Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T50: sea, honour, general, soldiers, men, ship, fight, soldier, king, vittori.
It seemed to me thou art fittest, and passing well. What tidings bringeth Guenther with his haste? Say man, what bodes thy message good or bad. Bad my lord, and all in vain I wot, Thou darest thine eyes upon the wallowing main, As erst did Aegen to behold his son, To welcome and receive thy welcome love, And sable sails he saw, and so mayst thou, For whose mishap the Brackish seas lament, Edward, o Edward. And what of him? Landed he is at Dover with his men, From Palestine safe by his English Lords, Received in triumphs like an earthly God, He lives to wear his father's Diadem, And sway the sword of british Albion. But Elinor, thy Elinor. And what of her? Hath amorous Neptune gazed upon my love, And stopped her passage with his forked mace: Or that I rather fear, O deadly fear, Enamoured Nereus doth he withhold my Elinor? Nor Neptune, Nereus nor other God, Withholdeth from my gracious lord his love, But cruel Edward that injurious king, Withholds thy liefest lovely Elmor, Taking in a Pinnace on the narrow seas, By four tall ships of Bristol, and with her, Lord Emerick her unhappy noble brother, As from Mont argis hitherward they sailed: This say in brief these letters tell at large. Is Longshanks then, so lusty now become, Is my fair love my beauteous Elinor ta'en? Villain damned villains not to guard her safe, Or fence her sacred person from her foes, Sun couldst thou shine and see my love beset, And didst not clothe thy clouds in fiery coats, o'er all the heavens with winged sulphur flames, As when the beams like mounted combatants, battled with Pyetion in the fallowed lays, But if kind Cambria deign me good aspect, To make me chiefest brute of western Wales, I'll short that gain-legged Longshanke by the top, And make his flesh my murdering falchion's food: To arms true Britaine's sprung of Trojans seed. And with your swords write in the book of Time, Your British names in Characters of blood. Owen ap Rice, while we stay for further force, Prepare away in post, and take with thee, A hundred chosen of thy countrymen, And scour the marches with your Welshmen's hooks, That Englishmen may think the diuell is come. Rice shall remain with me, make thou thy bode, In resolution to revenge these wrongs, With blood of thousands guiltless of this rage, Fly thou on them amain: Edward, my love Be thy lives bane. Follow me countrymen, Words make no way, my Elinor is surprised, Robbed am I of the comfort of my life, And know I this and am not venged on him? Come boy we must buckle I see, The prince is of my profession right: Rather than he will lose his wench, He will fight Ab ovo vsque ad mala. O master doubt you not but your Novice will prove a hot shot, with a bottle of Metheglin.
seed 43: T47 · seed 44: T45 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
It seemed to me thou art fittest, and passing well. What tidings bringeth Guenther with his haste? Say man, what bodes thy message good or bad. Bad my lord, and all in vaine I wot, Thou darest thine eyes vpon the wallowing maine, As erst did Aegen to behold his sonne, To welcome and receiue thy welcome loue, And sable sailes he saw, and so maist thou, For whose mishap the Brackish seas lament, Edward, ô Edward. And what of him? Landed he is at Douer with his men, From Palestine safe by his English Lords, Receiued in triumphes like an earthly God, He liues to weare his fathers Diadem, And sway the sworde of brittish Albion. But Elinor, thy Elinor. And what of her? Hath amorous Neptune gazd vpon my loue, And stopt her passage with his forked mace: Or that I rather feare, O deadly feare, Enamoured Nereus dooth he withhold my Elinor? Nor Neptune, Nereus nor other God, Withholdeth from my gratious lord his loue, But cruell Edward that iniurious king, Withholds thy liefest louely Elmor, Taking in a Pinnasse on the narrow seas, By foure tall ships of Bristowe, and with her, Lord Emerick her vnhappie noble brother, As from Mont argis hetherward they saild: This say in breefe these letters tell at large. Is Longshankes then, so lustie now become, Is my faire loue my beautions Elinor tane? Villaine damnde villaines not to guard her safe, Or fence her sacred person from her foes, Sunne couldst thou shine and see my loue beset, And didst not clothe thy cloudes in fierie coates, Ore all the heauens with winged sulphure flames, As when the beames like mounted combatants, Battaild with Pyetion in the fallowed laies, But if kinde Cambria deigne me good aspect, To make me cheefest brute of westerne Wales, Ile short that gainlegd Longshanke by the top, And make his flesh my murthering fawchions foode: To armes true Britaines sprong of Troians seede. And with your swordes write in the booke of Time, Your Brittish names in Characters of bloud. Owen ap Rice, while we staie for further force, Prepare awaie in poste, and take with thee, A hundred chosen of thy countrimen, And scowre the marches with your Welshmens hookes, That Englishmen may thinke the diuellis come. Rice shall remaine with me, make thou thy boade, In resolution to reuenge these wronges, With bloud of thousands guiltlesse of this rage, Flie thou on them amaine: Edward, my loue Be thy liues bane. Follow me countrimen, VVords make no waie, my Elinor is surprizd, Robd am I of the comfort of my life, And know I this and am not veng'd on him? Come boie we must buckle I see, The prince is of my profession right: Rather than he wil lose his wenche, He will fight Ab ouo vsque ad mala. O maister doubt you not but your Nouice will prooue a whot shot, with a bottle of Methegl.