Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T25: feare, kings, power, princes, lawes, loue, state, downe, honor, men.
Now for thy thunder, Heaven, now for a piece Of thy most eminent Artillery. Are you still silent? see, he tears their papers, Papers, perhaps, wherein they worship him, Give him more titles, than they give their God, And yet he tears them. O vast Favourite! Swelled by the airy favour of thy Prince, Till thou hast dimmed the light that made thee shine, Till Sforza's less than his Sanseverin. Tell me, good Picinino, does the Sun Spend all his rays upon one Continent? Or have you ever seen the partial Heavens Upon one Acre lavish all her showers, While the rest moulder with dry barrenness? I have not, Iuliano, but what then? Are you to seek for the collection? Why, has not Sforza made himself our Sun? Are not his favours our refreshing showers? Why should one suck up what is due to all, Why is the Prince made a Monopoly? Thou mak'st me laugh at thy fond question: What? are not Princes men; of the same mould, Of the same passions with inferiors? Do not they fear, desire, and hate (as we) And shall we only hinder them from love? cobblers may have their friends, and why not Kings? Because theyare higher than the rest of men, Shall they be therefore worse? and therefore want The Benefits, because they have the Rule? O hard condition of Majesty! The former accusation of Kings Has been their cruelty, that they did hate The people they should govern: O hard plight! O strange perverseness! shall their love at length, Their friendship be imputed as their fault? Would Heaven our Sforza had no worse a crime. You are a worthy Advocate, and here Comes your great Patron: go and ask your fee: This is a saucy importunity: You have your answer. O my gracious Lord, Looke on these scarres I gain'd in the French e, Where I have lost my Fortunes. So have I, Scarce left alive to tell my misery. You have been drunk, and quarreled— must the State Find plasters for your broken heads?— no more— Nay, if you'll take no answer, I must call Them that will drive you hence. O my tired ears! Henceforth I vow to stop them at your suits, And be as Deaf, as you are Impudent. Yes, do good Aeolus— how he blows them hence! How clears his passage with a lusty frown! And yet it may be that despised wretch Worn out of clothes, and flesh, whom his high scorn Would not vouchsafe once more to look upon, Durst in the field do more, than he durst see, Than he would there vouchsafe to look upon. As if that Valour were the only praise, And none were to be loved, but they that fight: Where were we then? what would become of us? Thou thinkst it Paradox, but 'tis most true, A Soldier is the greatest enemy, Of whom the Commonwealth can be afraid: Prefer you which you please; yet unto them Which are the sole Physicians of State, Who with the teeming of a pregnant brain, Search the diseases and the remedies, Valour is nothing but a desperate vice, And there's no safety, but in cowardice.
seed 43: T25 · seed 44: T6 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Now for thy thunder, Heau'n, now for a piece Of thy moſt eminent Artillery. Are you ſtill ſilent? ſee, he teares their papers, Papers, perhaps, wherein they worſhip him, Giue him more titles, then they giue their God▪ And yet he teares them. O vaſt Fauourite! Swell'd by the airy fauour of thy Prince, Till thou haſt dimm'd the light that made thee ſhine, Till Sforza's leſſe then his Sanſeuerin. Tell me, good Picinino, does the Sunne Spend all his rayes vpon one Continent? Or haue you euer ſeene the partiall Heau'ns Vpon one Ae lauiſh all her ſhowres, While the reſt moulder with dry barrenneſſe? I haue not, Iuliano, but what then? Are you to ſeeke for the collection? Why, has not Sforza made himſelfe our Sunne? Are not his fauours our refreſhing ſhowres? Why ſhould one ſucke vp what is due to all, Why is the Prince made a Monopoly? Thou mak'ſt me laugh at thy fond queſtion: What? are not Princes men▪ of the ſame mould, Of the ſame paſſions with inferiours? Doe not they feare, deſire, and hate (as we) And ſhall we onely hinder them from loue? Coblers may haue their friends, and why not Kings? Becauſe th'are higher then the reſt of men, Shall they be therefore worſe? and therefore want The Benefits, becauſe they haue the Rule? O hard condition of Maieſty! The former accuſation of Kings Has beene their cruelty, that they did hate The people they ſhould gouerne: O hard plight! O ſtrange peruerſneſſe! ſhall their loue at length, Their friendſhip be imputed as their fault? Would Heau'n our Sforza had no worſe a crime. You are a worthy Aduocate, and here Comes your great Patron: goe and aske your ee: This is a ſawcy importunity: You haue your anſwer. O my gracious Lord, Looke on theſe ſcarres I gain'd in the French e, Where I haue loſt my Fortunes. So haue I, Scarce left aliue to tell my miſery. You haue bin drunk, and quarrell'd—muſt the State Finde plaiſters for your broken heads?—no more— Nay, if you'll take no anſwer, I muſt call Them that will driue you hence. O my tyr'd eares! Henceforth I vow to ſtoppe them at your ſuites, And be as Deafe, as you are Impudent. Yes, doe good Aeolu —how he blowes them hence! How cleares his paſſage with a luſty frowne! And yet it may be that deſpiſed wretch Worne out of cloathes, and fleſh, whom his high ſcorne Would not vouchſafe once more to looke vpon, Durſt in the field doe more, then he durſt ſee, Then he would there vouchſafe to looke vpon. As if that Valour were the onely praiſe, And none were to be lou'd, but they that fight: Where were we then? what would become of vs? Thou thinkſt it Paradox, but tis moſt true, A Souldier is the greateſt enemy, Of whom the Common-wealth can be afraid: Preferre you which you pleaſe; yet vnto them VVhich are the ſole Phyſitians of State, VVho with the teeming of a pregnant braine, Search the diſeaſes and the remedies, Valour is nothing but a deſp'rate vice, And there's no ſafety, but in cowardice.