The Reign of King Edward the Third · chunk 35 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 0.79 · 483 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T10: france, french, england, king, lord, english, edward, talbot, peace, lords.
Mordiu they quait at us, and kill us up, No less than forty thousand wicked elders, Have forty lean slaves this day stoned to death. O that I were some other countryman, This day hath set derision on the French, and all the world wilt blurt and scorn at us. What is there no hope left? No hope but death to bury up our shame, Make up once more with me the twentieth part Of those that live, are men in owe to quail, The feeble handful on the adverse part. Then charge again, if heaven be not opposed We cannot lose the day. On away. How fares my Lord; even as a man may do That dines at such a bloody feast as this. I hope my Lord that is no mortal scar, No matter if it be, the count is cast, and in the worst ends but a mortal man, Good friends convey me to the princely Edward That in the crimson bravery of my blood, I may become him with saluting him, I'll smile and tell him that this open scar, Doth end the harvest of his Audley's war. Now Iohn in France, & lately Iohn of France, Thy bloody Ensigns are my captive colours, and you high vaunting Charles of Normandie, That once to day sent me a horse to fly, are now the subjects of my clemency. Fie Lords, is it not a shame that English boys, Whose early days are yet not worth a beard, Should in the bosom of your kingdom thus, One against twenty beat you up together. Thy fortune, not thy force hath conquered us. an argument that heaven aids the right, See, see, Artoys doth bring with him along, the late good counsel giver to my soul, Welcome Artoys, and welcome Philip to, Who now of you or I have need to pray, Now is the proverb verified in you, Too bright a morning breeds a morning day. But say, what grim discouragement comes here, Alas what thousand armed men of France, Have writ that note of death in Audley's face: Speak thou that wooest death with thy careless smile and look'st so merrily upon thy grave, As if thou wert enamoured on thine end, What hungry sword hath so bereaved thy face, And lopped a true friend from my loving soul: O Prince thy sweet bemoaning speech to me. Is as a mournful knell to one dead sick. Dear Audley if my tongue ring out thy end: My arms shallbe the grave, what may I do, To win thy life, or to revenge thy death, If thou wilt drink the blood of captive kings, Or that it were restorative, command A Heath of king's blood, and I'll drink to thee, If honour may dispense for thee with death, The never dying honour of this day, Share wholly Audley to thyself and live.
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)
Mordiu they quait at vs, and kill vs vp, No leſſe than fortie thouſand wicked elders, Haue fortie leane ſlaues this daie ſtoned to death. O that I were ſome other countryman, This daie hath ſet deriſion on the French, and all the world wilt blurt and ſcorne at vs. What is there no hope left? No hope but death to burie vp our ſhame, Make vp once more with me the twentith part Of thoſe that liue, are men in ow to quaile, The feeble handfull on the aduerſe part. Then charge againe, if heauen be not oppoſd VVe cannot looſe the daie. On awaie. How fares my Lord; Euen as a man may do That dines at ſuch a bloudie feaſt as this. I hope my Lord that is no mortall ſcarre, No matter if it be, the count is caſt, and in the worſt ends but a mortall man, Good friends conuey me to the princely Edward That in the crimſon brauerie of my bloud, I may become him with ſaluting him, Ile ſmile and tell him that this open ſcarre, Doth end the harueſt of his Audleys warre. Now Iohn in France, & lately Iohn of France, Thy bloudie Enſignes are my captiue colours, and you high vanting Charles of Normandie, That once to daie ſent me a horſe to flie, are now the ſubiects of my clemencie. Fie Lords, is it not a ſhame that Engliſh boies, VVhoſe early daies are yet not worth a beard, Should in the boſome of your kingdome thus, One againſt twentie beate you vp together. Thy fortune, not thy force hath conquerd vs. an argument that heauen aides the right, See, ſee, Artoys doth bring with him along, the late good counſell giuer to my ſoule, VVelcome Artoys, and welcome Phillip to, VVho now of you or I haue need to praie, Now is the prouerbe verefied in you, Too bright a morning breeds a ing daie. But ſay, what grym diſcoragement comes heere, Alas what thouſand armed men of Fraunce, Haue writ that note of death in Audleys face: Speake thou that wooeſt death with thy careles ſmile and lookſt ſo merrily vpon thy graue, As if thou wert enamored on thyne end, What hungry ſword hath ſo bereaud thy face, And lopt a true friend from my louing ſoule: O Prince thy ſweet bemoning ſpeech to me. Is as a morneful knell to one dead ſicke. Deare Audley if my tongue ring out thy end: My armes ſhalbe the graue, what may I do, To win thy life, or to reuenge thy death, If thou wilt drinke the blood of captyue kings, Or that it were reſtoritiue, command A Heath of kings blood, and Ile drinke to thee, If honor may diſpence for thee with death, The neuer dying honor of this daie, Share wholie Audley to thy ſelfe and liue.