Rawlins, Thomas · published 1640 · first performed or written 1638 [1637-1639] (Annals) tragedy · King's Revels Company unassigned nearest T10 England and France: war, embassy and pea · 501 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T10: france, french, england, king, lord, english, edward, talbot, peace, lords.
Nay monsieur to deprive desert of praise, is unknown Language, troth I use it not; nay it is very well. Be me trot a Madam never do ill, de English man do ill, de Spanere do, de Dutch, de all do ill, but your Franch man, and begare he do incomparable brave. You're too proud on't Begare me no proud i'd vorle, me speak be me trot de trut, and me no lie; metra Madam begare you have de find bode a de vorle, O de fine brave big ting me have ever measure, me waire fit it so pat. Welcome my Lord, Shall I still long, yet lose my longing still? Is there no Art to mount the lofty seat? No Engine that may make us ever great? Must we be still styled Subjects, and for fear Our closest whispers reach the owing care, Not trust the wind? Ray. Be calm my love, Ha, who have we here an eves dropper. Me Signior, Be povera ientle homa a Franch A votre commandment. My Tailor, We monsieur de Madam Tailor. Some happy genius does attend my wishes, Or spirit like a Page conducts unto me The Ministers, whose sweet must sent me easy. Come hither French man, canst thou rule thy tongue? Art not too much a woman? No begar me show something for de man. Or canst thou be like a perverse on, profess doggedness? Be as a dead man dumb, briefly be this: A friend to France, and with a silent speed, Post to our now approaching armed friends: Tell them that Raimond e'er the hasty Sand Of a short hour be spent, shall be impaled, And on his brow a Deputy for France, Support a golden wreath of Kingly cares: Bid 'em make haste to pluck my partner down Into his Grave; be gone, as thou nursest In thy breast thoughts that do thirst For nobleness: be secret and thou'rt made; If not, thou'rt nothing. Mark, 'tis Raimond says it: And as I live, I breathe not, if my deeds Appear not in a horror 'bove my words. Begar me no nedde threaten; me be as close to your secret, or my Lady's secrets as de skin to de flesh; de flesh to de bone: if me tell me de— vat, de ye call de modero de Dog, de Bich; call me de son o de Bich. Count Machvile waits your honour i'th' Hall. Do't, and be more than common in our favour; Here take this Ring for thy more credit: Farewell, be quick and secret. Folly go from my tongue, the French so nigh, And thou half ruined Spain, so wretchedly provided; Strange, yet not, all Countries have bred monsters: 'Tis a Proverb as plain as true, and aged as 'tis both: One tainted Sheep mares a whole flock. Machvile that tainted beast, whose spreading ills Infecteth all; and by infecting kills. I'll to the Franch, what he intends to be Our ruin; shall confound their villainy.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Nay Monsier to deprive desert of praise, is unknown Language, troth I use it not▪ nay it is verry well. Be me trot a Madam ever doe ill, de English man do ill, de Spanere doe, de Duch, de all doe ill, but your Franch man, and begare he doe incomparable brave. Y'are too proud on't Begare me noe proud ide vorle, me speake be me trot de trut, ang me noe lye; metra Madam begare you have de find bode a de vorle, O de fine brave big ting me have ever measure, me waire fit it so pat. Welcome my Lord, Shall I still long, yet lose my longing still? Is there no Art to mount the lofty seat? No Engin that may make us ever great? Must we be still stil'd Subjects, and for feare Our closest whispers reach the owing care, Not trust the wind? Ray. Be calme my love, Ha, who have we here an eues dropper. Me Signior, Be povera inile homa a Franch A votre commandement. My Tayler, We Monsier de Madam Tayler. Some happy genius does attend my wishes, Or spirit like a Page conducts unto me The Ministers, whose sweet must sent me easie. Come hither French man, canst thou rule thy tongue? Art not too much a woman? No begar me show someting for de man. Or canst thou be like a perverse on, professe dogednes? Be as a dead man dumbe, briefly be this: A friend to France, and with a silent speed, Post to our now approaching armed friends: Tell them that Raimond e're the hasty Sand Of a short houre be spent, shall be impal'd, And on his brow a Deputy for France, Support a golden wreath of Kingly cares: Bid 'em make hast to plucke my partner downe Into his Grave; be gone, as thou nursest In thy breast thoughts that doe thirst For noblenesse: be secret and thou'rt made; If not, thou'rt nothing. Marke, 'tis Raimond sayes it: And as I live, I breath not, if my deedes Appeare not in a horrour 'bove my words. Begar me no nede threaten; me be as close to your secret, or my Ladyes secrets as de skin to de flesh; de flesh to de bone: if me tell me de—vat, de ye call de modero de Dog, de Bich; call me de son o de Bich. Count Machvile waites your honour i'th Hall. Do't, and be more then common in our favour; Here take this Ring for thy more credit: Farewell, be quicke and secret. Folly goe from my tongue, the French so nigh, And thou halfe ruin'd Spaine, so wretchedly provided; Strange, yet not, all Countries have bread monsters: 'Tis a Proverbe as plaine as true, and aged as 'tis both: One tainted Sheepe mares a whole flocke. Machvile that tainted beast, whose spreading ills Infecteth all; and by infecting kills. Ile to the Franch, what he intends to be Our ruine; shall confound their villany.