Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T18: king, lord, wallace, earl, edward, england, scotland, rebels, bruce, english.
Wound for wound. Exeunt King and Bruce pursuing the Scots. Take breath, I would not have the world robbed of two such spirits, post to the King, and tell him that the noblest Hearts of the whole herd are hunted to the toil, Ask whether they shall fall, or live for gain. I shall. Charge. For honour's sake come down, and save thy Country. Whose is the day? 'tis Edward's, come rescue Our General, and the noble Grimsby. Who? Our General and stout Grimsby are enclosed With quicksets made of steel, come fetch them off, Or all is lost. Is the day lost? Lost, lost. Unless the day be quite lost, I'll not stir. 'tis quite lost. Why then descend amain, art sure 'tis lost? Yes. Then we'll win it again. How now? The King proclaims that man a traitor That saves when he may kill. Charge them black day, The Lion hunts a Lion for his prey. A fight. Too late. Why then farewell, I'll make what haste I can to follow thee, Bruce, Bruce, I am here, 'tis Wallace calls thee, Dares thee. Though I ne'er stooped unto a traitor's lure, I scorn thine, why dost thou single me, Yet turnst thy weapon downward to the earth? let's breathe and talk. I'll parley with no traitor but with blows. Ye shall have blows your guts full, I am no traitor. Why 'gainst thy Sovereign lifts thou then thy sword? You see I lift it not. Tell Edward so thy King. Longshancks was never Sovereign of mine, Nor shall whilst Bruce lives, Bruce is my Sovereign, Thou art but bastard English, Scotch true borne, thouart made a mastive 'mongst a herd of wolves, To weary those thou shouldst be shepherd of. The fury of the battle now declines, And take my counsel, though I seem thy foe, Wash both thy hands in blood, and when anon The English in their Tents their deeds do boast, Lift thou thy bloody hands up, and boast thine, And with a sharp eye note, but with what scorn, The English pay thy merit. This I'll try. Dar'st thou alone meet me in Glasco-moore, And there I'll tell thee more? Thou hast no treason towards me? Here's my hand, I am clear as innocence, had I meant treason Here could I work it on thee, I have none. In Glasco-moore I'll meet thee, fare thee well. The time. Some two hours hence. There I will untie A knot, at which hangs death or Sovereignty. We have sweat hard today. 'twas a brave hunting. Sit, some wine Away in the field all fellows, whose is this? It was my Coat at Arms, but now 'tis yours at legs. Away, why givest thou me a cushion? Because of the two, I take you to be the better man. A soldiers' coat shall never be so base To lie beneath my heel, thouart in this place My fellow, and companion, a health to all in England.
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)
Wound for wound. Exeunt King and Bruce purſuing the Scots. Take breath, I would not have the world rob'd of two ſuch ſpirits, poaſt to the King, and tell him that the nobleſt Harts of the whole heard are hunted to the toyle, Aske whether they ſhall fall, or live for gaine. I ſhall. Charge. For honours ſake come downe, and ſave thy Countrey. Whoſe is the day? Tis Edwards, come reſcue Our Generall, and the noble Grimsby. Who? Our Generall and ſtout Grimsby are encloſd With quick-ſets made of ſteele, come fetch them off, Or all is loſt. Is the day loſt? Loſt, loſt. Vnleſſe the day be quite loſt, I'le not ſtirre. Tis quite loſt. Why then deſcend amaine, art ſure tis loſt? Yes. Then wee'le winne it againe. How now? The King proclaimes that man a traytor That ſaves when he may kill. Charge them blacke day, The Lyon hunts a Lyon for his prey. A fight. Too late. Why then farewell, I'le make what haſte I can to follow thee, Bruce, Bruce, I am here, 'tis Wallace calls thee, Dares thee. Tho I nere ſtoopt unto a traitors lure, I ſcorne thine, why do'ſt thou ſingle me, Yet turnſt thy weapon downward to the earth? Lets breathe and talke. I'le parly with no traytor but with blows. Ye ſhall have blows your guts full, I am no traytor. Why 'gainſt thy Soveraigne lifts thou then thy ſword? You ſee I lift it not. Tell Edward ſo thy King. Longſhancks was never Soveraigne of mine, Nor ſhall whilſt Bruce lives, Bruce is my Soveraigne, Thou art but baſtard Engliſh, Scotch true borne, Th'art made a maſtive 'mongſt a heard of wolves, To weary thoſe thou ſhouldſt be ſhepheard of. The fury of the battell now declines, And take my counſell, though I ſeeme thy foe, Waſh both thy hands in bloud, and when anon The Engliſh in their Tents their deeds do boaſt, Lift thou thy bloudy hands up, and boaſt thine, And with a ſharpe eye note, but with what ſcorne, The Engliſh pay thy merit. This I'le try. Dar'ſt thou alone meet me in Glaſco-moore, And there I'le tell thee more? Thou haſt no treaſon towards me? Here's my hand, I am cleare as innocence, had I meant treaſon Here could I worke it on thee, I have none. In Glaſco-moore I'le meet thee, fare thee well. The time. Some two houres hence. There I will untie A knot, at which hangs death or Soveraigntie. We have ſwet hard to day. Twas a brave hunting. Sit, ſome wine Away in the field all fellows, whoſe is this? It was my Coat at Armes, but now tis yours at legges. Away, why giveſt thou me a cuſhion? Becauſe of the two, I take you to be the better man. A ſouldiers coat ſhall never be ſo baſe To lye beneath my heele, th'art in this place My fellow, and companion, a health to all in England.