Shakespeare, William · published 1598 · first performed or written 1597 [c.1596-1597] (Annals) history · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men T18 Rebels, barons and the king's wars at ho typicality 0.71 · 506 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T18: king, lord, wallace, earl, edward, england, scotland, rebels, bruce, english.
Then once more to your Scottish prisoners, Deliver them up without their ransom strait, And make the Douglas son your only mean For Powers in Scotland, which for divers reasons Which I shall send you written, be assured Will easily be granted you my Lord. Your son in Scotland being thus employed, Shall secretly into the bosom creep Of that same noble prelate well-beloved, The Archbishop. Of York, is it not? True, who bears hard His brother's death at Bristol the lord Scroop, I speak not this in estimation, As what I think might be, but what I know Is ruminated, plotted, and set down, And only stays but to behold the face Of that occasion that shall bring it on. I smell it. Upon my life it will do well. Before the game is afoot thou still lettest slip. Why, it cannot choose but be a noble plot, And then the power of Scotland, and of York, To join with Mortimer, ha. And so they shall. In faith it is exceedingly well aimed. And 'tis no little reason bids us speed, To save our heads by raising of a head, For bear ourselves as even as we can, The king will always think him in our debt, And think we think ourselves unsatisfied, Till he hath found a time to pay us home. And see already how he doth begin To make us strangers to his looks of love. He does, he does, we'll be revenged on him. Cousin farewell. No further go in this, Then I by letters shall direct your course When time is ripe, which will be suddenly, I'll steal to Glendower, and Lo: Mortimer, Where you and Douglas, and our powers at once, As I will fashion it shall happily meet, To bear our fortunes in our own strong arms, Which now we hold at much uncertainty. Farewell good brother, we shall thrive I trust. Uncle adieu: O let the hours be short, Till fields, and blows, and groans applaud our sport. Heigh ho. An it be not four by the day i'll be hanged, Charles wain is over the new Chimney, and yet our horse not packed. What Ostler. Anon, anon. I prithee Tom beat Cuts saddle, put a few flocks in the point poor jade is wrong in the withers, out of all cease. Pease and beans are as dank here as a dog, and that is the next way to give poor jades the bots: this house is turned upside down since Robin Ostler died. Poor fellow never ioied since the prize of Oats rose, it was the death of him. I think this be the most villainous house in all London road for fleas, I am stung like a Tench. Like a Tench, by the Mass there is near a King christian could be better bit than I have been since the first cock. Why they will allow us near a Iordane, and then we leak in your chimney, and your chamber-lye breeds fleas like a loach.
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)
Then once more to your Scottish prisoners, Deliuer them vp without their ransome straight, And make the Douglas sonne your only meane For Powers in Scotland, which for diuers reasons Which I shall send you written, be assur'd Wil easely be granted you my Lord. Your sonne in Scotland being thus emploied, Shal secretly into the bosome creepe Of that same noble prelat welbelou'd, The Archbishop. Of Yorke, is it not? True, who beares hard His brothers death at Bristow the lord Scroop, I speake not this in estimation, As what I thinke might be, but what I know Is ruminated, plotted, and set downe, And onely staies but to behold the face Of that occasion that shal bring it on. I smell it. Vpon my life it will do well. Before the game is afoote thou still letst slip. Why, it cannot chuse but be a noble plot, And then the power of Scotland, and of Yorke, To ioine with Mortimer, ha. And so they shall. In faith it is exceedingly well aimd. And tis no little reason bids vs speed, To saue our heads by raising of a head, For beare our selues as euen as we can, The king will alwaies thinke him in our debt, And thinke we thinke our selues vnsatisfied, Till he hath found a time to pay vs home. And see already how he doth begin To make vs strangers to his lookes of loue. He does, he does, weele be reueng'd on him. Coosen farewell. No further go in this, Then I by letters shall direct your course When time is ripe, which will be suddenly, Ile steale to Glendower, and Lo: Mortimer, Where you and Douglas, and our powres at once, As I will fashion it shall happily meete, To beare our fortunes in our own strong armes, Which now we hold at much vncertainty. Farewell good brother, we shall thriue I trust. Vncle adieu: O let the houres be short, Till fields, and blowes, and grones applaud our sport. Heigh ho. An it be not foure by the day ile be hangd, Charles waine is ouer the new Chimney, and yet our horse not packt. What Ostler. Anon, anon. I preethe Tom beat Cuts saddle, put a few flockes in the point poore iade is wroong in the withers, out of all cesse. Pease and beanes are as danke here as a dog, and that is the next way to giue poore iades the bots: this house is turned vpside downe since Robin Ostler died. Poore fellow neuer ioied since the prise of Oates rose, it was the death of him. I thinke this be the most villainons house in al London road for fleas, I am stung like a Tench. Like a Tench, by the Masse there is nere a King christen could be better bit then I haue bin since the first coce. Why they will allowe vs nere a Iordane, and then we leake in your chimney, and your chamber-lie breedes flas like a loach.