Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T24: apollo, phoebus, midas, muses, ears, play, hedone, gods, siren, time.
Come Sirs, i'faith, how did you like my acting? What? was't not as you looked for? Yes my Lord, and much beyond. Did I not do it to the life? The very doing never was so lively As now this counterfeiting. And when I came, Tothth' point of Agrippa, Clytaemnestra's death, Did it not move the feeling auditory? They had been stones, whom that could not have moaned. Did not my voice hold out well to the end? And served me afterwards afresh to sing with. We know Apollo cannot match your voice. By Ioue, I think you are the God himself Come from above, to show your hidden arts; And fill us men with wonder of your skill. Nay faith speak truly, do not flatter me; I know you need not: flattery's but where Desert is mean. I swear by thee O Caesar; Than whom no power of Heaven I honour more, No mortal voice can pass, or equal thine. They tell of Orpheus, when he took his Lute, And moved the noble ivory with his touch: Hebrus stood still, Pangaea bowed his head, Ossa then first shook off his snow, and came To listen to the moouings of his song; The gentle Poplar, took the Oak along. And called the Pine down, from his Mountain seat: The Virgin Bay, although the Arts she hates o'th' Delphic God, was with his voice over come, He his twice-lost Eurydice bewails, And Proserpina's vain gifts, and makes the shores And hollow caves of forests now untreed Bear his grief company, and all things teacheth His lost love's name: Then water, air, and ground Eurydice, Eurydice, resound. These are bold tales, of which the Greeks have store; But if he could from Hell once more return, And would compare his hand and voice with mine, ay, though himself were judge, he then should see, How much the Latin stains the Thracian liar. I oft have walked by Tiber's flowing banks, And heard the Swan sing her own Epitaph When she heard me, she held her peace and died. Let others raise from earthly things their praise, Heaven hath stood still to hear my happy airs And ceased th'eternal Music of the Spheres To mark my voice, and mend their tunes by mine. O divine voice, Happy are they that hear it. But here comes Tigellinus, come, thy bill, Are there so many; I see I have enemies. Have you put Caius in, I saw him frown And, in the midst o'th' Emperor's act on Gallus laughed out, and as I think in scorn. Vespasian too asleep; was he so drowsy? Well, he shall sleep the Iron sleep of death And did Thracia look so sourly on us? He never smiled, my Lord, nor would vouchsafe With one applause to grace your action.
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)
Come Sirs, I faith, how did you like my acting? What? waſt not as you lookt for? Yes my Lord, and much beyond. Did I not doe it to the life? The very doing neuer was ſo liuely As now this counterfeyting. And when I came, Toth' point of Agrippa, Cliteunneſtras death, Did it not mooue the feeling auditory? They had beene ſtones, whom that could not haue mon'd. Did not my voyce hold out well to the end? And ſeru'd me afterwards afreſh to ſing with. We know Apollo cannot match your voyce. By Ioue, thinke you are the God himſelfe Come from aboue, to ſhew your hidden arts; And fill vs men with wonder of your skill. Nay faith ſpeake truely, doe not flatter me; I know you need not: flattery's but where Deſert is meane. I ſweare by thee O Caeſar; Then whom no power of Heauen I honour more, No mortall voice can paſſe, or equall thine. They tell of Orpheus, when he tooke his Lute, And moou'd the noble Iuory with his touch: Hebrus ſtood ſtill, Pangea bow'd his head, Oſſa then firſt ſhooke off his ſnowe, and came To liſten to the moouings of his ſong; The gentle Popler, tooke the Oake along. And call'd the Pyne downe, from his Mountaine ſeate: The Virgine Bay, although the Arts ſhe hates Oth' Delphick God, was with his voice ore come, He his twice-loſt Euridice bewailes, And Proſerpines vaine gifts, and makes the ſhores And hollow caues of forreſts now vntreed Beare his griefe company, and all things teacheth His loſt loues name: Then water, ayre, and ground Euridice, Euridice, reſound. Theſe are bould tales, of which the Greekes haue ſtore; But if he could from Hell once more returne, And would compare his hand and voice with mine, I, though himſelfe were iudge, he then ſhould ſee, How much the Latine ſtaines the Thracian lyar. I oft haue walkt by Tibers flowing bankes, And heard the Swan ſing her owne Epitaph When ſhe heard me, ſhe held her peace and died. Let others raiſe from earthly things their praiſe, Heauen hath ſtood ſtill to heare my happy ayres And ceaſt th'eternall Muſicke of the Spheares To marke my voyce, and mend their tunes by mine. O diuine voyce, Happy are they that heare it. But here comes Tigellinus, come, thy bill, Are there ſo many; I ſee I haue enemies. Haue you put Caius in, I ſaw him frowne And, in the midſt oth' Emperors act on Gallus laught out, and as I thinke in ſcorne. Veſpaſian too a ſleepe; was he ſo drowſie? Well, he ſhall ſleepe the Iron ſleepe of death And did Thraſea looke ſo ſourly on vs? He neuer ſmilde, my Lord, nor would vouchſafe With one applauſe to grace your action.