The Reign of King Edward the Third · chunk 38 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 0.84 · 527 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T10: france, french, england, king, lord, english, edward, talbot, peace, lords.
He was my Lord, and as my worthless self, With forty other serviceable knights, Under safe conduct of the dolphin's seal, Did travail that way, finding him distressed, A troop of lances met us on the way, Surprised and brought us prisoners to the king, Who proud of this, and eager of revenge, Commanded straight to cut of all our heads, And surely we had died but that the Duke, More full of honour then his angry sire, Procured our quick deliverance from thence, But ere we went, salute your king, quoth he, Bid him provide a funeral for his son, Today our sword shall cut his thread of life, And sooner than he thinks we'll be with him: To quittance those displeasures he hath done, This said, we passed, not daring to reply, Our hearts were dead, our looks diffused and wan, wandering at last we climbed unto a hill, From whence although our grief were much before Yet now to see the occasion with our eyes, Did thrice so much increase our heaviness, For there my Lord, oh there we did descry Down in a valley how both armies lay: The French had cast their trenches like a ring, And every Barricado's open front, Was thick embossed with brazen ordinance. Here stood a battle of ten thousand horse, There twice as many pikes in quadrant wise, Here Crossbows and deadly wounding darts, And in the midst like to a slender point, Within the compass of the horizon, as 'twere a rising bubble in the sea. A Hast wand a midst a wood of pines, Or as a bear fast chained unto a stake, Stood famous Edward still expecting when Those dogs of France would fasten on his flesh Anon the death procuring knell begins, Off go the Cannons that with trembling noise, Did shake the very Mountain where they stood, Then sound the Trumpets clangor in the air, The battles join, and when we could no more, Discern the difference twixt the friend and so, So intricate the dark confusion was, Away we turned our watery eyes with sighs, as black as powder fuming into smoke, And thus I fear, unhappy have I told, The most untimely tale of Edward's fall. Ah me, is this my welcome into France: Is this the comfort that I looked to have, When I should meet with my beloved son: Sweet Ned, I would thy mother in the sea Had been prevented of this mortal grief. Content thee Philip, 'tis not tears will serve, To call him back, if he be taken hence, Comfort thyself as I do gentle Queen, With hope of sharp unheard of dire revenge, He bids me to provide his funeral. And so I will, but all the Peers in France, Shall mourners be, and weep out bloody tears, Until their empty veins be dry and sere The pillars of his hearse shall be his bones, The mould that covers him, their City ashes, His knell the groaning cries of dying men, And in the stead of tapers on his tomb, an hundred fifty towers shall burning blaze, While we bewail our valiant sons decease.
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)
He was my Lord, and as my worthleſſe ſelfe, With fortie other ſeruiceable knights, Vnder ſafe conduct of the Dolphins ſeale, Did trauaile that way, finding him diſtreſt, A troupe of Launces met vs on the way, Surpriſd and brought vs priſoners to the king, Who proud of this, and eager of reuenge, Commanded ſtraight to cut of all our heads, And ſurely we had died but that the Duke, More full of honor then his angry ſyre, Procurd our quicke deliuerance from thence, But ere we went, ſalute your king, quoth hee, Bid him prouide a funerall for his ſonne, To day our ſword ſhall cut his thred of life, And ſooner then he thinkes wele be with him: To quittance thoſe diſpleaſures he hath done, This ſaid, we paſt, not daring to reply, Our harts were dead, our lookes diffuſd and wan, Wandring at laſt we clymd vnto a hill, From whence although our griefe were much before Yet now to ſee the occaſion with our eies, Did thrice ſo much increaſe our heauines, For there my Lord, oh there we did deſcry Downe in a vallie how both armies laie: The French had caſt their trenches like a ring, And euery Barricados open front, Was thicke imboſt with braſen ordynaunce. Heere ſtood a battaile of ten thouſand horſe, There twiſe as many pikes in quadrant wiſe, Here Crosbowes and deadly wounding darts, And in the midſt like to a ſlender poynt, Within the compaſſe of the horiſon, as twere a riſing bubble in the ſea. A Haſle wand a midſt a wood of Pynes, Or as a beare faſt chaind vnto a ſtake, Stood famous Edward ſtill expecting when Thoſe doggs of Fraunce would faſten on his fleſh Anon the death procuring knell begins, Off goe the Cannons that with trembling noyſe, Did ſhake the very Mountayne where they ſtood, Then ſound the Trumpets clangor in the aire, The battailes ioyne, and when we could no more, Diſcerne the difference twixt the friend and ſo, So intricate the darke confuſion was, Away we turnd our watrie eies with ſighs, as blacke as pouder fuming into ſmoke, And thus I feare, vnhappie haue I told, The moſt vntimely tale of Edwards fall. Ah me, is this my welcome into Fraunce: Is this the comfort that I lookt to haue, When I ſhould meete with my belooued ſonne: Sweete Ned, I would thy mother in the ſea Had been preuented of this mortall griefe. Content thee Phillip, tis not teares will ſerue, To call him backe, if he be taken hence, Comfort thy ſelfe as I do gentle Queene, With hope of ſharpe vnheard of dyre reuenge, He bids me to prouide his funerall. And ſo I will, but all the Peeres in Fraunce, Shall mourners be, and weepe out bloody teares, Vntill their emptie vaines be drie and ſere The pillers of his hearſe ſhall be his bones, The mould that couers him, their Citie aſhes, His knell the groning cryes of dying men, And in the ſtead of tapers on his tombe, an hundred fiftie towers ſhall burning blaze, While we bewaile our valiant ſonnes deceaſe.