Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T53: crown, king, state, life, lord, lords, live, queen, tullia, prince.
O pacify great King.— Your yawning voice With a full concord of my furious palm If you produce another syllable You most notorious caitiff, you mad cur, Thou politicians dog, did I advance Thy ragged fortunes to degrade myself, Make thee a partner of my kingdoms joy Give thee my kingdoms pleasure, wealth, and wives, When I (made foolish) to make thee as King Took the bare title and a glorious heap Of golden sorrow requisite for Kings, Keeping the best (by privilege) for thee Without a second rival? thus I did, Nay, did I thus and yet thou prove unkind? I call my faith in question to demand Such needless truth, for thou didst prove unkind, Contriving the subversion of my rule Which gave a perfect essence to thy soul, Submit, submit for shame, and say forgive: Say but forgive and I am gracious. I am not (sacred King) as you suppose The tortured Ghost of that inglorious man Pheudippe, sunk below the verge of hell. But old Mantesio is my servile name, Once did I serve whom you so much did love, The murdered honour of that haughty Duke. Thou Spirit of delusion, o affirm This doubtful figment; once again deny A soul of reason to thy Sovereign. My flesh doth witness for me I do live. Am I then mad Mantesio? agree You are no Ghost and make the consequence. But brother, who's mad now? not Messala. Deride us then, and be ridiculous. Tell me Mantesio, why didst talk of curse, Discarded woe, and vexing misery? Of all I tasted in extremity. Lives there that soul upon the spacious globe, Which doth uprightly think it can deserve Extremity of sorrow, heaps of woe As did Pheudippe? it's impossible: No (good old man) though thy large multitude Of capital offences do exceed, The wandering stars, I may account thee clean, Like a religious innocent, or babe, As a bright Angel, to Pheudippe's shame. Yet am I poor, and will partake in woe: Canst be distracted? melancholic? mad? Swear by the beauty of the burning Zone? Look like a deadman's skull, most scurvily? Laugh, weep, rail, swear, and hang thyself at once? Rend off thy pleated hair, be lunatic? Live naked in a tempting wilderness? Call me Don. Ajax? live by roots and herbs? Be a true malcontent? be ever sad? Cloudy, like Christmas? be disconsolate? And (above all) renounce society? If thus thou canst observe a dogged change, If gloomy sorrow (made excessive strange) Stab thy distracted senses to the life, we may dispatch all sense without a knife. But who comes here? A Poet (precious sir) Thy name? Perillus. O advance thy tune, Provoke thy sharp Melpomene to sing The story of a beggar and the King. Canst command Poems un-praemedite? I have a little smack of poesy, Can smell the amber-breath that rapture brings, Upon receipt of which my consort sings.
seed 43: T57 · seed 44: T6 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
O pacifye great King.— —Your yawning voice With a full concord of my furious palme If you produce another syllable You most notorious caitife, you mad curre, Thou Polititians dg, did I aduance Thy ragged fortunes to degrade my selfe, Make thee a partner of my Kingdomes ioy Giue thee my Kingdomes pleasure, wealth, and wiues, When I (made foolish) to make thee as King Tooke the bare title and a glorious heape Of golden sorrow requisite for Kings, Keeping the best (by priuiledge) for thee Without a second riuall? thus I did, Nay, did I thus and yet thou proue vnkind? I call my faith in question to demand Such need-lesse truth, for thou didst proue vnkind, Contriuing the subucision of my rule Which gaue a perfect essence to thy soule, Submit, submit for shame, and say forgiue: Say but forgiue and I am gratious. I am not (sacred King) as you suppuse The tortur'd Ghost of that in-glorious man Pheudippe, sunke below the verge of hell. But old Mantesio is my seruile name, Once did I serue whom you so much did loue, The murdered honour of that haughty Duke. Thou Spirit of delusion, affirme This doubtfull figment; once againe deny A soule of reason to thy Soueraigne. My flesh doth witnesse for mee I doe liue. Am I then mad Mantesio? agree Your are no Ghost and make the consequence. But brother, who's mad now? not Messala. Deride vs then, and be ridiculous. Tell mee Mantesio, why didst talke of curse, Discarded woe, and vexing misery? Of all I tasted in extremity. Liues there that soule vpon the spacious globe, Which doth vprightly thinke it can deserue Extremity of sorrow, heapes of woe As did Pheudippe? it's impossible: No (good old man) though thy large multitude Of capitall offences do exceed, The wandring starres, I may account thee cleane, Like a religious innocent, or babe, As a bright Angell, to Pheudippe's shame. Yet am I poore, and will partake in woe: Canst be distracted? melancholicke? mad? Sweare by the beauty of the burning Zone? Looke like a dead-mans scull, most scirvily? Laugh, weepe, raile, sweare, and hang thy selfe at once? Rend off thy pleated haire, be lunaticke? Liue naked in a tempting wildernesse? Call mee Don. Aiax? liue by roots and hearbes? Be a true male-content? be ever sad? Cloudy, like Christmas? be dis-consolate? And (aboue all) renounce society? If thus thou canst obserue a dogged change, If gloomy sorrow (made excessiue strange) Stab thy distracted senses to the life, Wee may dispatch all sence without a knife. But who comes heere? A Poet (pretious sir) Thy name? Perillus. O aduance thy tune, Provoke thy sharpe Melpomene to sing The story of a begger and the King. Canst command Poems vn-praemedite? I haue a little smacke of poesie, Can smell the amber-breath that rapture brings, Vpon receit of which my consort sings.