The Reign of King Edward the Third · chunk 24 of 39
Anonymous / Shakespeare, William · published 1596 · first performed or written 1590 [c.1590-1595] (Annals) history · Derby's (Strange's) Men (?) unassigned nearest T13 Knights, squires and ladies · 465 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T13: knight, raph, lady, knights, george, master, squire, rafe, pray, god.
Now wants there nought but knighthood, which deferred we leave till thou hast won it in the field, My gracious father and ye forward peers, This honour you have done me animates, And cheers my green yet scarce appearing strength, With comfortable good presaging signs, No otherwise than did old Jacob's words, whenas he breathed his blessings on his sons, These hallowed gifts of yours when I profane, Or use them not to glory of my God, To patronage the fatherless and poor, Or for the benefit of England's peace, Be numb my joints, wax feeble both mine arms, Wither my heart that like a sapless tree, I may remain the map of infamy. Then this our steeled Battles shall be ranged, The leading of the vanward Ned is thine, To dignify whose lusty spirit the more We temper it with Audley's gravity, That courage and experience joined in one, Your manage may be second unto none, For the mayne battles I will guide myself, And Derby in the rearward march behind, That orderly disposed and set in ray, Let us to horse and God grant us the day. Oh Lorraine say, what mean our men to fly, Our number is far greater than our foes, The garrison of Genoa's my Lord, That came from Paris weary with their march, Grudging to be suddenly employed, No sooner in the forefront took their place. But strait retiring so dismayed the rest, As likewise they betook themselves to flight In which for haste to make a safe escape, More in the clustering throng are priest to death, Then by the enemy a thousand fold. O hapless fortune, let us yet assay, If we can counsel some of them to stay. Lord Audley, whiles our son is in the chase, With draw our powers unto this little hill, And here a season let us breathe ourselves, I will my Lord. Just dooming heaven, whose secret providence, To our gross judgement is inscrutable, How are we bound to praise thy wondrous works, That hast this day given way unto the right, And made the wicked stumble at themselves. Rescue king Edward, rescue, for thy son, Rescue Artoys, what is he prisoner? Or by violence fell beside his horse. Neither my Lord, but narrowly beset, With turning Frenchmen, whom he did pursue, As 'tis impossible that he should scape. Except your highness presently descend. Tut let him fight, we gave him arms today. And he is labouring for a knighthood man. The Prince my Lord, the Prince, oh succour him, he's close encompassed with a world of odds. Then will he win a world of honour to, If he by valour can redeem him thence, If not, what remedy, we have more sons, Than one to comfort our declining age.
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)
Now wants there nought but knighthood, which deferd Wee leaue till thou haſt won it in the fielde, My gratious father and yee forwarde peeres, This honor you haue done me animates, And chears my greene yet ſcarſe appearing ſtrength, With comfortable good perſaging ſignes, No otherwiſe then did ould Iacobes wordes, When as he breathed his bleſſings on his ſonnes, Theſe hallowed giftes of yours when I prophane, Or vſe them not to glory of my God, To patronage the fatherles and poore, Or for the benefite of Englands peace, Be numbe my ioynts, waxe feeble both mine armes, Wither my hart that like a ſaples tree, I may remayne the map of infamy. Then this our ſteelde Battailes ſhall be rainged, The leading of the vowarde Ned is thyne, To dignifie whoſe luſty ſpirit the more We temper it with Audlys grauitie, That coage and experience ioynd in one, Your manage may be ſecond vnto none, For the mayne battells I will guide my ſelfe, And Darby in the rereward march behind, That orderly diſpoſd and ſet in ray, Let vs to horſe and God graunt vs the daye. Oh Lorrain ſay, what meane our men to fly, Our nomber is far greater then our foes, The garriſon of Genoacs my Lorde, That cam from Paris weary with their march, Grudging to be ſoddenly imployd, No ſooner in the forefront tooke their place. But ſtraite retyring ſo diſmaide the reſt, As likewiſe they betook themſelues to flight In which for haſt to make a ſafe eſcape, More in the cluſtering throng are preſt to death, Then by the ennimie a thouſand fold. O hapleſſe fortune, let vs yet aſſay, If we can counſell ſome of them to ſtay. Lord Audley, whiles our ſonne is in the chaſe, With draw our powers vnto this little hill, And heere a ſeaſon let vs breath our ſelues, I will my Lord. Iuſt dooming heauen, whoſe ſecret prouidence, To our groſſe iudgement is inſcrutable, How are we bound to praiſe thy wondrous works, That haſt this day giuen way vnto the right, And made the wicked ſtumble at them ſelues. Reſcue king Edward, reſcue, for thy ſonne, Reſcue Artoys, what is he priſoner? Or by violence fell beſide his horſe. Neither my Lord, but narrowly beſet, With turning Frenchmen, whom he did perſue, As tis impoſſible that he ſhould ſcape. Except your highnes preſently deſcend. Tut let him fight, we gaue him armes to day. And he is laboring for a knighthood man. The Prince my Lord, the Prince, oh ſuccour him, Hees cloſe incompaſt with a world of odds. Then will he win a world of honor to, If he by vallour can redeeme him thence, If not, what remedy, we haue more ſonnes, Then one to comfort our declyning age.