Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T2: rome, caesar, senate, sulla, roman, consul, brutus, romans, men, marius.
Nay even end here, for I have heard enough, I have a Fiddler heard him, let me not See him a Player, nor the fearful voice Of Rome's great Monarch, now command in jest Our Prince be Agamemnon in a Play. Why Seneca, 'tis better in Play Be Agamemnon, than himself indeed; How oft, with danger of the field beset, Or with home mutinies, would he unbee Himself, or, over cruel altars weeping, Wish, that with putting off a vizard, he Might his true inward sorrow lie aside; The shows of things are better than themselves: How doth it stir this airy part of us, To hear our Poets tell imagined fights, And the strange blows, that feigned courage gives, When I Achilles hear upon the Stage Speak Honour, and the greatness of his soul; methinks I too, could on a Phrygian Spear Run boldly, and make tales for after times; But when we come to act it in the deed, Death mares this bravery, and the ugly fears Of th'other world, sit on the proudest brow, And boasting valour loseth his red cheek. Fire, fire, help, we burn. Fire, water, fire help fire. Fire, where? Where? what fire. O round about, here, there, on every side. The girdling flame, doth with unkind embraces Compass the City. How came this fire, by whom? Wast chance, or purpose? Why is't not quenched? Alas there are a many there with weapons, Aod whether it be for pray, or by command, They hinder: nay, they throw on firebrands. The fire increaseth, and will not be stayed, But like a stream that tumbling from a hill, o'erwhelms the fields, o'erwhelms the hopeful toil o'th' husbandman, and headlong bears the woods; The unwitting Shepherd on a Rock afar, Amazed, hears the fearful noise; so here, Danger and Terror strive, which shall exceed, Some cry, and yet are well, some are killed silent, Some kindly run to help their neighbour's house, The whilst their own's afire: some save their goods, And leave their dearer pledges in the flame; One takes his little sons with trembling hands, Tother his house-Gods saves, which could not him, All ban the door, and with wishes kill Their absent murderer. What? are the Gaules returned? Doth Brenius brandish firebrands again. What can Heaven now unto our sufferings add. O all goes down, Rome falleth from the Roof, The wind's aloft, the conquering flame turns all Into itself; Nor do the God's escape, Pleidds burns, Iupiter Stator burns. The Altar now is made a sacrifice; An Vesta mourns, to see her Virgin fires Mingle with profane ashes. Heaven, hast thou set this end, to Roman greatness? Were the world's spoils, for this, to Rome divided, To make but our fires bigger? You Gods, whose anger made us great, grant yet Some change in misery; We beg not now, To have our Consul tread on Asian Kings, Or spurn the quivered Susa at their feet; This, we have had before; we beg to live, At least not thus to die; Let Cannos come, Let Allius' waters turn again to blood. To these will any miseries be light.
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)
Nay euen end here, for I haue heard enough, I haue a Fidler heard him, let me not See him a Player, nor the fearefull voyce Of Romes great Monarch, now command in Ieſt Our Prince be Aegamemnon in a Play. Why Seneca, Tis better in Play Be Aegamemnon, then himſelfe indeed; How oft, with danger of the field beſet, Or with home mutineys, would he vnbee Himſelfe, or, ouer cruell alters weeping, Wiſh, that with putting off a vizard, hee Might his true inward ſorrow lay aſide; The ſhowes of things are better then themſelues: How doth it ſtirre this ayrye part of vs, To heare our Poets tell imagin'd fights, And the ſtrange blowes, that fained courage giues, When I Achilles heare vpon the Stage Speake Honour, and the greatneſſe of his ſoule; Me thinkes I too, could on a Phrygian Speare Runne boldly, and make tales for after times; But when we come to act it in the deed, Death mares this brauery, and the vgly feares Of th'other world, ſit on the proudeſt browe, And boaſting valour looſeth his red cheeke. Fire, fire, helpe, we burne. Fire, water, fire helpe fire. Fire, where? Where? what fire. O round about, here, there, on euery ſide. The girdling flame, doth with vnkind embraces Compaſſe the Citie. How came this fire, by whom? Waſt chance, or purpoſe? Why is't not quencht? Alas there are a many there with weapons, Aod whether it be for pray, or by command, They hinder: nay, they throwe on fire-brands. The fire encreaſeth, and will not be ſtaid, But like a ſtreame that tumbling from a hill, Orewhelmes the fields, orewhelmes the hopefull toyle Oth' husbandman, and headlong beares the woods; The vnweeting Shepheard on a Rocke a farre, Amazed, heares the fearefull noyſe; ſo here, Danger and Terror ſtriue, which ſhall exceed, Some cry, and yet are well, ſome are kild ſilent, Some kindly runne to helpe their neighbours houſe, The whileſt their own's a fire: ſome ſaue their goods, And leaue their dearer pledges in the flame; One takes his litle ſonnes with trembling hands, Tother his houſe-Gods ſaues, which could not him, All bann the doore, and with wiſhes kill Their abſent murderer. What? are the Gaules returnd? Doth Brenius brandiſh fire-brands againe. What can Heauen now vnto our ſuffrings adde. O all goes downe, Rome falleth from the Roofe, The wind's aloft, the conquering flame turnes all Into it ſelfe; Nor doe the Gods eſcape, Pleidds burnes, Iupiter Stator burnes. The Altar now is made a ſacrifice; An Veſta mournes, to ſee her Virgin fires Mingle with prophane aſhes. Heauen, haſt thou ſet this end, to Roman greatneſſe? Were the worlds ſpoyles, for this, to Rome deuided, To make but our fires bigger? You Gods, whoſe anger made vs great, grant yet Some change in miſery; We begge not now, To haue our Conſull tread on Aſian Kings, Or ſpurne the quiuerd Suſa at their feet; This, we haue had before; we begg to liue, At leaſt not thus to die; Let Cannos come, Let Allius waters turne againe to blood. To theſe will any miſeries be light.