The Reign of King Edward the Third · chunk 25 of 39
Anonymous / Shakespeare, William · published 1596 · first performed or written 1590 [c.1590-1595] (Annals) history · Derby's (Strange's) Men (?) unassigned nearest T38 Death, parting and grief at court · 488 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T38: queen, king, death, dead, heart, life, die, lord, royal, news.
Renowned Edward, give me leave I pray, To lead my soldiers where I may relieve, Your grace's son, in danger to be slain, The snares of French, like Emmets on a bank, Muster about him whilst he Lion like, Entangled in the net of their assaults, franticly rends and bits the woven toil, But all in vain, he cannot free himself. Audley content, I will not have a man, On pain of death sent forth to succour him: This is the day, ordained by destiny, To season his courage with those grievous thoughts, That if he breaketh out, Nestor's years on earth, Will make him savour still of this exploit. Ah but he shall not live to see those days, Why then his Epitaph, is lasting praise. Yet good my Lord, 'tis too much wilfulness, To let his blood be spilled that may be saved, Exclaim no more, for none of you can tell, Whether a borrowed aid will serve or no, Perhaps he is already slain or ta'en: And dare a Falcon when she's in her flight, And ever after she'll be haggard like: Let Edward be delivered by our hands, And still in danger he'll expect the like, But if himself, himself redeem from thence, He will have vanquished cheerful death and fear, And ever after dread their force no more, Than if they were but babes or Captive slaves. O cruel Father, farewell Edward then. Farewell sweet Prince, the hope of chivalry, O would my life might ransom him from death. But soft methinks I hear, The dismal charge of Trumpets loud retreat: All are not slain I hope that went with him, Some will return with tidings good or bad. O joyful sight, victorious Edward lives. Welcome brave Prince. Welcome Plantagenet. First having done my duty as beseemed Lords I'll greet you all with hearty thanks, And now behold after my winter's toil, My painful voyage on the boisterous sea, Of wars devouring gulfs and steely rocks, I bring my fraught unto the wished port, My Summer's hope, my travels sweet reward: And here with humble duty I present, This sacrifice, this first fruit of my sword, Cropped and cut down even at the gate of death: The king of Boheme father whom I slew, Whom you said, had entrenched me round about, And lay as thick upon my battered crest, As on an Anvil with their ponderous glaives, Yet marble courage, still did underprop, And when my weary arms with often blows, Like the continual labouring woodmans's Axe, That is enjoined to fell a load of Oakes, Began to falter, straight I would recover: My gifts you gave me, and my zealous vow, And then new courage made me fresh again, That in despite I craved my passage forth. And put the multitude to speedy flight: Lo this hath Edward's hand filled your request, And done I hope the duty of a Knight
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)
Renowned Edward, giue me leaue I pray, To lead my ſouldiers where I may releeue, Your Graces ſonne, in danger to be ſlayne, The ſnares of French, like Emmets on a banke, Muſter about him whileſt he Lion like, Intangled in the net of their aſſaults, Frantiquely wrends and byts the wouen toyle, But all in vaine, he cannot free him ſelfe. Audley content, I will not haue a man, On paine of death ſent forth to ſuccour him: This is the day, ordaynd by deſteny, To ſeaſon his courage with thoſe greeuous thoughts, That if he breaketh out, Neſtors yeares on earth, Will make him ſauor ſtill of this exployt. Ah but he ſhall not liue to ſee thoſe dayes, Why then his Ephitaph, is laſting prayſe. Yet good my Lord, tis too much wilfulnes, To let his blood be ſpilt that may be ſaude, Exclayme no more, for none of you can tell, Whether a borrowed aid will ſerue or no, Perhapps he is already ſlayne or tane: And dare a Falcon when ſhees in her flight, And euer after ſheele be huggard like: Let Edward be deliuered by our hands, And ſtill in danger hele expect the like, But if himſelfe, himſelfe redeeme from thence, He wil haue vanquiſht cheerefull death and feare, And euer after dread their force no more, Then if they were but babes or Captiue ſlaues. O cruell Father, farewell Edward then. Farewell ſweete Prince, the hope of chiualry, O would my life might ranſome him from death. But ſoft me thinkes I heare, The diſmall charge of Trumpets loud retreat: All are not ſlayne I hope that went with him, Some will returne with tidings good or bad. O ioyfull ſight, victorious Edward liues. Welcome braue Prince. Welcome Plantagenet. Firſt hauing donne my duety as beſeemed Lords Ie greet you all with harty thanks, And now behold after my winters toyle, My paynefull voyage on the boyſtrous ſea, Of warres deuouring gulphes and ſteely rocks, I bring my fraught vnto the wiſhed port, My Summers hope, my trauels ſweet reward: And heere with humble duety I preſent, This ſacrifice, this firſt fruit of my ſword, Cropt and cut downe euen at the gate of death: The king of Boheme father whome I ſlue, Whom you ſayd, had intrencht me round about, And laye as thicke vpon my battered creſt, As on an Anull with their ponderous glaues, Yet marble courage, ſtill did vnderprop, And when my weary armes with often blowes, Like the continuall laboring Wood-mans Axe, That is enioynd to fell a load of Oakes, Began to faulter, ſtraight I would recouer: My gifts you gaue me, and my zealous vow, And then new courage made me freſh againe, That in deſpight I cad my paſſage forth. And put the multitude to ſpeedy flyght: Lo this hath Edwards hand fild your requeſt, And done I hope the duety of a Knight