Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T2: rome, caesar, senate, sulla, roman, consul, brutus, romans, men, marius.
I like this Music well; they like not mine: Now in the tears of all men, let me sing, And make it doubtful to the Gods above; Whether the Earth be pleased, or do complain. But, may the man, that all this blood hath shed, Never bequeath to th'earth, an old grey head; Let him untimely be cut off before, And leave a course like this all wounds and gore. Be there no friend at hand, no standers by, In love, or pity moved, to close that Eye. O let him die the wish, and hate of all; And not a tear to grace his Funeral. Heaven, you will hear (that which the world doth scorn,) The prayers of misery, and souls forlorn: Your anger waxeth by delaying stronger, O now for mercy be despised no longer. Let him, that makes so many Mother's childless, Make his unhappy, in her fruitfulness. Let him no issue leave to bear his name Or some to right a Father's wronged fame, Our flames to quit; be righteous in your ire, And when he dies, let him want funeral fire. Let Heaven do what it will this I have done Already: do you feel my furies weight, Rome is become a grave of her late greatness; Her clouds of smoke have ta'en away the day, Her flames the night. Now unbelieving Eyes what crave you more? O save yourself (my Lord) your Palace burns. My Palace? how? what traitorous hand? O fly my Lord, and save yourself betimes, The wind doth beat the fire upon your house, The eating flame devours your double gates, Your pillars fall, your golden roofs do melt, Your antique Tables, and Greek Imagery: The fire besets, and the smoke you see Doth choke my speech, O fly, and save your life. Heaven, thou dost strive, I see, for victory. See how Fate works unto their purposed end; And without all self-industry will raise, Whom they determine to make great and happy; Nero throws down himself, I stir him not, He runs unto destruction studies ways To compassed danger, and attain the hate Of all; be his own wish is on his head: Nor Rome with fire, more than revenges burns; Let me stand still, or lye, or slepe, I se. Poppea some new favour will seek out My wakings to salute, I cannot stir, But messengers of new preferment meet me: Now, she hath made me Captain of the Guard, So well I bear me in these night alarms, That she imagined I was made for Arms; I now command the Soldier, he the City, If any chance do turn the Prince aside, (As many hatreds, mischiefs threaten him,) Ours is his wife, his seat and thrown is ours. He's next in right that hath the strongest powers.
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)
I like this Muſique well; they like not mine: Now in the teares of all men, let me ſing, And make it doubtfull to the Gods aboue; Whether the Earth be pleas'd, or doe complaine. But, may the man, that all this blood hath ſhed, Neuer bequeath to th'earth, an old gray head; Let him vntimely be cut off before, And leaue a courſe like this all wounds and gore. Be there no friend at hand, no ſtanders by, In loue, or pittie mou'd, to cloſe that Eye. O let him die the wiſh, and hate of all; And not a teare to grace his Funerall. Heauen, you will heare (that which the world doth ſcorne,) The prayers of miſery, and ſoules forlorne: Your anger waxeth by delaying ſtronger, O now for mercy be diſpis'd no longer. Let him, that makes ſo many Mothers childleſſe, Make his vnhappy, in her fruitfulneſſe. Let him no iſſue leaue to beare his name Or ſome to right a Fathers wronged fame, Our flames to quit; be righteous in your yre, And when he dies, let him want funerall fire. Let Heauen doe what it will this I haue done Already: doe you feele my furies waight, Rome is become a graue of her late greatnes; Her clowdes of ſmoke haue tane away the day, Her flames the night. Now vnbeleeuing Eyes what craue you more? O ſaue your ſelfe (my Lord) your Pallace burnes. My Pallace? how? what traiterous hand? O flie my Lord, and ſaue your ſelfe betimes, The winde doth beate the fire vpon your houſe, The eating flame deuoures your double gates, Your pillars fall, your golden roofes doe melt, Your antique Tables, and Greeke Imagery: The fire beſets, and the ſmoake you ſee Doth choake my ſpeech, O flie, and ſaue your life. Heauen, thou doſt ſtriue, I ſee, for victory. See how Fate workes vnto their purpos'd end; And without all ſelfe-Induſtry will raiſe, Whom they determine to make great and happy; Nero throwes downe himſelfe, I ſtirre him not, He runnes vnto deſtruction ſtudies wayes To compaſſed danger, and attaine the hate Of all; Bee his owne wiſh is on his head: Nor Rome with fire, moe then reuenges burn; Let me ſtand ſtill, or lye, or ſlepe, I ſe. Poppea ſome new fauour will ſeeke out My wakings to ſalute, I cannot ſtrre, But meſſagers of new peferment meet me: Now, ſhe hath made me Captaine of the Guard, So well I beare me in theſe night Allar, That ſhe imagin'd I was made for Armes; I now command the Souldier, he the Citie, If any chance doe turne the Prince aſide, (As many hatreds, miſchiefes threaten him,) Ours is his wife, his ſeat and throwne is ours. He's next in right that hath the ſtrongeſt powers.