Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T18: king, lord, wallace, earl, edward, england, scotland, rebels, bruce, english.
alas Scotland to wham salt thou complain, alas, fra mourning wha sall thee refrain? I thee beseek and for him died on tree, Come not near Bruyce, yet Bruyce sall not hurt thee, alas, alas, no man can stand 'gainst fate. The damp dew fra the heaven does 'gin to favu, I to my rest mim gange ere the Cock crawe. It was my wife, what horror meet I here? No Armour in the world can hold out fear. We stay for your direction. Whom did you meet? nobody. Saw ye nothing? Not any thing. 'twas my brains weakness then, I have seen strange sights, that anon I'll tell; If Grimsbie we meet never more, farewell. Ha, I am struck dumb, oh man's slippery fate! mischiefs that follow us at our backs we shun, And are struck down with those we dream not on. I have beside with Wallace sheriff of life, Held private conference, who in Longshancks name, Who swears to me we shall have good preferment, Beside the promised gold. Peace, Wallace comes. Is the Bruyce come? It is not yet his hour. Who came along with you? My footboy only, who is tying up my horse. Him must I kill. I'll look if Bruce be in sight yet— Do. Y'are sad. My mind is shaken but the storm is o'er, What cry is that? Be armed, Bruce with a force comes to betray thee, From some villain's hand thy footboy is murdered. Murdered? Bruce shall repent this deed. So shalt thou, away with him. Help to disguise me Soldier, in exchange Take these for thine, and here's some gold to boot. If I be not hanged, my Lord, in all my bravery, I care not. Phew, I warrant thee, Seal up thy lips and eyes, thou neither seest Nor canst tell where I am. Not I my Lord. Oh my poor wronged country, pardon me heaven, And with a feather plucked from mercy's wing, Brush off the purple spots, that else would grow, Like freckles on my soul. My Lord, here comes company. Here quick mine own again, and get thee gone. Sirrah Soldier, sawst thou the Earl of Huntington? Huntington? The Lord Bruce, I mean. Who calls for Bruce? Muffled up, and alone, I'll to the King. Do, sirrah be gone. Whither's Percy gone? he asked for Bruce. There's great enquiry for you. By whom? The King has a fresh command for Bruce. For me? he may command his Subjects. True, and Huntington is one. Is none. No Subject? None that dare oppose your King, Oh my impostumed spleen, Will fly into their faces, what command Has England now? Fresh powers are to be levied, Which Bruce of Huntington must lead. 'Gainst whom? 'gainst proud Wallace, 'gainst the Scots. I will not, I'm not his Butcher, 'gainst the Scots I will not fight. How, will not?
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)
Alace Scotland to wham ſalt thou compleyne, Alace, fra mourning wha ſall the refayne? I thee beſeekand for him dy'd on tree, Come not nere Bruyce, yet Bruyce ſall not hurt thee, Alace, alace, no man can ſtand 'gainſt fate. The dampe dew fra the heaven does gyn to faw, I to my reſt mim gange ere the Cock crawe. It was my wife, what horror meete I here? No Armour in the world can hold out feare. We ſtay for your direction. Whom did you meete? No body. Saw ye nothing? Not any thing. Twas my braines weakneſſe then, I have ſeene ſtrange ſights, that anon I'le tell; If Grimsbie we meete never more, farewell. Ha, I am ſtrucke dumbe, oh mans ſlippery fate! Miſchiefes that follow us at our backs we ſhunne, And are ſtrucke downe with thoſe we dreame not on. I have beſide with Wallace ſherife of life, Held private conference, who in Longſhancks name, Who ſweares to me we ſhall have good preferment, Beſide the promiſt gold. Peace, Wallace comes. Is the Bruyce come? It is not yet his houre. Who came along with you? My foot-boy onely, who is tying up my horſe. Him muſt I kill. I'le looke if Bruce be in ſight yet— Do. Y'are ſad. My minde is ſhaken but the ſtorme is o're, What cry is that? Be arm'd, Bruce with a force comes to betray thee, From ſome villaines hand thy foot-boy is murdered. Murdred? Bruce ſhall repent this deed. So ſhalt thou, away with him. Helpe to diſguiſe me Souldier, in exchange Take theſe for thine, and here's ſome gold to boot. If I be not hang'd, my Lord, in all my bravery, I care not. Phew, I warrant thee, Seale up thy lips and eyes, thou neither ſeeſt Nor canſt tell where I am. Not I my Lord. Oh my poore wrong'd countrey, pardon me heaven, And with a feather pluck'd from mercies wing, Bruſh off the purple ſpots, that elſe would grow, Like freckles on my ſoule. My Lord, here comes company. Here quicke mine own agen, and get thee gone. Sirra Souldier, ſaw'ſt thou the Earle of Huntington? Huntington? The Lord Bruce, I meane. Who cals for Bruce? Muffled up, and alone, I'le to the King. Do, ſirra be gone. Whither's Percy gone? he ask'd for Bruce. There's great enquirie for you. By whom? The King has a freſh command for Bruce. For me? he may command his Subjects. True, and Huntington is one. Is none. No Subject? None that dare oppoſe your King, Oh my impoſtum'd ſpleene, Will flie into their faces, what command Has England now? Freſh powers are to be levied, Which Bruce of Huntington muſt leade. 'Gainſt whom? Gainſt proud Wallace, 'gainſt the Scots. I will not, I'm not his Butcher, Gainſt the Scots I will not fight. How, will not?