Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
If there be any place for Ghosts of good men, If (as we have been long taught) great men's souls Consume not with their bodies, thou shalt see, (Looking from out the dwellings of the air) True duties to thy memory performed; Not in the outward pomp of funeral, But in remembrance of thy deeds, and words, The oft recalling of thy many virtues, The Tomb, that shall th'eternal relics keep Of Seneca, shall be his hearers hearts. Be not afraid my soul, go cheerfully, To thy own Heaven, from whence it first let down, Thou loath by this imprisoning flesh putst on, Now lifted up, thou ravished shalt behold The truth of things, at which we wonder here, And foolishly do wrangle on beneath; And like a God shalt walk the spacious air, And see what even to conceit's denied. Great soul o'th' world, that through the parts defused Of this vast All, guid'st what thou dost inform; You blessed minds, that from the Spheres you move, Look on men's actions not with idle eyes; And Gods we go to, Aid me in this strife, And combat of my flesh, that ending, I May still show Seneca, and myself die. Sure this message of the Princes, So grievous and unlooked for, will appall Petronius much. Will not death any man? It will; but him so much the more, That having lived to his pleasure; shall forgo So delicate a life, I do not marvel That Seneoa, and such sour fellows, can Leave that they ne'er tasted: But when we That have the Nectar of thy kisses felt, That drinks away the troubles of this life, And but one banquet make of forty years, Must come to leave this: but soft, here he is. Leave me a while, Centurion to my friends, Let me my farewell take, and thou shalt see, Nero's commandment quickly obeyed in me. Come let us drink, and dash the posts with wine; Here throw your flowers; fill me a swelling bowl, Such as Maecenas, or my Lucan drank On Virgil's birth day. What means (Petroneus) this unseasonable, And causeless mirth? Why, comes not from the Prince This man to you, a messenger of death, Here fair Enanthe, whose plump ruddy cheek Exceeds the grape, it makes this; here my girl. And thinkst thou death, a matter of such harm, Why, he must have this pretty dimpling chin, And will peck out those eyes that now so wound. Why, is it not th'extremest of all ills? It is indeed the last, and end of ills; The Gods, before th'd let us taste deaths joys, Placed us i'th' toil, and sorrows of this world, Because we should perceive th'amends, and thank them, Death, the grim knave, but leads you to the door, Where entered once, all curious pleasures come To meet, and welcome you. A troop of beauteous Ladies from whose eyes, Love, thousand arrows, thousand graces' shoots; Puts forth their fair hands to you, and invites To their green arbours, and close shadowed walls,
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
If there be any place for Ghoſts of good men, If (as we haue bin long taught) great mens ſoules Conſume not with their bodies, thou ſhalt ſee, (Looking from out the dwellings of the ayre) True duties to thy memorie perform'd; Not in the outward pompe of funerall, But in remembrance of thy deeds, and words, The oft recalling of thy many vertues, The Tombe, that ſhall th'eternall relickes keepe Of Seneca, ſhall be his hearers hearts. Be not afraid my ſoule, goe cheerefully, To thy owne Heauen, from whence it firſt let downe, Thou loath by this impriſoning fleſh putſt on, Now lifted vp, thou rauiſht ſhalt behold The truth of things, at which we wonder here, And fooliſhly doe wrangle on beneath; And like a God ſhalt walke the ſpacious ayre, And ſee what euen to conceit's deni'd. Great ſoule oth' world, that through the parts defus'd Of this vaſt All, guid'ſt what thou doſt informe; You bleſſed mindes, that from the Pbeares you moue, Looke on mens actions not with idle eyes; And Gods we goe to, Aaid me in this ſtrife, And combat of my fleſh, that ending, I May ſtill ſhew Seneca, and my ſelfe die. Sure this meſſage of the Princes, So grieuous and vnlookt for, will appall Petronius much. Will not death any man? It will; but him ſo much the more, That hauing liu'd to his pleaſure; ſhall forgoe So delicate a life, I doe not maruell That Seneoa, and ſuch ſowre fellowes, can Leaue that they neu'r taſted: But when we That haue the Nectar of thy kiſſes felt, That drinkes away the troubles of this life, And but one banquet make of forty yeeres, Muſt come to leaue this: but ſoft, here he is. Leaue me a while, Centurion to my friends, Let me my farewell take, and thou ſhalt ſee, Neroes commandement quickly obaid in mee. Come let vs drinke, and daſh the poſts with wine▪ Here throwe your flowers; fill me a ſwelling bowle, Such as Mecenas, or my Lucan dranke On Virgills birth day. What meanes (Petroneus) this vnſeaſonable, And cauſeleſſe mirth? Why, comes not from the Prince This man to you, a meſſenger of death, Here faire Enanthe, whoſe plumpe ruddy cheeke Exceeds the grape, it makes this; here my gyrle. And thinkſt thou death, a matter of ſuch harme, Why, he muſt haue this pretty dimpling chin, And will pecke out thoſe eyes that now ſo wound. Why, is it not th'extreameſt of all ils? It is indeed the laſt, and end of ills; The Gods, before th'would let vs taſt deaths Ioyes, Plac't vs ith toyle, and ſorrowes of this world, Becauſe we ſhould perceiue th'amends, and thanke them, Death, the grim knaue, but leades you to the doore, Where entred once, all curious pleaſures come To meete, and welcome you. A troupe of beauteous Ladies from whoſe eyes, Loue, thouſand arrowes, thouſand graces ſhootes; Puts forth their faire hands to you, and inuites To their greene arbours, and cloſe ſhadowed walles,