Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T18: king, lord, wallace, earl, edward, england, scotland, rebels, bruce, english.
What? was I borne to be the scorn of kin? To gather feathers like to a hopper crow, And lose them in the height of all my pomp: Accursed man now is my credit lost: Where is my vows I made unto the king? What shall become of me, if he shall hear, That I have caused him kill a virtuous Queen? And hope in vain for that which now is lost: Where shall I hide my head? I know the heavens Are just, and will revenge: I know my sins Exceed compare: should I proceed in this? This Eustace must a man be made away: Oh were I dead, how happy should I be? Est ce donque a tell point vostre estate, faith then adieu Scotland, adieu signor Ateukin, me will homa to France, and no be hanged in a strange country. Thou dost me good to leave me thus alone, That galling grief and I may yoke in one: Oh what are subtle means to climb on high? When every fall swarms with exceeding shame? I promised Ida's love unto the Prince, But she is lost, and I am false forsworn: I practised Dorothea's hapless death, And by this practice have commenced a war. Oh cursed race of men that traffic guile, And in the end, themselves and kings beguile: A shamed to look upon my Prince again: A shamed of my suggestions and advise: A shamed of life: a shamed that I have erred: I'll hide myself, expecting for my shame. Thus God doth work with those, that purchase fame By flattery, and make their Prince their gain. Thus far the English Peers have we displayed, Our waving Ensigns with a happy war, Thus nearly hath our furious rage revenged, My daughter's death upon the traitorous Scot, And now before Dambar our camp is pitched, Which if it yield not to our compromise, The place shall furrow where the palace stood, And fury shall envy so high a power, That mercy shall be banished from our swords. What seeks the English King? Scot open those gates, and let me enter in, Submit thyself and thine unto my grace, Or I will put each mother's son to death, And lay this City level with the ground. For what offence? for what default of ours? Art thou incensed so sore against our state? Can generous hearts in nature be so stern To pray on those that never did offend? What though the Lion, (king of brutish race, Through outrage sin, shall lambs be therefore slain? Or is it lawful that the humble die, Because the mighty do gainsay the right? O English King, thou bearest in thy breast, The King of beasts, that harms not yielding ones, The Roseal cross is spread within thy field, A sign of peace, not of revenging war: Be gracious then unto this little town, And though we have withstood thee for a while, To show allegiance to our liefest liege, Yet since we know no hope of any help, Take us to mercy, for we yield ourselves. What shall I enter then and be your Lord? We will submit us to the English king. They descend down, open the gates, and humble them.
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)
What? was I borne to bee the scorne of kinne? To gather feathers like to a hopper crowe, And loose them in the height of all my pompe: Accursed man now is my credite lost: Where is my vowes I made vnto the king? What shall become of mee, if hee shall heare, That I haue causde him kill a vertuous Queene? And hope in vaine for that which now is lost: Where shall I hide my head? I knowe the heauens Are iust, and will reuenge: I know my sinnes Exceede compare: should I proceed in this? This Eustace must a man be made away: Oh were I dead, how happy should I bee? Est ce donque a tell poynt vostre estat, faith then adeiu Scotland, adeiu Signior Ateukin, me will homa to France, and no be hanged in a strange country. Thou doest me good to leaue me thus alone, That galling griefe and I may yoake in one: Oh what are subtile meanes to clime on high? When euery fall swarmes with exceeding shame? I promist Idaes loue vnto the Prince, But shee is lost, and I am false forsworne: I practis'd Dorotheas haplesse death, And by this practise haue commenst a warre. Oh cursed race of men that traficque guile, And in the end, themselues and kings beguile: A shamde to looke vpon my Prince againe: A shamde of my suggestions and aduise: A shamde of life: a shamde that I haue erde: Ile hide my selfe, expecting for my shame. Thus God doth worke with those, that purschase fame By flattery, and make their Prince their gaine. Thus farre the English Peeres haue we displayde, Our wauing Ensignes with a happy warre, Thus neerely hath our furious rage reuengde, My daughters death vpon the traiterous Scot, And now before Dambar our campe is pitcht, Which if it yeeld not to our compremise, The place shall furrow where the pallace stood, And furie shall enuy so high a power, That mercie shall bee bannisht from our swords. What seekes the English King? Scot open those gates, and let me enter in, Submit thy selfe and thine vnto my grace, Or I will put each mothers sonne to death, And lay this Cittie leuell with the ground. For what offence? for what default of ours? Art thou incenst so sore against our state? Can generous hearts in nature bee so sterne To pray on those that neuer did offend? What tho the Lyon, (king of brutish race, Through outrage sinne, shall lambes be therefore slaine? Or is it lawfull that the humble die, Because the mightie do gainsay the right? O English King, thou bearest in thy brest, The King of beasts, that harmes not yeelding ones, The Rosall crosse is spred within thy field, A signe of peace, not of reuenging warre: Be gracious then vnto this little towne, And tho we haue withstood thee for a while, To shew alleageance to our liefest liege, Yet since wee know no hope of any helpe, Take vs to mercie, for wee yeeld our selues. What shall I enter then and be your Lord? We will submit vs to the English king. They descend downe, open the gates, and humble them.