The Misfortunes of Arthur (Certain Devices and Shows Presented to Her Majesty) · chunk 24 of 35
Hughes, Thomas / Fulbecke, William · published 1587 · first performed or written 1588 [Feb 28] (Annals) tragedy · before the Court unassigned nearest T50 Fleets, armies and generals: war by sea · 526 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T50: sea, honour, general, soldiers, men, ship, fight, soldier, king, vittori.
Well: we that have not spent our time in wars, But bent our course at peace, and country's weal, May rather now expect what strange event, And Chance ensues of these so rare attempts: Then enter to discourse upon their cause, And err as wide in words, as they in deeds. And Lo: to satisfy your wish therein, Where comes a Soldier sweating from the Camps. THOU Echo shrill that hauntest the hollow hisses, Leave off that wont to snatch the latter word: Howl on a whole discourse of our distress, Clip of no clause: sound out a perfect sense. What fresh mishap (alas) what new annoy, Removes our pensive minds from wonted woes, And yet requires a new lamenting mood? Declare: we joy to handle all our harms: Our many griefs have taught us still to mourn. But (ah) my tongue denies my speech his aid: Great force doth drive it forth: a greater keeps It in. I rue surprised with wontless woes. Speak on, what grief soe'er our Fates afford. Small griefs can speak: the great astonished stand. What greater sins could hap, then what be passed? What mischiefs could be meant, more than were wrought? And think you these to be an end to sins? No. Crime proceeds: those made but one degree. What mischiefs erst were done, term sacred deeds: Call nothing sin, but what hath since ensued. A greater grief requires your tears: Behold These fresh annoys: your last mishaps be stale. Tell on (my friend) suspend our minds no more: Hath Arthur lost? Hath Mordred won the field? O: nothing less. Would God's it were but so. Arthur hath won: but we have lost the field. The field? Nay all the Realm, and Britons bounds. How so? If Arthur won, what could we lose? You speak in clouds, and cast perplexed words. Unfold at large: and sort out sorrows out. Then list a while: this instant shall unwrap Those acts, those wars, those hard events, that all The future age shall e'er have cause to curse. Now that the time drew on, when both the Camps Should meet in Cornwall fields th'appointed place: The reckless troops, whom Fates forbade to live Till noon, or night, did storm and rave for wars. They swarmed about their Guides, and clustering called For signs to fight, and fierce with uproars fell, They onwards hailed the hastening hours of death. A direful frenzy rose: each man his own, And public Fates all heedless headlong flung. On Mordred'S side were sixty thousand men, Some borrowed powers, some Britons bred at home. The Saxons, Irish, Normans, Picts, and Scots Were first in place, the Britons followed last. On Arthur's side there were as many more. Icelandians, Goths, Norwegians, Albans, Danes, Were foreign aids, which Arthur brought from France, A trusty troop, and tried at many a trench. That now the day was come, wherein our State For aye should fall, whenceforth men might inquire What Britain was: these wars thus near bewrayed. Nor could the Heavens no longer hide these harms, But by prodigious signs portend our plagues. For lo: ere both the camps encountering coped,
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)
Well: wee that haue not spent our time in warres, But bent our course at peace, and Countries weale, May rather now expect what strange euent, And Chaunce insues of these so rare attempts: Then enter to discourse vpon their cause, And erre as wide in wordes, as they in deédes. And Lo: to satisfie your wish therein, Where comes a Souldier sweating from the Camps. THOU Eccho shrill that hauntst the hollow hisses, Leaue off that woont to snatch the latter word: Howle on a whole discourse of our distresse, Clippe of no clause: sound out a perfect sense. What fresh mishap (alas) what newe annoy, Remoues our pensiue mindes from wonted woes, And yet requires a newe lamenting moode? Declare: we ioy to handle all our harmes: Our many griefes haue taught vs still to mourne. But (ah) my toung denies my speéch his aide: Great force doth driue it forth: a greater keepes It in. I rue surprisde with woontlesse woes. Speake on, what griefe so e'r our Fates afford. Small griefes can speake: the great astonisht stand. What greater sinnes could hap, then what be past? What mischiefes could be meant, more then were wrought? And thinke you these to be an end to sinnes? No. Crime proceédes: those made but one degreé. What mischiefes earst were done, terme sacred deédes: Call nothing sinne, but what hath since insu'd. A greater griefe requires your teares: Behold These fresh annoyes: your last mishaps be stale. Tell on (my friend) suspend our mindes no more: Hath Arthur lost? Hath Mordred woonne the field? O: nothing lesse. Would Gods it were but so. Arthur hath woonne: but we haue lost the field. The field? Nay all the Realme, and Brytaines bounds. How so? If Arthur woonne, what could we loose? You speake in cloudes, and cast perplexed wordes. Unfolde at large: and sort out sorrowes out. Then list a while: this instant shall vnwrappe Those acts, those warres, those hard euents, that all The future age shall eu'r haue cause to curse. Now that the time drewe on, when both the Camps Should meét in Cornwell fieldes th'appointed place: The reckelesse troupes, whom Fates forbad to liue Till noone, or night, did storme and raue for warres. They swarmde about their Guydes, and clustring cald For signes to fight, and fierce with vprores ell, They onwards hayld the hastning howres of death. A direfull frenzie rose: ech man his owne, And publike Fates all heédlesse headlong flung. On Mordreds side were sixtie thousande men, Some borowed powres, some Brytans bred at home. The Saxons, Irish, Normans, Pictes, and Scottes Were first in place, the Brytanes followed last. On Arthurs side there were as manie more. Islandians, Gothes, Noruegians, Albanes, Danes, Were forraine aides, which Arthur brought from Fraunce, A trustie troupe, and tryed at many a trench. That nowe the day was come, wherein our State For aye should fall, whenceforth men might inquire What Brytaine was: these warres thus neere bewraide. Nor could the Heauens no longer hide these harmes, But by prodigious signes portende our plagues. For lo: er both the Campes encountering coapt,