Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1592 [1591-1592] (Annals) tragedy; history · Derby's (Strange's) Men (?) T18 Rebels, barons and the king's wars at ho typicality 0.78 · 512 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T18: king, lord, wallace, earl, edward, england, scotland, rebels, bruce, english.
In Kent, my Liege, the Guildfords are in Arms, And every hour more Competitors Flock to the Rebels, and their power grows strong. My Lord, the Army of great Buckingham. Out on ye, Owls, nothing but Songs of Death, There, take thou that, till thou bring better news. The news I have to tell your Majesty, Is, that by sudden Floods, and fall of Waters, Buckingham's Army is dispersed and scattered, And he himself wandered away alone, No man knows whither. I cry thee mercy: There is my Purse, to cure that Blow of thine. Hath any well-aduised friend proclaimed Reward to him that brings the Traitor in? Such Proclamation hath been made, my Lord. Sir Thomas Lovel, and Lord marquis Dorset, 'Tis said, my Liege, in Yorkshire are in Arms: But this good comfort bring I to your Highness, The Britain Navy is dispersed by Tempest. Richmond in Dorsetshire sent out a Boat Unto the shore, to ask those on the Banks, If they were his Assistants, yea, or no? Who answered him, they came from Buckingham, Upon his party: he mistrusting them, Hoist sail, and made his course again for Britain. March on, march on, since we are up in Arms, If not to fight with foreign Enemies, Yet to beat down these Rebels here at home. My Liege, the Duke of Buckingham is taken, That is the best news: that the Earl of Richmond Is with a mighty power Landed at Milford, Is colder News, but yet they must be told. Away towards Salisbury, while we reason here, A Royal batteil might be won and lost: Some one take order Buckingham be brought To Salisbury, the rest march on with me. Sir Christopher, tell Richmond this from me, That in the sty of the most deadly Boar, My Son George Stanley is frankt up in hold: If I revolt, off goes young George's head, The fear of that, holds off my present aid. So get thee gone: commend me to thy Lord. Withal say, that the Queen hath hearty consented He should espouse Elizabeth her daughter. But tell me, where is Princely Richmond now? At Penbroke, or at Hertford West in Wales. What men of Name resort to him. Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned Soldier, Sir Gilbert Talbot, Sir William Stanley, Oxford, redoubted Pembroke, Sir Iames Blunt, And Rice ap Thomas, with a valiant Crew, And many other of great name and worth: And towards London do they bend their power, If by the way they be not fought withal. Well hie thee to thy Lord: I kiss his hand, My Letter will resolve him of my mind. Farewell. Will not King Richard let me speak with him? No my good Lord, therefore be patiented. Hastings, and Edward's children, Gray & Rivers, Holy King Henry, and thy fair Son Edward, Vaughan, and all that have miscarried By underhand corrupted foul injustice, If that your moody discontented souls, Do through the clouds behold this present hour, Even for revenge mock my destruction. This is Allsoules day (Fellow) is it not?
seed 43: T22 · seed 44: T13 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
In Kent, my Liege, the Guilfords are in Armes, And euery houre more Competitors Flocke to the Rebels, and their power growes ſtrong. My Lord, the Armie of great Buckingham. Out on ye, Owles, nothing but Songs of Death, There, take thou that, till thou bring better newes. The newes I haue to tell your Maieſtie, Is, that by ſudden Floods, and fall of Waters, Buckinghams Armie is diſpers'd and ſcatter'd, And he himſelfe wandred away alone, No man knowes whither. I cry thee mercie: There is my Purſe, to cure that Blow of thine. Hath any well-aduiſed friend proclaym'd Reward to him that brings the Traytor in? Such Proclamation hath been made, my Lord. Sir Thomas Louell, and Lord Marqueſſe Dorſet, 'Tis ſaid, my Liege, in Yorkeſhire are in Armes: But this good comfort bring I to your Highneſſe, The Brittaine Nauie is diſpers'd by Tempeſt. Richmond in Dorſetſhire ſent out a Boat Vnto the ſhore, to aske thoſe on the Banks, If they were his Aſſiſtants, yea, or no? Who anſwer'd him, they came from Buckingham, Vpon his partie: he miſtruſting them, Hoys'd ſayle, and made his courſe againe for Brittaine. March on, march on, ſince we are vp in Armes, If not to fight with forraine Enemies, Yet to beat downe theſe Rebels here at home. My Liege, the Duke of Buckingham is taken, That is the beſt newes: that the Earle of Richmond Is with a mighty power Landed at Milford, Is colder Newes, but yet they muſt be told. Away towards Salsbury, while we reaſon here, A Royall batteil might be wonne and loſt: Some one take order Buckingham be brought To Salsbury, the reſt march on with me. Sir Chriſtopher, tell Richmond this from me, That in the ſtye of the moſt deadly Bore, My Sonne George Stanley is frankt vp in hold: If I reuolt, off goes yong Georges head, The feare of that, holds off my preſent ayde. So get thee gone: commend me to thy Lord. Withall ſay, that the Queene hath heartily conſented He ſhould eſpouſe Elizabeth hir daughter. But tell me, where is Princely Richmond now? At Penbroke, or at Hertford Weſt in Wales. What men of Name reſort to him. Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned Souldier, Sir Gilbert Talbot, Sir William Stanley, Oxford, redoubted Pembroke, Sir Iames Blunt, And Rice ap Thomas, with a valiant Crew, And many other of great name and worth: And towards London do they bend their power, If by the way they be not fought withall. Well hye thee to thy Lord: I kiſſe his hand, My Letter will reſolue him of my minde. Farewell. Will not King Richard let me ſpeake with him? No my good Lord, therefore be patient. Haſtings, and Edwards children, Gray & Riuers, Holy King Henry, and thy faire Sonne Edward, Ʋaughan, and all that haue miſcarried By vnder-hand corrupted foule iniuſtice, If that your moody diſcontented ſoules, Do through the clowds behold this preſent houre, Euen for reuenge mocke my deſtruction. This is All-ſoules day (Fellow) is it not?