Peele, George · published 1594 · first performed or written 1589 [1588-1589] (Annals) tragedy · Unknown unassigned nearest T50 Fleets, armies and generals: war by sea · 508 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T50: sea, honour, general, soldiers, men, ship, fight, soldier, king, vittori.
My Lord, such chance as wilful war affords Such chances and misfortunes as attend On him, the God of battle and of arms, My Lord, when with our ordinance fierce we sent Our Moores with smaller shot as thick as hail, Follows apace to charge the Portugal, The valiant Duke the devil of Avero, The bane of Barbary, fraughted full of ire Breaks through the ranks, and with five hundred horse All men at arms, forward and full of might, Assaults the middle wing, and puts to flight Eight thousand Harquebus that served on foot, And twenty thousand Moores with spear & shield: And therewithal the honour of the day. Ah Abdelmelec dost thou live to hear This bitter process of this first attempt? Labour my Lords to renew our force, Of fainting Moores, and fight it to the last. My horse Zareo, O the goal is lost, The goal is lost, thou King of Portugal Thrice happy chance it is for thee and thine That heavens abates my strength and calls me hence. My sight doth fail, my soul, my feeble soul Shall be released from prison on this earth: Farewell vain world for I have played my part. Brave Abdelmelec, thou thrice noble Lord, Not such a wound was given to Barbary, Had twenty hosts of men been put to sword As death, pale death with fatal shaft hath given. Lo dead is he, my brother and my King Whom I might have revived with news I bring. His honours and his types he hath resigned Unto the world, and of a manly man Lo, in a twinkling a senseless stock we see. You trusty soldiers of this warlike King, Be counsel de now by us in this advise, Let not his death be bruited in the camp, lest with the sudden sorrow of the news, The army wholly be discomfited. My Lord Zareo thus I comfort you, Our Moores have bravely borne themselves in fight Likely to get the honour of the day If aught may gotten be where loss is such. Therefore in this apparel as he died My noble brother will we here advance, And set him in his chair with cunning props, That our Barbarians may behold their King And think he doth repose him in his Tent. Right politic and good is your advice. Go then to see it speedily performed. Brave Lord, if Barbary recover this, Thy soul with joy will sit and see the sight. Seest thou not Stukeley, O Stukeley seest thou not The great dishonour done to Christendom? Our cheerful onset crossed in springing hope, The brave and mighty prince, Duke of Avero Slain in my sight, now joy betide his ghost, For like a lion did he bear himself. Our battles are all now disordered, And by our horses strange retiring back, Our middle wing of footmen over-rode. Stukeley, alas I see my oversight, False hearted Mahamet, now to my cost, I see thy treachery, warned to beware A face so full of fraud and 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)
My Lord, such chance as wilfull warre affords Such chances and misfortunes as attend On him, the God of battell and of armes, My Lord, when with our ordenance fierce we sent Our Moores with smaller shot as thicke as haile, Followes apace to charge the Portugall, The valiant Duke the deuill of Auero, The bane of Barbary, fraughted full of ire Breakes through the rankes, and with fiue hundred horsse All men at armes, forward and full of might, Assaults the middle wing, and puts to flight Eight thousand Harquebush that seru'd on foot, And twentie thousand Moores with speare & sheild: And therewithall the honour of the day. Ah Abdelmelec doost thou liue to heare This bitter processe of this first attempt? Labour my Lords to renue our force, Of fainting Moores, and fight it to the last. My horsse Zareo, O the goale is lost, The goale is lost, thou King of Portugall Thrice happy chance it is for thee and thine That heauens abates my strength and calles me hence. My sight doth faile, my soule, my feeble soule Shall be releaste from prison on this earth: Farwell vaine world for I haue playd my parte. Braue Abdelmelec, thou thrise noble Lord, Not such a wound was giuen to Barbary, Had twenty hoasts of men beene put to swoord As death, pale death with fatall shaft hath giuen. Loe dead is he, my brother and my King Whome I might haue reuiu'd with newes I bring. His honours and his types he hath resignde Vnto the world, and of a manly man Loe, in a twinckling a sencelesse stocke we see. You trustie soldiers of this warlike King, Be counsail de now by vs in this aduise, Let not his death be bruted in the campe, Least with the sodaine sorrowe of the newes, The armye wholy be discomfited. My Lord Zareo thus I comforte you, Our Moores haue brauely borne themselues in fight Likely to get the honour of the day If ought may gotten be where losse is such. Therfore in this apparell as he dyed My noble brother will we heere aduance, And set him in his chayre with cunning props, That our Barbarians may beholde their King And thinke he doth repose him in his Tent. Right pollitique and good is your aduice. Goe then to see it speedily performd. Braue Lord, if Barbary recouer this, Thy soule with ioy will sit and see the sight. Seest thou not Stukley, O Stukley seest thou not The great dishonour doone to Christendome? Our cheerfull onset crost in springing hope, The braue and mightie prince, Duke of Auero Slaine in my sight, now ioy betide his ghost, For like a lyon did he beare himselfe. Our battels are all now disordered, And by our horses strange retiring backe, Our middle wing of foot-men ouer-rod. Stukley, alas I see my ouer-sight, False hearted Mahamet, now to my cost, I see thy trecherie, warnd to beware A face so full of fraud and villanie.