Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T10: france, french, england, king, lord, english, edward, talbot, peace, lords.
I'm lost in this confusion: one reports We have lost all; another instantly kills all the French at once: thus every street Is filled with wandring people; some cry, Arm, Others run crying, to persuade a slight: All have an earnest business in the stir, But in the help not any. These are they That if an happy messenger should come With Sforza's victory, would pretend at least To be o'ercome with joy: the gorgeous walls Should shine with painted triumphs, and the French Should be again vanquished in pageant. But if his fortune yield to the French force, What obloquy's will be enough for him? Disgrace will then be wit, and any brain Will venture on a Libel. 'Tis the use, The popular folly to admire events, And those low souls think that the sword is just, Proportioning the reason by the end Of the chief acts, of the best enterprise, And so by folly run into a crime. No matter for their wisdom, were they good: O why are such termed Innocents? but friend, What is our aim? a flight our age denies, And whither should we fly, but to the grave? O I have so much people in me too, That I could wish thy company. Good Heavens! Am I escaped? may I stay safely here? My fear has left such near impressions, I scarce dare think that this is Liberty. Noble Malvezzo, is there any hope? As much as in despair: we are betrayed, Sforza is made a prisoner, all's lost, And Milan, without blows, is once more French. Now I remember what I dreamt last night, (If it be safe to call a vision, Dream,) I saw our Sforza in so pale a shape, That Envy never was described more wan, Who frighted me with this relation. STart not astonished mortal: let no fear Chill thee to my pale image, but fix here: Let thy once Prince be thy now spectacle, Whilst I the direst Tragedy shall tell That ever challenged wonder: briefly then, I was betrayed, betrayed, and by those men By whom I conquered:] 'tis an happy end To perish for, but never by a friend. This our first death: but then— O could cursed Time Dare ever such a Minute, such a Crime? Then was I pinioned, than these royal hands Were forced obedient to the base commands Of an insulting conqueror, and knit Unto a hated union; 'twere fit If ever Heaven shed tears, than to distil Mournings Elixir, though th'expense should kill The hopes of after Ages: but Heaven smiled Nor any courteous clouds were wisely piled Over the sun's sharp beames, but they gazed on With the same visage of compassion As did my torturers, [by whom I'm brought Unto a place the which some shallower thought Has faintly termed a prison, but to tell The truth of horror, 'twas on Earth, an Hell:
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T8 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
I'Me loſt in this confuſion: one reports▪ We haue loſt all; another inſtantly Kil all the French at once: thus eu'ry ſtreet▪ Is filld with wding people; ſome cry▪ Arme, Others runne crying, to perſwade a ſlight: All haue an earneſt buſeſſe in the ſtirre, But in the helpe not any. Theſe are they▪ That if a happy meſſenger ſhould come With Sforza's victory, would pretend at leaſt To be orecome with ioy: the gorgeous wals Should ſhine with painted triumphs, and the French Should be againe vanquiſht in pageant. But if his fortune yeeld to the French force, What obloquy's will be enough for him? Diſgrace will then be wit, and any braine Will venture on a Libell. 'Tis the vſe, The popular folly to admire euents, And thoſe low ſoules thinke that the ſword is iuſt, Proportioning the reaſon by the end Of the chiefe acts, of the beſt enterprize, And ſo by folly runne into a crime. No matter for their wiſedome, were they good: O why are ſuch term'd Innocents? but friend, What is our ayme? a flight our age denyes, And whither ſhould we flye, but to the graue? O I haue ſo much people in me too, That I could wiſh thy company. Good Heau'ns! Am I eſcap'd? may I ſtay ſafely here? My feare has left ſuch neere impreſſions, I ſcarce dare thinke that this is Liberty. Noble Maluezzo, is there any hope? As much as in deſpaire: we are betraid, Sforza is made a priſoner, all's loſt, And Millan, without blowes, is once more French. Now I remember what I dream't laſt night, (If it be ſafe to call a viſion, Dreame,) I ſaw our Sforza in ſo pale a ſhape, That Enuy neuer was deſcrib'd more wan, Who frighted me with this relation. STart not aſtoniſht mortall: let no feare Chill thee to my pale image, but fixe here: Let thy once Prince be thy now ſpectacle, Whilſt I the direſt Tragedy ſhall tell That euer challeng'd wonder: briefly then, I was betraid, betraid, and by thoſe men By whom I conquer'd:] tis an happy end To periſh for, but neuer by a friend. This our firſt death: but then—O could curſt Time Dare euer ſuch a Minute, ſuch a Crime? Then was I pinion'd, then theſe royall hands Were forc'd obedient to the baſe commands Of an inſulting conqueror, and knit Vnto a hated vnion; were fit If euer Heau'n ſhed teares, then to diſtill Mournings Elxar, though th'expence ſhould kill The hopes of after Ages: but Heau'n ſmil'd Nor any courteous cloud▪ were wiſely pil'd Ouer the Sunnes ſharpe beame, but they gaz'd on With the ſame viſage of compaſſion As did my torturers, [by whom I'me brought Vnto a place the which ſome ſhallower thought Has faintly term'd a priſon, but to tell The truth of horror, t'was on Earth, an Hell: