Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T14: prince, princess, love, king, lord, queen, madam, grace, lady, life.
'tis vain, I'm deaf to Rhetoric: yet say thoust met With a good perjurer, my word is past, And to be twice a traitor, is a fault No sorrow can atone for: yet thus far I'll strain myself to please thee, 'tis well known, Unless you get unto Ascanio, Your hopes are at the last, but between you And him, the French have interposed themselves, Nothing remains but that you trust to me, And in a Swissers coat disguise yourself, That you may pass their Army. O hard strait, Must Sforza impotently hide himself? Or can a Prince be hid? I have oft heard Sparks of Divinity adorn his face, To clear him from the multitude: why then, The being a Prince will make us be no Prince, We being betrayed by our own Majesty. Yet off ye envied robes, fall to the Earth, O fall so low, that henceforth Man may scorn The labour of descent to take you up: On, on, ye happy robes, that like good clouds Do not obscure, but for a time defend The threatened Sun, that he may after shine With higher vigour: I have heard of some, That wear their flesh with haircloth for their crimes, As thinking to be good if they were rough, By such a wild repentance: be it so These robes offended, than there is an hope These rags may expiate heaven Brave soldiers, How we rejoice we may embrace at last, Not with armed hands, without the guilt and shame Of civil murder! but are these the troops That now must learn to use their valour well? To give a death without a prodigy? A conquering cheerfulness adorns their face. These are not common soldiers: look you pale, Than I must know the mystery. I'm betrayed. Yea I know all, but yet from thy forced tongue Will I extract confession; fetch a rack, To make him howl the truth, he will not speak. I can dare torments for wise honesty, But when you know as much as I can tell, Should I conceal't, all policy would judge, I did deserve the worst that I endured: Who told you this was Sforza? O my brain! Must subtlety perish by subtlety? And our high wisdom find a Conqueror? Make an end Nature, the great work is done, Sforza is overreached— weak, childish rage: Is this to lessen, or make misery? Can passion lose us, or a courteous tear Wash off our fetters? if it can, pour eyes, Pour out wet comfort; if it can, refuse The curse of slumber, but it cannot, then Covet a slumber everlastingly, And be like me, imprisoned in your lids. Convey us quickly hence, kind friends, you know Sforza can never be a prisoner here. Convey us thither where we are no Prince. And must we woo our Ruin? never man Is a true wretch, but when he loseth all, And wants the sad Election of his fall.
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)
Tis vaine, I'me deafe to Rhtoricke: yet ſay th'aſt met With a good periurer, my word is paſt, And to be twice a traytor, is a fault No ſorrow can attone for: yet thus farre Ile ſtraine my ſelfe to pleaſe thee, tis well knowne, Vnleſſe you get vnto Aſcanio, Your hopes are at the laſt, but betweene you And him, the French haue interpos'd themſelues, Nothing remaines but that you truſt to me, And in a Swizzers coat diſguiſe your ſelfe, That you may paſſe their Army. O hard ſtrait, Muſt Sforza impotently hide himſelfe? Or can a Prince be hid? I haue oft heard Sparkes of Diuinity adorne his face, To cleare him from the multitude: why then, The being a Prince will make vs be no Prince, We being betraid by our owne Maieſty. Yet off ye enuy'd roabes, fall to the Earth, O fall ſo low, that henceforth Man may ſcorne The labour of deſcent to take you vp: On, on, ye happy roabes, that like good clouds Doe not obſcure, but for a time defend The threatned Sunne, that he may after ſhine With higher vigour: I haue heard of ſome, That weare their fleſh with hairecloth for their crimes, As thinking to be good if they were rough, By ſuch a wilde repentance: be it ſo Theſe robes offended, then there is an hope Theſe ragges may expiate heau'n Braue ſouldiers, How we reioice we may embrace at laſt, Not with arm'd hands, without the guilt and ſhame Of ciuill murther▪ but are theſe the troupes That now muſt learne to vſe their valour well? To giue a death without a prodegy? A conqu'ring cheerfulneſſe adornes their face▪ Theſe are not common ſouldiers: looke you pale, Then I muſt know the myſtery. I'me betrayd. Yea I know all, but yet from thy forc'd tongue Will I extract confeſſion; fetch a racke, To make him howle the truth, he will not ſpeake. I can dare torments for wiſe honeſty, But when you know as much as I can tell, Should I conceale't, all policy would iudge, I did deſerue the worſt that I endur'd: Who told you this was Sforza? O my braine! Muſt ſubtletie periſh by ſubtlery? And our high wiſedome finde a Conqueror? Make an end Nature, the great worke is done, Sforza is ouer-reacht—weake, childiſh rage: Is this to leſſen, or make miſery? Can paſſion looſe vs, or a courteous teare Waſh off our fetters? if it can, poure eyes, Poure out wet comfort; if it can, refuſe The curſe of ſlumber, but it cannot, then Couet a ſlumber euerlaſtingly, And be like , impriſon'd in your lid. Conuey vs quickly hence, kinde friends, you know Sforza can neuer be a priſoner here. Conuey vs thither where we are no Prince. And muſt we wooe our Ruine? neuer man Is a true wretch, but when he loſeth all, And wants the ſad Election of his fall▪