Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T24: apollo, phoebus, midas, muses, ears, play, hedone, gods, siren, time.
THe Signs are (q) lucky all, and (q) right There hath not been a voice, or flight Of ill Presage. Linus. The (r) bird that brings Her Augury alone to Kings The Dove, hath flown. Orpheus. And to thy peace Fortunes and the Fates increase. Minerva's Heronshaw and her Owl, Do both proclaim, thou shalt control The course of things. Idmon. As now they be With tumult carried: Apollo. And live free From hatred, faction, or the fear, To blast the Olive thou dost wear. Moore is behind, which these do long to show, And what the Gods to so great virtue owe. Still, still the (t) Auspice is so good, We wish it were but understood; It even puts Apollo To all his strengths of art, to follow, The flights, and to divine What's meant by every Sign. Thou canst not less be, than the charge of every Deity. That thus art left here to enlarge, And shield their piety! Thy neighbours at thy fortune long have gazed, But at thy wisdom, all do stand amazed. And wish to be, O'ercome, or governed by thee! Safety itself so sides thee, where thou goest, And Fate still offers what thou covetest most! Do not expect to hear of all Your good at once, jest it forestall A sweetness would be new: Some things the Fates would have concealed From us the Gods, jest being revealed Our powers shall envy you. It is enough your people learn The reverence of your peace As well as Strangers do discern The Glories, by th'increase And that the (x) princely Augur here, your Son Do by his Father's lights his courses run. Him shall you see triumphing over all Both foes and vices: and your young and tall Nephews, his Sons grow up in your embraces, To give this Island Princes in long razes. SEE heaven expecteth my return▪ The forked fire begins to burn, Jove beckons to me come. Though Phoebus be the god of Arts, He must not take on him all parts: But leave his Frather some. My arts are only to obey. JOVE. (y) And mine to sway Jove is that one, whom first, midst, last, you call The power that governs, and conserveth all; Earth, Sea, and Air, are subject to our check, And Fate with heaven, moving at our beck. Till Jove it ratify, It is no Augury, Though uttered by the mouth of Destiny. Dear father, give the Sign, and seal it than. It is the suit of Earth and Men. What do their Mortals crave without our wrong? That Jove will lend us this our Sovereign long; Let our grandchildren, and not we, His want or Absence ever see. Your wish is blessed. Jove knocks his Chin against his breast, And firmes it with the rest. Sing than his fame, through all the orbs; in even Proportions, rising still, from Earth to Heaven: And of the lasting of it leave to doubt, The power of time shall never put that out. This done, the whole Scene shut, and the Maskers danced their last Dance.
seed 43: T29 · seed 44: T27 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
THe Signes are luckie all, and right There hath not beene a voyce, or flight Of ill Preſage. Linus. The bird that brings Her Augurie alone to Kings The Dove, hath flowne. Orpheus. And to thy peace Fortunes and the Fates increaſe. Minerva's Hernſhaw and her Owle, Doe both proclaime, thou ſhalt controle The courſe of things. Idmon. As now they be With tumult carried: Apollo. And live free From hatred, faction, or the feare, To blaſt the Olive thou doſt weare. More is behind, which theſe doe long to ſhow, And what the Gods to ſo great vertue owe. Still, ſtill the Auſpice is ſo good, We wiſh it were but underſtood; It even puts Apollo To all his ſtrengths of art, to follow, The flights, and to devine What's meant by every Signe. Thou canſt not leſſe be, then the charge of every Dietie. That thus art left here to inlarge, And ſhield their pietie! Thy neighbours at thy fortune long have gaz'd, But at thy wiſdome, all doe ſtand amaz'd. And wiſh to be, O'recome, or governed by thee! Safetie it ſelfe ſo ſides thee, where thou goeſt, And Fate ſtill offers what thou covet'ſt moſt! Doe not expect to heare of all Your good at once, leſt it foreſtall A ſweetneſſe would be new: Some things the Fates would have conceal'd From us the Gods, leſt being reveal'd Our powers ſhall envy you. It is enough your people learne The reverence of your peace As well as Strangers doe diſcerne The Glories, by th'increaſe And that the princely Augur here, your Sonne Doe by his Fathers lights his courſes run. Him ſhall you ſee triumphing over all Both foes and vices: and your young and tall Nephewes, his Sonnes grow up in your imbraces, To give this Iland Princes in long races. SEE heaven expecteth my returne▪ The forked fire begins to burne, Jove beckons to me come. Though Phoebus be the god of Arts, Hee muſt not take on him all parts: But leave his Frather ſome. My arts are only to obey. JOVE. And mine to ſway Jove is that one, whom firſt, midſt, laſt, you call The power that governes, and conſerveth all; Earth, Sea, and Ayre, are ſubject to our checke, And Fate with heaven, moving at our beck. Till Jove it ratifie, It is no Augurie, Though uttered by the mouth of Deſtinie. Deare father, give the Signe, and ſeale it then. It is the ſuit of Earth and Men. What doe their Mortals crave without our wrong? That Jove will lend us this our Soveraigne long; Let our grand-children, and not wee, His want or Abſence ever ſee. Your wiſh is bleſt. Jove knocks his Chin againſt his breſt, And firmes it with the reſt. Sing then his fame, through all the orbes; in even Proportions, riſing ſtill, from Earth to Heaven: And of the laſting of it leave to doubt, The power of time ſhall never put that out. This done, the whole Scaene ſhut, and the Maskers danced their laſt Dance.