Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1599 (Annals) history · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T50 Fleets, armies and generals: war by sea · 489 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T50: sea, honour, general, soldiers, men, ship, fight, soldier, king, vittori.
Of my Nation? What is my Nation? Is a Villain, and a Bastard, and a Knave, and a Rascal. What is my Nation? Who talks of my Nation? Look you, if you take the matter otherwise then is meant, Captain Mackmorrice, peradventure I shall think you do not use me with that affability, as in discretion you ought to use me, look you, being as good a man as yourself, both in the disciplines of War, and in the derivation of my Birth, and in other particularities. I do not know you so good a man as myself: so Christ save me, I will cut off your Head. Gentlemen both, you will mistake each other. A, that's a foul fault. The Town sounds a Parley. Captain Mackmorrice, when there is more better opportunity to be required, look you, I will be so bold as to tell you, I know the disciplines of War: and there is an end. How yet resolves the Governor of the Town? This is the latest Parley we will admit: Therefore to our best mercy give yourselves, Or like to men proud of destruction, Defy us to our worst: for as I am a Soldier, A Name that in my thoughts becomes me best; If I begin the batt'rie once again, I will not leave the halfe-atchieued Harflew, Till in her ashes she lie buried. The Gates of Mercy shall be all shut up, And the fleshed Soldier, rough and hard of heart, In liberty of bloody hand, shall range With Conscience wide as Hell, mowing like Grass Your fresh fair Virgins, and your flowering Infants. What is it then to me, if impious War, Arrayed in flames like to the Prince of Fiends, Do with his smyrcht complexion all fell feats, Enlynckt to waste and desolation? What is't to me, when you yourselves are cause, If your pure Maiden's fall into the hand Of hot and forcing Violation? What rein can hold licentious Wickedness, When down the Hill he holds his fierce Career? We may as bootless spend our vain Command Upon th' enraged Soldiers in their spoil, As send Precepts to the Leviathan, to come ashore. Therefore, you men of Harflew, Take pity of your Town and of your People, Whiles yet my Soldiers are in my Command, Whiles yet the cool and temperate Wind of Grace O're-blowes the filthy and contagious Clouds Of headly Murder, Spoil, and Villainy. If not: why in a moment look to see The blind and bloody Soldier, with foul hand Desire the Locks of your shrill-shriking Daughters: Your Fathers taken by the silver Beards, And their most reverend Heads dashed to the Walls: Your naked Infants spitted upon Pikes, Whiles the mad Mothers, with their howls confused, Do break the Clouds; as did the Wives of Iewry, At Herod's bloody-hunting slaughtermen. What say you? Will you yield, and this avoid? Or guilty in defence, be thus destroyed.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Of my Nation? What iſh my Nation? Iſh a Villaine, and a Baſterd, and a Knaue, and a Raſcall. What iſh my Nation? Who talkes of my Nation? Looke you, if you take the matter otherwiſe then is meant, Captaine Mackmorrice, peraduenture I ſhall thinke you doe not vſe me with that affabilitie, as in diſcretion you ought to vſe me, looke you, being as good a man as your ſelfe, both in the diſciplines of Warre, and in the deriuation of my Birth, and in other particularities. I doe not know you ſo good a man as my ſelfe: ſo Chriſh ſaue me, I will cut off your Head. Gentlemen both, you will miſtake each other. A, that's a foule fault. The Towne ſounds a Parley. Captaine Mackmorrice, when there is more better oportunitie to be required, looke you, I will be ſo bold as to tell you, I know the diſciplines of Warre: and there is an end. How yet reſolues the Gouernour of the Towne? This is the lateſt Parle we will admit: Therefore to our beſt mercy giue your ſelues, Or like to men prowd of deſtruction, Defie vs to our worſt: for as I am a Souldier, A Name that in my thoughts becomes me beſt; If I begin the batt'rie once againe, I will not leaue the halfe-atchieued Harflew, Till in her aſhes ſhe lye buryed. The Gates of Mercy ſhall be all ſhut vp, And the fleſh'd Souldier, rough and hard of heart, In libertie of bloody hand, ſhall raunge With Conſcience wide as Hell, mowing like Graſſe Your freſh faire Virgins, and your flowring Infants. What is it then to me, if impious Warre, Arrayed in flames like to the Prince of Fiends, Doe with his ſmyrcht complexion all fell feats, Enlynckt to waſt and deſolation? What is't to me, when you your ſelues are cauſe, If your pure Maydens fall into the hand Of hot and forcing Violation? What Reyne can hold licentious Wickedneſſe, When downe the Hill he holds his fierce Carriere? We may as bootleſſe ſpend our vaine Command Vpon th' enraged Souldiers in their ſpoyle, As ſend Precepts to the Leuiathan, to come aſhore. Therefore, you men of Harflew, Take pitty of your Towne and of your People, Whiles yet my Souldiers are in my Command, Whiles yet the coole and temperate Wind of Grace O're-blowes the filthy and contagious Clouds Of headly Murther, Spoyle, and Villany. If not: why in a moment looke to ſee The blind and bloody Souldier, with foule hand Deſire the Locks of your ſhrill-ſhriking Daughters: Your Fathers taken by the ſiluer Beards, And their moſt reuerend Heads daſht to the Walls: Your naked Infants ſpitted vpon Pykes, Whiles the mad Mothers, with their howles confus'd, Doe breake the Clouds; as did the Wiues of Iewry, At Herods bloody-hunting ſlaughter-men. What ſay you? Will you yeeld, and this auoyd? Or guiltie in defence, be thus deſtroy'd.