Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T18: king, lord, wallace, earl, edward, england, scotland, rebels, bruce, english.
A brave defiance. Defiance, let's mad them more, they shall not sleep tonight, Good Grimsbie beat a drum, let bonfires shine Through all our army, as if our Tents were burnt, And we dislodged, but recollect our troops Into an ordered body, some thing we'll do To make our Chronicles swell with English rue. A Drum, call a Drum. Oh sir John Mentith I have cracked the Ice, To a design, which if it will succeed, England no more shall strike, nor Scotland bleed. Com. let's be partakers, dear sir. What will you say, if I win Bruce from the English? The happiest day that ever shone on Scotland. And crown him King? That's the upshot must crown all, I'm to meet him Before one hour grow old in Glasco-moore. How meet him? As I am, both come alone, no words to any. Our lips are sealed. Will you ride, or go on foot? No more, I'll ride. we'll pass the wood on foot. Jack Mentith, I do laugh to think what face, Longshancks will make, when he shall hear what guests Will dine with him in's Court on Christmas day. What face? he'll kill the Herald sure. Oh! some charm for me to be invisible there, and see him. For my part, of ten thousand crowns by this hand, I do wish you there. For as many of mine, I swear. Time may come, In his Exchequer we may share twice that sum. Hence, hie you before, keep close in the wood, Break forth if you spy treason, if not, not. Good. Ha, if what thou seem'st thou art, step forward, speak, I have faced more horrid terror. Whare dost gang? What's that to thee? Thousese not lest and lang, Twa wolves will suck thy blood, by the third night, I charge thy soul meet mine, thy death is dight. Thou art a lying spirit. Bruce been thy bane, Give on thou gang luke not turn back again, Wallace beweere, methinks it thee should irk, Mare need hast thou to serve God in the Kirke. Stay, if thou hast a voice thouart blood and bone, As I am, let me feel thee, else I'll think thee A sorcerous imaginary sound: Stand me, thouart some English damned witch, That from a reverend friar has stolen his shape To abuse me— stay— art gone? no Hag I will not. It spoke sure, told me Bruce should be my bane,— cannot— shall not, heaven knows such things only. That eye hath shot me throw, wounds me to death, I know that face too well, but 'tis so ghastly, I'll rather with my nails here dig my grave, Then once more behold thee. Part from me vexed spirit, my blood turns to water, I beseech thee affright me not— it's gone.
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)
A brave defiance. Defiance, Lets mad them more, they ſhall not ſleep to night, Good Grimsbie beat a drum, let bon-fires ſhine Through all our army, as if our Tents were burnt, And we diſlodg'd, but recollect our troops Into an ordered body, ſome thing wee'le do To make our Chronicles ſwell with Engliſh rue. A Drum, call a Drum. Oh ſir John Mentith I have crackt the Ice, To a deſigne, which if it will ſucceed, England no more ſhall ſtrike, nor Scotland bleed. Com. Lets be partakers, deare ſir. What will you ſay, if I winne Bruce from the Engliſh? The happieſt day that ever ſhone on Scotland. And crowne him King? That's the up-ſhot muſt crowne all, I'm to meet him Before one houre grow old in Glaſco-moore. How meet him? As I am, both come alone, no words to any. Our lips are ſeal'd. Will you ride, or go on foot? No more, I'le ride. Wee'le paſſe the wood on foot. Jack Mentith, I do laugh to think what face, Longſhancks wil make, when he ſhall heare what gueſts Will dine with him in's Court on Chriſtmas day. What face? he'le kill the Herald ſure. Oh! ſome charme for me to be inviſible there, and ſee him. For my part, of ten thouſand crownes by this hand, I do wiſh you there. For as many of mine, I ſweare. Time may come, In his Exchequer we may ſhare twice that ſumme. Hence, hye you before, keep cloſe in the wood, Breake forth if you ſpie treaſon, if not, not. Good. Ha, if what thou ſeem'ſt thou art, ſtep forward, ſpeake, I have fac'd more horrid terror. Whare do'ſt gang? What's that to thee? Thouſe not leſt and lang, Twa wolves will ſuike thy bluide, by the third night, I charge thy ſawle meete mine, thy death is dight. Thou art a lying ſpirit. Bruce byn thy bane, Gif on thou gang luke not turne backe againe, Wallace beweere, me thinks it thee ſhould irke, Mare need haſt thou to ſerve God in the Kirke. Stay, if thou haſt a voyce th'art bloud and bone, As I am, let me feele thee, elſe I'le thinke thee A ſorcerous imaginarie ſound: Stand me, th'art ſome Engliſh damned witch, That from a reverend Fryer has ſtoln his ſhape To abuſe me—ſtay—art gone? no Hagge I will not. It ſpake ſure, told me Bruce ſhould be my bane,—cannot—ſhall not, heaven knows ſuch things onely. That eye hath ſhot me throw, wounds me to death, I know that face too well, but 'tis ſo gaſtly, I'le rather with my nayles here dig my grave, Then once more behold thee. Part from me vext ſpirit, my bloud turnes to water, I beſeech thee affright me not—it's gone.