And as, in that rebellion 'gainst the Gods, Minerua holding forth Medusa's head, One of the Gyant Brethren felt himselfe Grow marble at the killing sight, and now, Almost made stone, beganne t'inquire, what flint, What rocke it was, that crept through all his limmes, And, ere he could thinke more, was that he fear'd; So Catiline, at the ight of Rome in vs, Became his Tombe: yet did his looke retaine Some of his fiercenesse, and his hands still mou'd, As if he labor'd, yet, to graspe the State, VVith those rebellious parts. A braue bad death. Had this beene honest now, and for his Countrey, As 'twas against it, who had ere fallen greater? Honor'd Petreius, Rome, not I must thanke you. How modestly has he spoken of himselfe! He did the more. Thanks to the'immortall Gods, Romans, I now am paid for all my labors, My watchings, and my dangers. Here conclude Your praises, triumphes, honors, and rewards Decreed to me: only the memory Of this glad day, if I may know it liue VVithin your thoughts, shall much affect my conscience, VVhich I must alwaies study before fame. " Though both be good, the latter yet is worst, " And euer is ill got, without the first.