Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T51: esau, iacob, father, son, isaac, god, love, birthright, parents, thing.
There's none but thou, has a commanding power o'er Oedipus, if thou command me leap Into Sicilian Aetna's scalding throat, I'll gladly do't; if thou wilt have it so I will, like Titius, with my liver feed A tiring vulture; more, I will take rest; Nay, most of all, I'll live at thy request. I see some signs of rest upon him now. Exeunt. How well this sad and solitary place Suits with my thoughts? these unfrequented woods, Where nature void of artificial robes Presents her naked and ungarnished face. In such abodes as these dwelled piety, White innocence, and spotless chastity In that first golden age when Saturn reigned. And still methinks within these woods he reigns, Though banished quite from all the world beside, Here lives the soul of virtue; here abides The fair Antigone, whose matchless goodness Upbraids, and expiates this ages crimes, And quite o'erweighs th'impiety of Thebes, This place the Gods, disdaining other sights, Behold with wonder, when Antigone With pious hands directs her blinded sire The woeful Oedipus; hither the Graces, The chaster Nymphs, and harmless dryads Leaving their bowers of pleasure, all resort To wait on her, and bear her company. My father is asleep; you powers above Send sweet refreshment to his wearyed soul. Oh pity him, and punish not too far That crime which fate and you yourselves have made. He has already been himself a judge Too cruel to himself, to expiate His fatal errors, left a crown and sceptre, Fled men's society, and day itself, Torn out his innocent unhappy eyes. Now since he wants the comfort of your light Grant him a quiet undisturbed night. Young Aemon here? Pardon me royal virgin, Think it not rudeness in me thus to press Upon your privacies; but call it service, Or zeal to wait upon you, and behold What I do most admire. Sir, 'tis no fault That I can apprehend; or if it be, 'tis such a fault as punishes itself. This is the house of sorrow; nought is here That can invite or recompense your coming. To visit you, so you be pleased to grace That visit with a welcome, is a blessing No place has power to lessen, it would make hell's saddest cave a fair Elysium. You come from Court, and speak as that has taught you. This place knows no such language. Aemon never Was taxed of flattery, nor will your worth Admit it; gentle Lady, be but pleased To think my heart speaks in my tongue to you. Oh give me leave but to confess my flame, Which never can be hid; a better fire More chaste, more true, and full of constancy, (I dare maintain it) warms no breast on earth. No earthly power but sweet Antigone Can sentence me to bliss or endless woe. Oh save that creature that depends on you. Make me immortal by a fair return Of grace from you and favour. (That title, though I hated you, your worth Would challenge from my truth) I love you better Than so to work your ruin; Love and wedlock Have still been fatal in our family. The baleful owls and croaking ravens sing Our Hymenaean songs, and furies light Their brands for torches to our bridal beds.
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)
There's none but thou, has a commanding power Ore Oedipus, if thou command me leape Into Sicilian Aetna's ſcalding throate, I'll gladly doo't; if thou wilt haue it ſo I will, like Titius, with my liuer feede A tiring vultur; more, I will take reſt; Nay, moſt of all, Ile liue at thy requeſt. I ſee ſome ſignes of reſt vpon him now. Exeunt. How well this ſad and ſolitary place Suites with my thoughts? theſe vnfrequented woods, Where nature voide of artificiall robes Preſents her naked and vngarniſh'd face. In ſuch abodes as theſe dwelt piety, White innocence, and ſpotleſſe chaſtity In that firſt golden age when Saturne reign'd. And ſtill me thinkes within theſe woods he reignes, Though baniſh'd quite from all the world beſide, Here liues the ſoule of vertue; here abides The faire Antigone, whoſe matchleſſe goodneſſe Vpbraides, and expiates this ages crimes, And quite our-weighs th'impiety of Thebes, This place the Gods, diſdaining other ſights, Behold with wonder, when Antigone With pious hands directs her blinded ſire The wofull Oedipus; hither the Graces, The chaſter Nymphs, and harmeleſſe Dryades Leauing their bowers of pleaſure, all reſort To wate on her, and beare her company. My father is aſleepe; you powers aboue Send ſweete refreſhment to his wearyed ſoule. Oh pity him, and puniſh not too fare That crime which fate and you your ſelues haue made. He has already beene himſelfe a iudge Too cruell to himſelfe, to expiate His fatall errours, left a crowne and ſcepter, Fled mens ſociety, and day it ſelfe, Torne out his innocent vnhappy eyes. Now ſince he wants the comfort of your light Grant him a quiet vndiſturbed night. Young Aemon heere? Pardon me royall virgin, Thinke it not rudeneſſe in me thus to preſſe Vpon your priuacyes; but call it ſeruice, Or zeale to wait vpon you, and behold What I doo moſt admire. Sir, tis no fault That I can apprehend; or if it bee, Tis ſuch a fault as puniſhes it ſelfe. This is the houſe of ſorrow; nought is heere That can inuite or recompenſe your comming. To viſite you, ſo you be pleaſ'd to grace That viſite with a welcome, is a bleſſing No place has power to leſſen, it would make Hells ſaddeſt caue a faire Elyſium. You come from Court, and ſpeake as that has taught you. This place knowes no ſuch language. Aemon neuer Was tax'd of flattery, nor will your worth Admit it; gentle Lady, be but pleaſ'd To thinke my heart ſpeakes in my tongue to you. Oh giue me leaue but to confeſſe my flame, Which neuer can be hid; a better fire More chaſt, more true, and full of conſtancy, (I dare maintaine it) warmes no breaſt on earth. No earthly power but ſweete Antigone Can ſentence me to bliſſe or endleſſe woe. Oh ſaue that creature that depends on you. Make me immortall by a faire returne Of grace from you and fauour. (That title, though I hated you, your worth Would challenge from my truth) I loue you better Then ſo to worke your ruine; Loue and wed-locke Haue ſtill beene fatall in our family. The balefull owles and croaking rauens ſing Our Hymenaean ſongs, and furies light Their brands for torches to our bridall bedds.