Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T10: france, french, england, king, lord, english, edward, talbot, peace, lords.
Man the water-ports, With all the Engines of defensive war; Well fought Vaughan he mans the trenches bravely Young Arthur Grey assaults the stony mures, un goes the scaling Ladders, now they mount, Now Somerset, now Read, now Valiant Brey, Towering like eager Hawks who shall get highest! Like angry Lions, or incensed Tigers; The Frenchmen labour, greedy for the prey, Now the hardy Scots as swift as Roes, Climb the walls, and toss the Frenchmen down, Now from the mount their thundering Cannons roar, Whose direful clangours shake their huge structures, And like an earthquake tumble to the Earth, Their steeples, Ordinance, Gunners, all at once, Now Inskeith, Sutton, Newport, Conway, Fitton, As dreadless enter dangers, as their Tents; Accursed chance, the Ladders are too short, Which gives a treble, vantage to the French. Now the foe triumphs, now our white coats fall, Now groans the mother, now the virgin sighs; Death willbe master, neither party wins Now flies the English; now the French follow, And now their horsemen fling about the sands, Howard counterbuffs their canvasadoes Like chaffed Bulls, or foaming Boars they strive For mastery; the Frenchmen fly the Town, And seek for shelter. Now men your Trenches, Count Mortigue, and Doysells from the Town Make expedition! now sings the god of war His direful Anthems; now fight, or never, We now are freemen or else bondmen ever. Thou bear'st my armour Clifton; My halidom, Thank me Doysells, I did not take thy head. I came to seek thee, Grey; The Town I see was too hot to hold thee, else thou'st have nestled in thy penthouse still. we'll not articulate. Th'effuse of blood is great, Which had been better never spent, then ill; You of our party, by our commission, We do command your tarriance; your Lords Of England, and of Scotland we entreat A little patience till your Heralds speak. William Cecil the queen's Secretary, Wotton Deane of Canterbury, and York, With sir Ralph Sadler joint Commissioners, Commands thee Iohn Lord Grey of Wilton, Now General of her Majesty's forces, To make immediate repair to Edinburgh, And present lay by all hostility, From this hour until seven a Clocke at night. The like on your allegiance to Mary Dowager of France, and Queen of Scots, we do commend. We obey, and instant will give order. The like do you sir Iarvis, Now we have beaten them out of the Town, they come To composition. Give order through our Trenches, Tents, Bulwarks, That not a piece of great nor smaller shot Prove prejudicial to the French; until from us You have commission; my Lord of Valens I'll wait on you to the commissioners, If we have peace 'tis welcome, and if war. We are for either object, both we dare. My halidom. What a new monster England has begot We cannot fight because we want commission? Mortigue, Doysells, by my just halidom It grieves me that we must not fight it out. Come le'ts shake hands, till seven at night all friends After such greetings, as on war depends.
seed 43: T8 · seed 44: T8 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Man the water-ports, With all the Engines of defensive warre; Well fought Vaughan he mans the trenches bravely Young Arthur Grey assaults the stony mures, Vn goes the scaleing Ladders, now they mount, Now Sommerset, now Read, now Valiant Brey, Towring like eager Haukes who shall get high'st! Like angery Lions, or incenced Tygers; The Frenchmen labour, greedy for the prey, Now the hardy Scots as swift as Roes, Climbe the walls, and tosse the Frenchmen downe, Now from the mount their thundring Cannons roare, Whose direfull clangors shake their huge structures, And like an earth-quake tumble to the Earth, Their steeples, Ordinance, Gunners, all at once, Now Inskeith, Sutton, Newport, Conway, Fitton, As dreadles enter dangers, as their Tents; Accursed chance, the Ladders are too short, VVhich gives a treble, vantage to the French. Now the foe triumphes, now our white coates fall, Now groanes the mother, now the virgin sighs; Death wilbe master, neyther party winns Now flies the English; now the French follow, And now their horse-men fling about the sands, Howard counterbuffs their canvasadoes Like chaffed Bulls, or foaming Bores they strive For mastery; the Frenchmen flie the Towne, And seeke for shelter. Now men your Trenches, Count Mortigue, and Doysells from the Towne Make expedition! now sings the god of warre His direfull Antheames; now fight, or never, We now are free-men or elce bond-men ever. Thou bear'st my armour Clifton; My Hollidam, Thanke me Doysells, I did not take thy head. I came to seeke thee, Grey; The Towne I see was too hot to hold thee, Elce thou'st have nesl'd in thy pent-house still. Wee'le not articulate. Th'effuse of bloud is great, VVhich had bene better never spent, then ill; You of our party, by our commission, VVe doe command your tariance; your Lords Of England, and of Scotland we entreat A litle patience till your Heralds speake. William Cecill the Queenes Secretary, Wotton Deane of Canterbury, and Yorke, With sir Ralph Sadler joynt Commissioners, Commands thee Iohn Lord Grey of Wilton, Now Generall of her Majesties forces, To make immediate repaire to Edenburgh, And present lay by all hostility, From this houre untill seven a Clocke at night. The like on your allegiance to Mary Dowager of France, and Queene of Scots, we doe commend. We obey, and instant will give order. The like doe you sir Iarvis, Now we have beaten them out of the Towne, they come To composition. Give order through our Trenches, Tents, Bul-warks, That not a peece of great nor smaller shot Prove preiudiciall to the French; untill from us You have commission; my Lord of Valens I'le waite on you to the commissioners, If we have peace 'tis welcome, and if warre. We are for eyther object, both we darre. My Hollidam. What a new monster England has begot We cannot fight because we want commission? Mortigue, Doysells, by my just Hollidam It greives me that we must not fight it out. Come le'ts shake hands, 'till seven at night all friends After such greetings, as on warr depends.