The Seven Champions of Christendom · chunk 20 of 43
Kirke, John · published 1638 · first performed or written 1635 [1634-1638] (Annals) romance · Red Bull Company (second) · Red Bull T13 Knights, squires and ladies typicality 0.75 · 527 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T13: knight, raph, lady, knights, george, master, squire, rafe, pray, god.
Our Britain Knight we leave in his hard journey But more hard attempt, yet all the other have not idle been, For since their parting at the brazen Pillar, Each hath shared strange and perilous adventures, Which here in several acts to personate, would in the Meanest fill a larger Scene than on this Stage An Action would contain; But to the shortness of the time we'll sort, Each Champion in't shall bear a little part Of their more larger History: Then let your fancies deem upon a stage, One man a thousand, and one hour an age. And now with patience bear your kind attents to the Red Cross bearer, English George, your high renowned Knight, who since the hand of Christendom parted her Seven fair Knights, the dangers he hath seen and passed, Would make the brightest day look pale and tremble, Nay death himself, that ends mortality, To think of death, and that himself must die. After renowned George from the fell dragon's jaws, Redeemed Sabrina, Pomil's only heir, with slaughter Of the Hell-produced fiend; his wife he won, Had Pomil promise kept; but in a large requital Of her life, incensed by the Morocco King, our champion's rival, Cast George in prison, in a hateful Dungeon; He that deserved his Crown, and daughter's bed, He ingratefully with bran and water fed 7 years together, Which time expired, the miserable Knight found once That opportunity showed him a little favour, For by the breaking of the jailer's neck, He gained the keys which gave him liberty: When being freed, and out of danger's port, You his kind Countrymen shall see For England's honour, George's chivalry. Oh most astonishable hunger! thou that dost pinch worse than any Fairies, or the gums of old women: thou that dost freeze the mortal gouts of a man more than the resined stick of a Base Viol, what shall be said? what shall be done to thee? Oh my glorious Mother, what a time of eating had I in thy days, nay, my magnanimous Master, whom I lost in the devil's arse of Peake: what a plentiful progress had I with thee, when we did nothing but kill Giants and wild beasts, than the golden gobbets of Beef and Bacon, whose shining fat would cry clash in spite of my teeth, now I may compare with Ployden's law, the case is altered; A shepherd, a sheep-biter; nay, I were happy then, I would wish no better bitings than Mutton; the Cobs of Herring, and parings of Cheese is now a Sundays diet, and yet they cry out of my abominable feeding, my unsatisfied gut, with a Wolf at the end on't: I have eat up my tarbox for hunger already, what will be next trow? Soft, who comes here, my fellow Swain with some pitiful provant for my dinner? Suckabus, where art thou? Here, where the bare bones of him will be very shortly: what hast thou brought me there? A feast, a feast; here's princely cheer for thee: here's two Carrots and a Turnip, and a little morsel of Beanbread, that I stole to hearten thee up withal.
seed 43: T20 · seed 44: T17 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Our Brittaine Knight we leave in his hard journey But more hard attempt, yet all the other have not idle beene, For ſince their parting at the brazen Piller, Each hath ſhar'd ſtrange and perillous adventures, Which here in ſeverall acts to perſonate, would in the Meaneſt fill a larger Scene than on this Stage An Action would containe; But to the ſhortneſſe of the time wee'le ſort, Each Champion in't ſhall beare a little part Of their more larger Hiſtory: Then let your fancies deeme upon a ſtage, One man a thouſand, and one houre an age. And now with patience beare your kind attents to the Red Croſſe bearer, Engliſh George, your high renowned Knight, who ſince the hand of Chriſtendome parted her Seven faire Knights, the dangers he hath ſeene and paſt, Would make the brighteſt day looke pale and tremble, Nay death himſelfe, that ends mortality, To thinke of death, and that himſelfe muſt dye. After renowned George from the fell Dragons jawes, Redeem'd Sabrina, Pmils onely heire, with ſlaughter Of the Hell-produced fiend; his wife he wonne, Had Pomil promiſe kept; but in a large requitall Of her life, incenſ'd by the Moroco King, our Champions rivall, Caſt George in priſon, in a hatefull Dungeon; He that deſerv'd his Crowne, and daughters bed, He ingratefully with branne and water fed 7 years together, Which time expir'd, the miſerable Knight found once That opportunity ſhewed him a little favour, For by the breaking of the Laylers neck, He gaind the keyes which gave him liberty: When being freed, and out of dangers port, You his kind Countrymen ſhall ſee For Englands honour, Georges Chivaldry. Oh moſt aſtoniſhable hunger! thou that doſt pinch worſe than any Fairies, or the gummes of old women: thou that doſt freeze the mortall gouts of a man more than the R zom'd ſtick of a Baſe Violl, what ſhall be ſaid? what ſhall be done to thee? Oh my glorious Mother, what a time of eating had I in thy dayes, nay, my magnanimous Maſter, whom I loſt in the devils arſe of Peake: what a plentifull progreſſe had I with thee, when we did nothing but kill Gyants and wild beaſts, then the golden gobbets of Beefe and Bacon, whoſe ſhining fat would cry claſh in ſpight of my teeth, now I may compare with Ploydens law, the caſe is alr'd; A ſhepheard, a ſheep-biter; nay, I were happy then, I would wiſh no better bitings than Mutton; the Cobs of Herring, and parings of Cheeſe is now a Sundayes dyet, and yet they cry out of my abhominable feeding, my unſatisfied gut, with a Wolfe at the end on't: I have eate up my Tarrebox for hunger already, what will be next troe? Soft, who comes here, my fellow Swaine withſome pittifull provant for my dinner? Suckabus, where art thou? Heere, where the bare bones of him will be very ſhortly: what haſt thou brought me there? A feaſt, a feaſt; here's princely cheere for thee: here's two Carrots and a Turnip, and a little morſell of Beanebread, that I ſtole to hearten thee up withall.