The Reign of King Edward the Third · chunk 30 of 39
Anonymous / Shakespeare, William · published 1596 · first performed or written 1590 [c.1590-1595] (Annals) history · Derby's (Strange's) Men (?) unassigned nearest T10 England and France: war, embassy and pea · 453 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T10: france, french, england, king, lord, english, edward, talbot, peace, lords.
This sudden, mighty, and expedient head, That they have made, fair Prince is wonderful. Before us in the valley lies the king, vantaged with all that heaven and earth can yield, His party stronger battled than our whole: His son the braving Duke of Normandie, Hath trimmed the Mountain on our right hand up, In shining plate, that now the aspiring hill, Shows like a silver quarry, or an orb Aloft the which the Banners banerets, And new replenished pendants cuff the air, And beat the winds, that for their gaudiness, Struggles to kiss them on our left handlies, Philip the younger issue of the king, Coting the other hill in such array, That all his guilded upright pikes do seem, Straight trees of gold, the pendant leaves, And their device of antic heraldry, Quartered in colours seeming sundry fruits, Makes it the Orchard of the Hesperides, Behind us two the hill doth bear his height, For like a half Moon opening but one way, It rounds us in, there at our backs are lodged, The fatal Crossbows, and the battle there, Is governed by the rough Chattillion, Then thus it stands, the valley for our flight, The king binds in, the hills on either hand, Are proudly royalised by his sons, And on the Hill behind stands certain death, In pay and service with Chattillion. deaths name is much more mighty than his deeds, Thy parcelling this power hath made it more, As many sands as these my hands can hold, are but my handful of so many sands, Than all the world, and call it but a power: Easily ta'en up and quickly thrown away, But if I stand to count them sand by sand The number would confound my memory, And make a thousand millions of a task, Which briefly is no more indeed than one, These quarters, squadrons, and these regiments, Before, behind us, and on either hand, Are but a power, when we name a man, His hand, his foot, his head hath several strengths, And being all but one self instant strength, Why all this many, Audely is but one, And we can call it all but one man's strength: He that hath far to go, tells it by miles, If he should tell the steps, it kills his heart: The drops are infinite that make a flood, And yet thou knowest we call it but a Rain: There is but one France, one king of France, That France hath no more kings, and that same king Hath but the puissant legion of one king? And we have one, then apprehend no odds, For one to one, is fair equality. What tidings messenger, be plain and brief.
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)
This ſuddaine, mightie, and expedient head, That they haue made, faire Prince is wonderfull. Before vs in the vallie lies the king, Vantagd with all that heauen and earth can yeeld, His partie ſtronger battaild then our whole: His ſonne the brauing Duke of Normandie, Hath trimd the Mountaine on our right hand vp, In ſhining plate, that now the aſpiring hill, Shewes like a ſiluer quarrie, or an orbe Aloft the which the Banners bannarets, And new repleniſht pendants cuff the aire, And beat the windes, that for their gaudineſſe, Struggles to kiſſe them on our left handlies, Phillip the younger iſſue of the king, Coting the other hill in ſuch arraie, That all his guilded vpright pikes do ſeeme, Streight trees of gold, the pendant leaues, And their deuice of Antique heraldry, Quartred in collours ſeeming ſundy fruits, Makes it the Orchard of the Heſperides, Behinde vs two the hill doth beare his height, For like a halfe Moone opening but one way, It rounds vs in, there at our backs are lodgd, The fatall Crosbowes, and the battaile there, Is gouernd by the rough Chattillion, Then thus it ſtands, the valleie for our flight, The king binds in, the hils on either hand, Are proudly royalized by his ſonnes, And on the Hill behind ſtands certaine death, In pay and ſeruice with Chattillion. Deathes name is much more mightie then his deeds, Thy parcelling this power hath made it more, As many ſands as theſe my hands can hold, are but my handful of ſo many ſands, Then all the world, and call it but a power: Eaſely tane vp and quickly throwne away, But if I ſtand to count them ſand by ſand The number would confound my memorie, And make a thouſand millions of a taske, Which briefelie is no more indeed then one, Theſe quarters, ſpuadrons, and theſe regements, Before, behinde vs, and on either hand, Are but a power, when we name a man, His hand, his foote, his head hath ſeuerall ſtrengthes, And being al but one ſelfe inſtant ſtrength, Why all this many, Audely is but one, And we can call it all but one mans ſtrength: He that hath farre to goe, tels it by miles, If he ſhould tell the ſteps, it kills his hart: The drops are infinite that make a floud, And yet thou knoweſt we call it but a Raine: There is but one Fraunce, one king of Fraunce, That Fraunce hath no more kings, and that ſame king Hath but the puiſſant legion of one king? And we haue one, then apprehend no ods, For one to one, is faire equalitie. What tidings meſſenger, be playne and briefe.