The Death of Robert, Earl of Huntingdon (2 Robin Hood) · chunk 16 of 44
Munday, Anthony / Chettle, Henry · published 1601 · first performed or written 1598 [Feb 20-Mar 8, payment] (Annals) tragedy · Admiral's (Nottingham's) Men T18 Rebels, barons and the king's wars at ho typicality 0.77 · 459 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T18: king, lord, wallace, earl, edward, england, scotland, rebels, bruce, english.
As of a good old gentleman my Lord, That speaks but what he thinks, & thinks you think As he doth: and I warrant you Will not conceal those praises from the Queen, Which as he deems you uttered in her praise. I would have them believe it so indeed: But I protest, is no part of my Creed. i'faith your Grace did Oxford's years great wrong, To curtal his good work, that seemed so long: He peradventure would have brought in more, After his Preface, to rich Plenty's store. Perchance he would have showed dame vanity, That in your Court is suffered hourly: And bade you punish ruffians with long hair, New fashions, and such toys: a special care Has that good man: he turns the statute book: About his hall and chambers if you look, The moral virtues in fair effigy, Are lively painted: moral Philosophy Has not a sentence, be it great or small, But it is painted on his honour's wall. Peace, peace, he comes, now let's be silent all. I tell you I was proud of his good words. God hold them Oxford: for it's often seen, A reconciled foe small good affords. O forbear: trust me, I gauge my Honour he doth hold you dear. How cheer you Isabell? The earl, your spouse Hath sent defiance to the king your husband, And like a tried tall soldier, fled his holds In Marchland; Where he knows, despite of him, And all the men that he therein can raise, King Iohn could have sent dogs enough to tear Their ill armed bodies piece-meal, ere his bands Should with base blood have stained their noble hands. And whether is this worshipful good Earl (This first love, old love, new love if you will) Gone thinks your ladyship? Forsooth, good man, To Normandy; and there he stirs up coals, And urgeth strong aid for confederates, Who, as he says, are treacherously disposed. If he do so, the greater is his sin: Poor man, I have no interest in him. But he hath had in you, as it should seem, Else would he not make sonnets of your brow, Your eye, your lip, your hand, your thigh, A plague upon him: how came he so nigh? Nay, now you have the cursed queans counterfeit: Through rage you shake, because you cannot rave. But answer me; Why should the Bedlam slave Entitle a whole Poem to your kiss, Calling it cherry, ruby, this and this? I tell you, I am jealous of your love, Which makes me break into this passion. Here's the kind noble Anbery de Vere, Knows what I speak is true: My Lord, my Lord, I do appeal to you: Are these things to be borne?
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)
As of a good old gentleman my Lord, That speaks but what he thinks, & thinks you thinke As he doth: and I warrant you Will not canceale those praises from the Queene, Which as hee deemes you vttred in her praise. I would haue them beleeue it so indeede: But I protest, is no part of my Creede. I faith your Grace did Oxfords years great wrōg, To curtall his good worke, that seem'd so long: He peraduenture would haue brought in more, After his Preface, to rich plenties store. Perchaunce he would haue shew'd dame vanitie, That in your Court is suffered howerly: And bad you punish ruffians with long haire, Newe fashions, and such toyes: a special care Has that good man: he turnes the statute booke: About his hall and chambers if you looke, The morall vertues in faire effigie, Are liuely painted: morall Philosophie Has not a sencence, be it great or small, But it is painted on his Honours wall. Peace, peace, he comes, now lets be silent all. I tell you I was proud of his good words. God hold them Oxford: for its often seene, A reconciled foe small good affords. O forbeare: trust me, I gage my Honour he doth hold you deare. How cheere you Isabell? The earle, your spouse Hath sent defiance to the king your husband, And like a tried tall souldier, fled his holds In Marchland; Where he knowes, despight of him, And all the men that he therein can raise, King Iohn could haue sent dogs enowe to teare Their ill arm'd bodies peece-meale, ere his bands Should with base blood hae staind their noble hāds. And whether is this worshipfull good Earle (This first loue, old loue, newe loue if you will) Gone thinks your Ladishippe? Forsooth, good man, To Normandy; and there he stirs vp coales, And vrgeth strong aid for confederates, Who, as he saies, are treacherously dispos'd. If he doe so, the greater is his sinne: Poore man, I haue no interest in him. But he hath had in you, as it should seeme, Els would he not make sonnets of your browe, Your eye, your lip, your hand, your thigh, A plague vpon him: how came he so nigh? Nay, now you haue the curst queanes counterfet: Through rage you shake, because you cannot raue. But answere me; Why should the Bedlam slaue Entitle a whole Poem to your kisse, Calling it chery, ruby, this and this? I tell you, I am iealous of your loue, Which makes me breake into this passion. Here's the kinde noble Anbery de Vere, Knowes what I speake is true: My Lord, my Lord, I doe appeale to you: Are these things to be borne?