Peele, George · published 1593 · first performed or written 1591 [1590-1593] (Annals) history · Unknown unassigned nearest T18 Rebels, barons and the king's wars at ho · 478 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T18: king, lord, wallace, earl, edward, england, scotland, rebels, bruce, english.
MY L. lieutenant of Glocester, and L. Mortimor, To do you honour in your sovereign's eyes, That as we hear is newly come a-land, From Palestine, with all his men of war. The poor remainder of the royal Fleet, Preserved by miracle in Sicill Road. Go mount your Coursers, meet him on the way, Pray him to spur his Steed, minutes and hours, Until his mother see her princely son, Shining in glory of his safe return. Illustrious England, ancient feat of kings, Whose chivalry hath royalized thy fame: That sounding bravely through terrestial vail, Proclaiming conquests, spoils, and victories, Rings glorious Echoes through the farthest world. What warlike nation trained in feats of arms, What barbarous people, stubborn or untamed, What climate under the Meridian signs, Or frozen Zone under his brumal stage, Erst have not quaked and trembled at the name Of Britain, and her mighty Conqueror,? Her neighbour realms as Scotland, Denmark, France, Aude with their deeds, and jealous of her arms, Have begged defensive and offensive leagues. Thus Europe rich and mighty in her kings, Hath feared brave England dreadful in her kings: And now to eternize Albion's Champions, Equivalent with Troyans' ancient fame, Comes lovely Edward from Ierusalem, Veering before the wind, ploughing the sea, His stretched sails filled with the breath of men, That through the world admires his manliness. And Lo at last, arrived in Dover road, Long shank your king, your glory and our son, With troops of conquering Lords and warlike knights, Like bloody crested Mars o'erlooks his host, Higher than all his army by the head, Marching along as bright as Phoebus eyes, And we his mother shall behold our son, And England's Peers shall see their Sovereign. Glocester, Edward, O my sweet sons. Help Ladies: O ingrateful destiny, To welcome Edward with this tragedy. Patient your highness, 'tis but mother's love, Received with sight of her thrice valiant sons: Madam amaze not, see his Majesty Returned with glory from the holy land. Brave sons the worthy Champions of our God, The honourable soldiers of the highest, Bear with your mother whose abundant love, With tears of joys salutes your sweet return, From famous journeys hard and fortunate. But lords alas how heavy is our loss, Since your departure to these Christian wars, The king your Father, and the prince your son, And your brave Uncle Almains Emperor, ay me are dead. Take comfort madam, leave these sad laments, Dear was my uncle, dearer was my son: And ten times dearer was my noble father, Yet were their lives valued at thousand worlds, They cannot scape the arrest of dreadful death: Death that doth seize and summon all alike. Then leaving them to heavenly blessedness, To join in thrones of glory with the just, I do salute your royal Majesty. My gracious mother Queen, and you my lords,
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)
MY L. lieutenant of Glocester, and L. Mortimr, To do you honor in your Soueraignes eyes, That as we heare is newly come aland, From Palestine, with all his men of warre The poore remainer of the royall Fleete, Preseru'd by miracle in Sicill Roade. Go mount your Coursers, meete him on the way, Pray him to spur his Steede, minutes and houres, Vntill his mother see hir princely sonne, Shining in glory of his safe returne. Illustrious England, auncient feat of kings, Whose chiualrie hath roiallizd thy fame: That sounding brauely through terrestiall vaile, Proclaiming conquests, spoiles, and victories, Rings glorious Ecchoes through the farthelt worlde. What warlike nation traind in feates of armes, What barbarous people, stubborne or vntaimd, What climate vnder the Meridian signes, Or frozen Zone vnder his brumall stage, Erst haue not quaked and trembled at the name Of Britaine, and hir mightie Conquerour,? Her neighbor realmes as Scotland, Denmarke, France, Aude with their deedes, and iealious of her armes, Haue begd defensiue and offensiue leagues. Thus Europe riche and mightie in her kinges, Hath feard braue England dreadfull in her kings: And now to eternize Albions Champions, Equiualent with Trotans auncient fame, Comes louely Edward from Ierusalem, Veering before the winde, plowing the sea, His stretched sailes fild with the breath of men, That through the world admires his manlines. And Ioe at last, ariued in Douer roade, Long shanke your king, your glory and our sonne, With troopes of conquering Lords and warlike knights, Like bloudy crested Mars orelookes his hosle, Higher then all his armie by the head, Martching along as bright as Phoebus eyes, And we his mother shall beholde our sonne, And Englands Peeres shall see their Soueraigne. Glocester, Edward, O my sweete sonnes. Helpe Ladies: O ingratefull desteny, To welcome Edward with this tragedie. Pacient your highnes, tis but mothers loue, Receiu'd with sight of her thrice valiant sonnes: Madam amaze not, see his Maiestie Returnd with glory from the holy land. Braue sons the worthy Champions of our God, The honourable souldiers of the highest, Beare with your mother whose aboundant loue, With teares of ioyes salutes your sweete returne, From famous iourneys hard and fortunate. But lordes alas how heauie is our losse, Since your departure to these Christian warres, The king your Father, and the prince your sonne, And your braue Vnckle Almaines Emperour, Aye me are dead. Take comfort madam, leaue these sad laments, Deare was my vnckle, dearer was my sonne: And ten times dearer was my noble father, Yet were their liues valewd at thousand worlds, They cannot scape the arrest of dreadfull death: Death that dooth seaze and sommon all alike. Then leauing them to heauenly blessednes, To ioyne in thrones of glory with the iust, I doo salute your royall Maiestie. My gratious mother Queene, and you my lordes,