Heywood, Thomas · published 1600 · first performed or written 1599 [1592-1599] (Annals) history · Derby's (Strange's) Men T10 England and France: war, embassy and pea typicality 0.75 · 521 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T10: france, french, england, king, lord, english, edward, talbot, peace, lords.
IS this the aid our cousin Burgundie, And the great Constable of France assured us? Have we marched thus far through the heart of France? And with the terror of our English Drums: kourde the poor trembling French, which leave their towns That now the Wolves affrighted from the fields, Do get their prey, and kennel in their streets? Our thundering Canons, now this fortnight space, Like common bellmen in some market town, Have cried the Constable and Burgundie: But yet I see they come not to our aid, we'll bring them in, or by the blessed light, we'll search the Groundstilles of their city's walls, Since you have brought me hither: I will make, The proudest Tower that stands in France to quake, I marvel Scales returns not, for by him I do respect to hear their resolutions. My Sovereign he is happily returned. Welcome my Lord, welcome good cousin Scales, What news from Burgundie, what is his answer? What comes he to our succour as he promised? Not by his good will, for aught that I can see He lingers still in his long siege at Nuse. I urged his promise and your expectation, Even to the force and compass of my spirit, I cheered my firm persuasions, with your hopes. And gilded them with my best Oratory, I framed my speech still fitly as I sound The temper of his humour, to be wrought upon, But still I found him earthly, unresolved, Muddy, and methought ever through his eyes, I saw his wavering and unsettled spirit, And to be short, subtle and treacherous, And one that doth intend no good to you, And he will come, and yet he wanteth power, He would feign come, but may not leave the siege, He hopes he shall, but yet he knows not when, He purposed, but some pediments, Have hindered his determined intent, Briefly, I think he will not come at all. But is he like to take the town of Nuse? My Lord the town is liker to take him, That if he chance to come to you at all, 'Tis but for succour. But what says Count Saint Paul? My Lord he lies, and revels at S. Quintin's, And laughs at Edward's coming into France, There Domineering with his drunken crew, Make jigs of us, and in their slavering Tell how like rogues we lie here in the field, Then comes a slave one of those drunken sots, In with a Tavern reckoning for a supplication, Disguised with a cushion on his head, A Drawers Apron for a Herald's Coat. And tells the Count, the King of England craves One of his worthy honours Dog-kennels, To be his lodging for a day or two. With some such other Tavern foolery: With that this filthy rascal greasy rout, burst out in laughter at this worthy jest, Neighing like horses: thus the Count Saint Paul Regards his promise to your majesty. will no man thrust the slave into a sackbut? Now by this light were I but near the slave with a black Jack I would beat out his brains.
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)
IS this the aide our Cosin Burgundie, And the great Constable of France assured vs? Haue we marched thus farte through the heart of France? And with the terror of our English Drums: kourde the poore trembling French, which leaue their towns That now the Wolues affrighted from the fields, Do get their pray, and kennell in their stréets? Our thundring Canons, now this fortnight space, Like common Bell-men in some market towne, Haue cried the Constable and Burgundie: But yet I see they come not to our aide, Wéele bring them in, or by the blessed light, Wéele search the Ground-stilles of their Cittis walles, Since you haue brought me hither: I will make, The proudest Tower that stands in France to quake, I maruaile Scales returnes not, for by him I doe respect to heare their resolutions. My Soueraigne he is happily returnde. Welcome my Lord, welcome good Cosin Scales, What newes from Burgundie, what is his answer? What comes he to our succour as he promised? Not by his good wil, for ought that I can see He lingers still in his long fiedge at Nuse. I vrgde his promise and your expectation, Euen to the force and compasse of my spirit, I chéerde my firme perswasions, with your hopes. And gylded them with my best Oratorie, I framde my spéech still fitly as I ound The temper of his humor, to be wrought vpon, But still I found him earthly, vnresolude, Muddie, and me thought euer through his eies, I saw his wauering and vnsetled spirit, And to be short, subtile and trecherous, And one that doth entend no good to you, And he will come, and yet he wanteth power, He would faie come, but may not leaue the siege, He hopes he shall, but yet he knowes not when, He purposed, but some unpediments, Haue hindred his determined intent, Briefly, I thinke he will not come at all. But is he like to take the towne of Nuse? My Lord the towne is liker to take him, That if he chance to come to you at all, Tis but for succour. But what saies Count Saint Paul? My Lord he lies, and reuelles at S. Quintins, And laughs at Edwards comming into France, There Dominering with his drunken crue, Make Jigges of vs, and in their slauring ists, Tell how like rogues we lie here in the field, Then comes a slaue one of those drunken sots, In with a Tauerne reckoning for a supplication, Disguised with a cushion on his head, A Drawers Apron for a Heralds Coate. And tels the Count, the King of England craues One of his worthie honors Dog-kennels, To be his lodging for a day or two. With some such other Tauerne foolerie: With that this filthie rascall greasie rout, Brast out in laughter at this worthie iest, Neighing like horses: thus the Count Saint Paul Regardes his promise to your maiestie. Wil no man thrust the slaue into a sackbut? Now by this light were I but néere the slaue with a black Jacke I would beat out his braines.