The Reign of King Edward the Third · chunk 34 of 39
Anonymous / Shakespeare, William · published 1596 · first performed or written 1590 [c.1590-1595] (Annals) history · Derby's (Strange's) Men (?) T10 England and France: war, embassy and pea typicality 0.77 · 497 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T10: france, french, england, king, lord, english, edward, talbot, peace, lords.
Dwellest thou on precedents, then be it so, Say Englishman of what degree thou art. An Earl in England, though a prisoner here, And those that know me call me Salisburie. Then Salisburie, say whether thou art bound. To Callice where my liege king Edward is. To Callice Salisburie, then to Callice pack, and bid the king prepare a noble grave, To put his princely son black Edward in, and as thou travel'st westward from this place, Some two leagues hence there is a lofty hill, Whose top seems topless, for the embracing sky, Doth hide his high head in her a zure bosom, Upon whose tall top when thy foot attains, Look back upon the humble vale beneath, Humble of late, but now made proud with arms, and thence behold the wretched prince of Wales, hooped with a bond of iron round about, After which sight to Callice spur amain, and say the prince was smothered, and not slain, and tell the king this is not all his ill, For I will greet him ere he thinks I will, Away be gone, the smoke but of our shot, Will choke our foes, though bullets hit them not. How fares your grace, are you not shot my Lord? No dear Artoys, but choked with dust and smoke, And stepped aside for breath and fresher air. Breath then, and too it again, the amazed French are quite distract with gazing on the crows, and were our quivers full of shafts again, Your grace should see a glorious day of this, O for more arrows Lord, that's our want. Courage Artoys, a fig for feathered shafts, When feathered fowls do bandy on our side, What need we fight, and sweat, and keep a coil, railing crowes outscold our adversaries Up, up Artoys, the ground itself is armed, Fire containing flint, command our bows To hurl away their pretty coloured Ewe, and to it with stones, away Artoys, away, My soul doth prophesy we win the day. Our multitudes are in themselves confounded, Dismayed, and distraught, swift starting fear Hath buzzed a cold dismay through all our army, and every petty disadvantage prompts The fear possessed abject soul to fly, myself whose spirit is steel to their dull lead, What with recalling of the prophesy, and that our native stones from English arms Rebel against us, find myself attainted With strong surprise of weak and yielding fear. Fly father fly, the French do kill the French, Some that would stand, let drive at some that fly, Our drums strike nothing but discouragement, Our trumpets sound dishonour, and retire, The spirit of fear that feareth nought but death, Cowardly works confusion on itself. Pluck out your eyes, and see not this days shame, An arm hath beat an army, one poor David Hath with a stone foiled twenty stout Goliaths, Some twenty naked starvelings with small flints, Hath driven back a puissant host of men, Arrayed and fenced in all accomplements,
seed 43: T8 · seed 44: T8 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Dwelſt thou on preſidents, then be it ſo, Say Engliſhman of what degree thou art. An Earle in England, though a priſoner here, And thoſe that knowe me call me Salisburie. Then Salisburie, ſay whether thou art bound. To Callice where my liege king Edward is. To Callice Salisburie, then to Callice packe, and bid the king prepare a noble graue, To put his princely ſonne blacke Edward in, and as thou trauelſt weſtward from this place, Some two leagues hence there is a loftie hill, Whoſe top ſeemes topleſſe, for the imbracing skie, Doth hide his high head in her a zure boſome, Vpon whoſe tall top when thy foot attaines, Looke backe vpon the humble vale beneath, Humble of late, but now made proud with armes, and thence behold the wretched prince of Wales, Hoopt with a bond of yron round about, After which ſight to Callice ſpurre amaine, and ſaie the prince was ſmoothered, and not ſlaine, and tell the king this is not all his ill, For I will greet him ere he thinkes I will, Awaie be gone, the ſmoake but of our ſhot, Will choake our foes, though bullets hit them not. How fares your grace, are you not ſhot my Lord? No deare Artoys, but choakt with duſt and ſmoake, And ſtept aſide for breath and freſher aire. Breath then, and too it againe, the amazed French are quite diſtract with gazing on the crowes, and were our quiuers full of ſhafts againe, Your grace ſhould ſee a glorious day of this, O for more arrowes Lord, thats our want. Courage Artoys, a fig for feathered ſhafts, When feathered foules doo bandie on our ſide, What need we fight, and ſweate, and keepe a coile, outſcolde our aduerſaries Vp, vp Artoys, the ground it ſelfe is armd, Fire containing flint, command our bowes To hurle awaie their pretie colored Ew, and to it with ſtones, awaie Artoys, awaie, My ſoule doth propheſie we win the daie. Our multitudes are in themſelues confounded, Diſmayed, and diſtraught, ſwift ſtarting feare Hath buzd a cold diſmaie through all our armie, and euerie pettie diſaduantage promptes The feare poſſeſſed abiect ſoule to flie, My ſelfe whoſe ſpirit is ſteele to their dull lead, What with recalling of the propheſie, and that our natiue ſtones from Engliſh armes Rebell againſt vs, finde my ſelfe attainted With ſtrong ſurpriſe of weake and yeelding feare. Fly father flie, the French do kill the French, Some that would ſtand, let driue at ſome that flie, Our drums ſtrike nothing but diſcouragement, Our trumpets ſound diſhonor, and retire, The ſpirit of feare that feareth nought but death, Cowardly workes confuſion on it ſelfe. Plucke out your eies, and ſee not this daies ſhame, An arme hath beate an armie, one poore Dauid Hath with a ſtone foild twentie ſtout Goliahs, Some twentie naked ſtaruelings with ſmall flints, Hath driuen backe a puiſant hoſt of men, Araid and fenſt in all accomplements,