Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T18: king, lord, wallace, earl, edward, england, scotland, rebels, bruce, english.
She is, our Lass are not English common, I'm right Scotch bred, till death stick to a woman. And to the death thou shalt, no more but this, Thou shalt bear from me Scot. When? Instantly. Make time Sir, of your weapon, time, and place. This Whinyard. This. Our swords do now agree, and of one length and scantling. Why should not we, if we must Surgeons Have tomorrow or anon If not as good now, 'tis the English fashion To swagger it out, and then drink and then fight And kill in cold blood having slept sound all night, And oftentimes all gashed, the seconds fall, When home in whole skins come the principal. So about words, the Lawyer wrangling stands, And loses in mean time his clients lands. Dost teach me fencing too in thy own school? I'll beat thee or be beaten, one draws short breath. I feel no sickness. Yet thouart near thy death. At it so hotly. Kill him, 'tis fair. Inglorious conquest, for King Edward's crown, I'd trample on no enemy were he down. There— if thouart well, part. I'll die, or in thy heart blood wash this infamy. Mercy on my soul. He's slain. Away. Shift for yourselves, 'twill prove a stormy day. Search, call for Surgeons, follow the murderer. Wa is me, ligs my luife on the cawd ground, Let me come kiss his frosty mouth. What Scot is't? Oh, 'tis young Selby! Ha'my son, who slew him? That fatal hand of Wallace. Follow the villain. Ize jocund and we'll now. Lay upon her fast hold. Hang me I reck not. Away with her to prison. Not all the blood and treasure we have spent Like zealous prodigals in Palestine, Goes half so near our heart, as that proud France, Knowing our merit should bar us of our due. France dares not. Yet he does. 'Twas not demanded. How, not demanded? thinks the bold Lord Percy, That Grimsby dares not (lawfully employed) demand. But not command. Yes command, Percy. Grimsby, thou canst do well in Garrison. Wear chamois for a grace, project for blood, Make eight days to one week, turn executioner, And hangman like send fifty in one morning, To feed the Crows, and live upon dead pay. He's a man worse than dead that— Stop thy throat or— What? I'll cut it. Cut throat. 'Tis a trade, By which few prosper, and yet thou art made. A man as good as— A hangman. A foul blot Lies in your throat. Thy foul-mouth, wash it Scot. In Percies blood I'll wash't. Grimsby you lean too hard upon our sufferance, and noble Percy. Our honoured second in all inward combats, Thou hast too many worthy parts of man, To throw thyself on this unequal hazard, Grimsby thou standst so much degreed below him, Both in descent and eminent quality, The many favours we have graced thee with, Blush to have been conferred upon a man No better tempered.
seed 43: T22 · seed 44: T13 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
She is, our Laſſe are not Engliſh common, I'me right Scotch bred, till death ſtick to a woman. And to the death thou ſhalt, no more but this, Thou ſhalt beare from me Scot. When? Inſtantly. Make time Sir, of your weapon, time, and place. This Whinyard. This. Our ſwords do now agree, and of one length and ſcantling. Why ſhould not we, if we muſt Surgeons Have to morrow or anon If not as good now, 'tis the Engliſh faſhion To ſwagger it out, and then drink and then fight And kill in cold bloud having ſlept ſound all night, And oftentimes all gaſh'd, the ſeconds fall, When home in whole skins come the principall. So about words, the Lawyer wrangling ſtands, And loſes in mean time his clients lands. Do'ſt teach me fencing too in thy own ſchool? I'le beat thee or be beaten, one draws ſhort breath. I feele no ſickneſſe. Yet th'art neere thy death. At it ſo hotly. Kill him, 'tis faire. Inglorious conqueſt, for King Edwards crown, I'de trample on no enemy were hee down. There—if th'art well, part. I'le die, or in thy heart bloud waſh this infamy. Mercy on my ſoule. He's ſlain. Away. Shift for your ſelves, 'twill prove a ſtormy day. Search, call for Surgeons, follow the murderer. Wa is me, ligs my luife on the cawd ground, Let me come kiſſe his froſty mouth. What Scot iſt? Oh, 'tis yong Selby! Ha'my ſonne, who ſlue him? That fatall hand of Wallace. Follow the villain. Ize jocund and weel now. Lay upon her faſt hold. Hang me I reck not. Away with her to priſon. Not all the bloud and treaſure we have ſpent Like zealous prodigals in Paleſtine, Goes half ſo neer our heart, as that proud France, Knowing our merit ſhould bar us of our due. France dares not. Yet he does. 'Twas not demanded. How, not demanded? thinks the bold Lord Percy, That Grimſby dares not (lawfully employ'd) demand. But not command. Yes command, Percy. Grimſby, thou canſt do well in Gariſon. Weare ſhamoys for a grace, project for bloud, Make eight dayes to one week, turn executioner, And hangman like ſend fifty in one morning, To feed the Crows, and live upon dead pay. He's a man worſe then dead that— Stop thy throat or— VVhat? Ile cut it. Cut throat. 'Tis a trade, By which few proſper, and yet thou art made. A man as good as— A hangman. A foule blot Lies in your throat. Thy foul-mouth, waſh it Scot. In Percies bloud Il'e waſh't. Grimſby you leane To hard upon our ſufferance, and noble Percy. Our honor'd ſecond in all inward combats, Thou haſt too many worthy parts of man, To throw thy ſelf on this unequall hazard, Grimſby thou ſtandſt ſo much degreed below him, Both in deſcent and eminent qualitie, The many favours we have grac'd thee with, Bluſh to have been conferr'd upon a man No better temper'd.