The Death of Robert, Earl of Huntingdon (2 Robin Hood) · chunk 17 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 unassigned nearest T48 Addressing a lady: love, desire and inti · 466 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T48: lady, love, heart, fair, eyes, la, lord, tears, fie, face.
No by the Rood, These love-rhymes are the tokens of small good. Why my good Lord, was never Poetry, Offered unto a Lady's patronage? Yes, but not taken. Yes, and taken too. Though muddy slaves, whose balladizing rhymes, With words unpolished, show their brutish thoughts, Naming their malkins in each lustful line: Let no celestial beauty look awry, When well writ poems, couching her rich praise, Are offered to her unstained virtues eye. For Poetries high sprighted sons will raise, True beauty to all wished eternity: Therefore my Lord, your age is much to blame, To think a taken Poem Ladies shame. You see the King, that's better read than you, And far more wronged than I, takes it not well. Yes but I do: I think not Isabell, Lord, The worse for any writing of Brunes. Will you ha' the troth my Lord: I think so too: And though I be an old man, by my sword, My arm shall justify my constant word. After a long storm in a troublous sea, The Pilot is no gladder of a calm, Than Isabell to see the vexed looks Of her loved Lord, changed into sweet aspects. I will not tell thee what a world of foes, For thy love (dear love) rise against my life. (Matilda's love: few swords will fight for thee) I will not number up the many woes That shall be multiplied, strife upon strife Will follow! But to shun ensuing ills, I'll take such pledges as shall please me ask. Of each proud Baron, dwelling in the Realm. Bruise kinsman, and the deputy to March, Hath a highminded Lady to his wife, An able son for arms, and a less body, That is the comfort of his father's life: madam, I know you love the Lady well, And of her wealth you may be bold to build, By sending you four hundred white milk kine, And ten like coloured bulls, to serve that heard: So fair, that every cow did Iö seem, And every bull Europa's ravisher. To friend myself with such a subjects truth, Thus I command; You, and Earl Salisbury Shall, with what speed conveniently ye may. high ye to Gilford, there the Lady lies, And her sons too, as I am told by spies: All that she hath, I know she calleth yours, All that she hath, I gladly would call mine, If she abuse ye: if she use ye well, For ever be, what she retains, her own: Only go by as Queens in progress do, And send me word how she receiveth you. Well, I avouch she will, before I go, Far be it, Iohn should prove Lord Bruses foe. Come noble Oxford, I long to be at Gilford. In such a business, Madam, so do I.
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)
No by the Roode, These loue-rimes are the tokens of small good. Why my good Lord, was neuer Poetry, Offred vnto a Ladies patronage? Yes, but not taken. Yes, and taken too. Though muddy slaues, whose ballatizing rimes, With words vnpolisht, shewe their brutish thoughts, Naming their Maukins in each lustfull line: Let no celestiall beautie looke awry, When well writ poemes, couching her rich praise, Are offerd to her vnstain'd vertues eye. For Poetries high sprighted sonnes will raise, True beautie to all wisht eternitie: Therefore my Lord, your age is much to blame, To thinke a taken Poeme Ladies shame. You see the King, thats better read than you, And far more wrongd than I, takes it not wel. Yes but I doe: I thinke not Isabell, Lord, The worse for any writing of Brunes. Will you ha the troth my Lord: I thinke so too: And though I be an old man, by my sword, My arme shall iustifie my constant word. After a long storme in a troublous sea, The Pilot is no gladder of a calme, Than Isabell to see the vexed lookes Of her lou'd Lord, chang'd into sweete aspects. I will not tell thee what a world of foes, For thy loue (deare loue) rise against my life. (Matildaes loue: fewe swords will fight for thee) I will not number vp the many woes That shall be multiplied, strife vpon strife Will follow! But to shunne insuing ils, Ile take shuch pledges as shall please me aske. Of each proud Baron, dwelling in the Realme. Bruse kinsman, and the deputie to March, Hath a high-minded Lady to his wife, An able sonne for armes, and a lesse boy, That is the comfort of his fathers life: Madame, I know you loue the Lady well, And of her wealth you may be bold to build, By sending you foure hundred white milch kie, And ten like coloured bulles, to serue that heard: So faire, that euery cow did Iö seeme, And euery bull Europaes rauisher. To friend my selfe with such a subiects truth, Thus I commaund; You, and Earle Salsbury Shall, with what speede conueniently ye may. Hye ye to Gilford, there the Ladie lies, And her sonnes too, as I am told by spies: All that she hath, I knowe she calleth yours, All that she hath, I gladly wold call mine, If she abuse yee: if she vse yee well, For euer be, what she retaines, her owne: Only goe by as Queenes in progresse doe, And send me word how she receiueth you. Well, I auouch she will, before I goe, Farre be it, Iohn should prooue Lord Bruses foe. Come noble Oxford, I long to be at Gilford. In such a businesse, Madam, so doe I.