Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T56: magic, faustus, charms, charm, conjure, spirits, skill, ho, power, spells.
To that dissembler, to that devil, say; To that Magician, trueborn Imp of hell, Speak thus; and let me thank your eloquence; For had he been produced of earthly race His charms and witchcraft could not so deceive My narrow apprehension, o attend! And I will make you weep before I end. Pheudippe like a frozen viper was Whom, I (delighted with a formal show) By chance took up, and warmth and life bestowed Upon this piteous creature; till at length He crept and crawled into my bosom; I Did suffer still, through plain simplicity, The serpent to become familiar; My table and my Trencher gave him food, Still did I suffer, still he slept and fed Upon my trembling bosom; he did kiss And lick my tender veins, as I did his: Still did I suffer, though my soundest friends bade me beware of such a subtle Guest, Giving fair cautions to embrace the best; Still did I suffer, and did scourge advice, With sharp rebukes, not valueing the price. So long I suffered, he so long did sleep, So long he licked me, and so long time crept, So long I loved him, he so long time wept With false affection, as he did confirm My not misdoubting friendship, which was firm, But after all my love, and all his tears, After my patience, and his creeping smiles, My long, long sufferance, and his thankful vows; After all these o God, my bosom groans To think, that after all such boundless good He wished to suck upon my royal blood. The subtle wretch, in mischief, did rejoice, And was corrupted by the people's voice. True, they corrupt, whom they still hope to please The people's physic, doth inflame disease. Foul vengeance choke the people, and their love, They do deject whom they advance above: The people's suffrage, to a rising youth Is like their folly at a public Stage, Striving to purchase a dumb audience By multitude of clamour; they suppose Peace is engendered by still crying peace, As if confusion did by murmur cease: So they imagine, by their open mouth, To make a Giant, though but scarce a man: They speak him virtuous, bountiful, and wise Hoping polluted breath, might Canonize Whom they (with dirty palms) do seem to raise, And bind his Temples with their stinking bay: No, they but make him dizzy, deaf, and mad, Whom they desire to make a demi-god; Their multitudes of clamour do beget A most uncured swimming of the head; For so the rules of ringing do agree, Confusion ever spoils a harmony. What Coxcomb now dares call Menander mad? Do not (I pray) abuse me (noble boys) Although I be a Poet; all men know I never writ of Cupid's whirligig, Of amorous conceits, nor dalliance, And just so long as Poets will abstain From foolish love and Cupid's deity. The poet's Art is counted Piety. But if the tenor of a lovesick Theme Stuff rotten Volumes then the Author's mad, Or Moonsick, some judicious bookmen, say, Though others, amid' earnest, allow play.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
To that dissembler, to that deuil, say; To that Magitian, true-borne Impe of hell, Speake thus; and let mee thanke your eloquence; For had hee beene produc'd of earthly race His charmes and witch-craft could not so deceiue My narrow apprehension, ô atend! And I will make you weepe before I end. Pheud ppe like a frozen viper was Whom, I (delighted with a formall shew) By chance tooke vp, and warmth and life bestow'd Vpon this piteous creature; till at length Hee crept and crawl'd into my bosome; I Did suffer still, through plaine simplicity, The sepent to become familar; My table and my Trencher gaue him food, Still did I suffer, still hee slept and fed Vpon my trembling bosome; hee did kisse And licke my tenderveines, as I did his: Still did I suffer, though my soundest friends Bad mee beware of such a subtle Guest, Giuing faire cautions to embrace the best; Still did I suffer, and did scourge aduice, With sharpe rebukes, not valewing the price. So long I suffered, hee so long did sleepe, So long hee lick'd mee, and so long time crept, So long I lou'd him, hee so long time wept With false affection, as hee did confirme My not mis-doubting friend-ship, which was firme, But after all my loue, and all his teares, After my patience, and his creeping smiles, My long, long sufferance, and his thankefull vowes; After all these ô God, my bosome groanes To thinke, that after all such boundlesse good Hee wish'd to sucke vpon my royall bloud. The subtle wretch, in mischiefe, did reioyce, And was corrupted by the peoples voyce. True, they corrupt, whom they still hope to please The peoples physicke, doth enflame disease. Foule vengeance choake the people, and their loue, They doe deiect whom they aduance aboue: The peoples suffrage, to a rising youth Is like their folly at a publicke Stage, Striuing to purchase a dumbe audience By multitude of clamour; they suppose Peace is engendred by still crying peace, As if confusion did by murmure cease: So they imagine, by their open mouth, To make a Gyant, though but scarce a man: They speake him vertuous, bountifull, and wise Hoping polluted breath, might Canonize Whom they (with durty palmes) do seeme to raise, And bind his Temples with their stinking baies: No, they but make him dizzy, deafe, and mad, Whom they desire to make a demi-god; Their multitudes of clamour doe beget A most vn-cured swimming of the head; For so the rules of ringing do agree, Confusion euer spoiles a harmony. What Cox-combe now dares call Menander mad Doe not (I pray) abuse mee (noble boyes) Although I be a Poet; all men know I neuer writ of Cupids whirligig, Of amorous conceites, nor daliance, And iust so long as Poets will abstaine From foolish loue and Cupids Diety. The Poets Art is counted Piety. But if the tenor of a loue-sicke Theame Stuffe rotten Volumnes then the Author's mad, Or Moone-sicke, some iudicious booke-men, say, Though others, amid' earnest, allow play.