The Spanish Tragedy (Hieronimo is Mad Again) · chunk 3 of 41
Kyd, Thomas · published 1592 · first performed or written 1587 [1585-1589; revised c.1597(?) and 1601-2] (Annals) tragedy · Unknown unassigned nearest T59 Spanish courts: war, honour and courtshi · 507 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T59: andrea, spain, portugal, tribute, horatio, king, bellimperia, prince, lord, lorenzo.
Both battles join and fall to handy blows. Their violent shot resembling th'ocean's rage, When roaing lowd and with a swelling de, It beats upon the rampires of huge rocks, And gapes to swallow neighbour bounding lands. Now while Bellona rageth here and there, Thick storms of bullets ran like winter's hail, And shivered Lances dark the troubled air. Pede pes & cuspide cuspis, Anni sonant annis vir petiturque viro. On every side drop Captains to the ground, And Soldiers some ill maimed, some slain outright: Here falls a body sundered from his head, There legs and arms lie bleeding on the grass, Mingled with weapons and unbowelled steeds: That scattering over spread the purple plain. In all this turmoil three long hours and more, The victory to neither part inclined, Till Don Andrea with his brave Lanciers, In their main battle made so great a breach, That half dismayed, the multitude retired: But Balthazar the Portingales young Prince, Brought rescue and encouraged them to stay: Here-hence the fight was eagerly renewed, And in that conflict was Andrea slain. Brave man at arms, but weak to Balthazar. Yet while the Prince insulting over him, Breathed out proud vaunts, sounding to our reproach, Friendship and hardy valour joined in one, Pricked forth Horatio our Knight Marshal's son, To challenge forth that Prince in single fight: Not long between these twain the fight endured, But straight the Prince was beaten from his horse, And forced to yield him prisoner to his foe: When he was taken, all the rest they fled, And our Carbines pursued them to the death, Till Phoebus waving to the western deep, Our Trumpeters were charged to sound retreat. Thanks good L. General for these good news, And for some argument of more to come, Take this and wear it for thy sovereign's sake. But tell me now, hast thou confirmed a peace? No peace my Liege, but peace conditional, That if with homage tribute be well paid, The fury of your forces willbe staid. And to this peace their Viceroy hath subscribed. And made a solemn vow that during life, His tribute shallbe truly paid to Spain. These words, these deeds, become thy person well. But now Knight Marshall frolic with thy King, For 'tis thy Son that wins this battles prize. Long may he live to serve my sovereign liege, And soon decay unless he serve my liege. Not thou nor he shall die without reward, What means this warning of this trumpet's sound? This tells me that your graces men of war, Such as wars fortune hath reserved from death, Come marching on towards your royal seat, To show themselves before your Majesty, For so I gave in charge at my depart. Whereby by demonstration shall appear, That all (except three hundred or few more) Are safe returned and by their foes enriched. A gladsome sight, I long to see them here. They enter and pass by. Was that the warlike Prince of Portingale, That by our Nephew was in triumph led?
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)
Both battailes ioyne and fall to handie blowes. Thei violent shot resembling th'oceans rage, When roaing lowd and with a swelling de, It beats vpon the rapiers of huge rocks, And gapes to swallow neighbour bounding lands. Now while Bellona rageth heere and there, Thick stormes of bullets ran like winters haile, And shiuered Launces darke the troubled aire. Pede pes & cuspide cuspis, Anni sonant annis vir petiturque viro. On euery side drop Captaines to the ground, And Souldiers some ill maide, some slaine outright: Heere falles a body scindred from his head, There legs and armes lye bleeding on the grasse, Mingled with weapons and vnboweld steeds: That scattering ouer spread the purple plaine. In all this turmoyle three long hovres and more, The victory to neither part inclinde, Till Don Andrea with his braue Lauciers, In their maine battell made so great a breach, That hale dismaid, the multitude retrde: But Balthazar the Portingales young Prince, Brought rescue and encouragde them to stay: Heere-hence the fight was eagerly renewd, And in that conflict was Andrea slaine. Braue man at armes, but weake to Balthazar. Yet while the Prince insulting ouer him, Breathd out proud vaunts, sounding to our reproch, Friendship ad hardie valour ioynd in one, Prickt forth Horatio our Knight Marshals sonne, To challenge forth that Prince in single fight: Not long betweene these twaine the fight indurde, But straight the Prince was beaten from his horse, And forst to yeeld him prsoner to his foe: When he was taken, all the rest they fled, And our Carbines pursued them to the death, Till Phoebus wauing to the western deepe, Our Trumpeters were chargde to sound retreat. Thanks good L. Generall for these good newes, And for some argument of more to come, Take this and weare it for thy soueraignes sake. But tell me now, ast thou confirmd a peace? No peace my Liege, but peace conditionall, That if with homage tribute be well paid, The fury of your forces wilbe staide. And to this peace their Viceroy hath subscribde. And made a solemne vow that during life, His tribute shalbe truely paid to Spaine. These words, these deeds, become thy person wel. But now Knight Marshall rolike with thy King, For tis thy Sonne that winnes this battels prize. Long may he liue to serue my soueraigne liege, And soone decay vnlesse he serue my liege. Not thou nor he shall dye without reward, What meanes this waning of this trumpets sound? This tels me that your graces men of warre, Such as warres fortune hath reseru'd from death, Come marching on towards your royall seate, To show themselues before your Maiestie, For so I gaue in charge at my depart. Whereby by demonstration shall appeare, That all (except three hundred or few more) Are safe returnd and by their foes inricht. A gladsome sight, I long to see them heere. They enter and passe by. Was that the warlike Prince of Portingale, That by our Nephew was in triumphled?