Blurt, Master Constable, or The Spaniard's Night Walk · chunk 3 of 34
Anonymous · published 1602 · first performed or written 1601 [1601-1602] (Annals) romance · Children of Paul's (second) unassigned nearest T10 England and France: war, embassy and pea · 506 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T10: france, french, england, king, lord, english, edward, talbot, peace, lords.
What Venetian Gentleman was there; that having this in his Burgonet, did not (to prove his head worthy of the honour) do more than defy death to the very face? trust us Ladies, our Signiory stands bound in greater sums of thanks to your beauties for victory, than to our valour: my dear Violetta one kiss to this picture of your whitest hand, when I was even faint, (with giving and receiving the dole of war) Set a new edge on my sword: in so much that, I singled out a gallant Spirit of France, And charged him with my Lance in full career, And after rich exchange of noble courage, (The space of a good hour on either side) At last crying, now for Violetta's honour, I vanquished him, and him (dismounted) took Not to myself, but prisoner to my love. I have heard much praise of that French gallant, good my Lord, bring him acquainted with our eyes. I will, go boy fetch noble Fontinell. Will your French prisoner drink well? or else cut his throat. Oh no he cannot brook it. The pox he can, 'slight methinks a French man should have a good courage to wine, for many of them be exceeding hot fiery whoresons, and resolute as Hector, and as valiant as Troilus; then come off and on bravely and lie by it, and sweat for't too, upon a good and a military advantage. Prithee have done here comes the prisoner. My Lord Camillo, is this the Gentleman, Whose valour, by your valour is subdued? It is fair Lady, and I yield him up, To be your beauty's worthy prisoner: Lord Fontinell, think your captivity Happy in this, she that hath conquered me, Receives my conquest, as my loves fair fee. Fair stranger droop not, since the chance of wars Brings to the Soldier death, restraint, or scars. Lady, I know the fortune of the field, Is death with honour, or with shame to yield, As I have done. In that no scandal lies, Who dies when he may live, he doubly dies. My reputation's lost. Nay that's not so, You flee not but were vanquished by your foe, The eye of war respects not you nor him, It is our fate will have us lose or win, You will disdain if I you prisoner call? No, but rejoice, since I am beauty's thrall. Enough of this, come wenches shake your heels. Music advance thee on thy golden wing, And dance division from sweet string to string. Camillo I shall curb thy tyranny, In making me that lady's prisoner: She has an angel's body, but within't, Her coy heart says there lies a heart of flint, Such beauty be my jailor? a heavenly hell! The darkest dungeon, which spite can devise, To throw this carcase in, her glorious eyes Can make as lightsome, as the fairest chamber In Paris Louvre: come captivity, And chain me to her looks; how am I tossed? Being twice in mind, as twice in body lost.
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)
What Uenetian Gentleman was there; that hauing this in his Burgonet, did not (to proue his head worthy of the honor) doe more than defye death to the verie face? trust vs Ladies, our Signiory standes bound in greater summes of thankes to your beauties for victorie, than to our vallour: my deare Uioletta one kisse to this picture of your whitest hand, when I was euen faint, (with giuing and receiuing the doale of warre) Set a new edge on my sword: in so much that, I singled out a gallant Spirit of France, And charg'd him with my Launce in full careere, And after rich exchange of noble courage, (The space of a good houre on eyther side) At last crying, now for Uiolettaes honour, I vanquisht him, and him (dismounted) tooke Not to my selfe, but prisoner to my loue. I haue heard much praise of that French gallant, good my Lord, bring him acquainted with our eyes. I will, goe boy fetch noble Fontinell. Will your French prisoner drinke well? or else cut his throate. Oh no he cannot brooke it. The pox he can, s'light me thinks a French man shold haue a good courage to wine, for many of them be exceeding hot fiery whoresons, and resolute as Hector, and as valliant as Troilus; then come off and on brauely and lye by it, and sweate fort too, vpon a good and a millitary aduantage. Prethee haue done heere comes the prisoner. My Lord Camillo, is this the Gentleman, Whose vallour, by your vallour is subdu'd? It is faire Lady, and I yeild him vp, To be your beauties worthy prisoner: Lord Fontinell, thinke your captiuity Happie in this, she that hath conquered me, Receiues my conquest, as my loues faire fee. Faire stranger droope not, since the chance of wars Brings to the Soldier death, restraint, or scarres. Lady, I know the fortune of the field, Is death with honour, or with shame to yeild, As I haue done. In that no scandall lyes, Who dyes when he may liue, he doubly dyes. My reputation's lost. Nay thats not so, You flee not but were vanquisht by your foe, The eye of warre respects not you nor him, It is our fate will haue vs loose or win, You will disdaine if I you prisoner call? No, but reioyee, since I am beauties thrall. Enough of this, come wenches shake your heeles. Musicke aduance thee on thy golden wing, And daunce deuision from sweet string to string. Camillo I shall curbe thy tyranie, In making me that Ladies prisoner: She has an Angels bodie, but within't, Her coy heart sayes there lyes a heart of flint, Such beautie be my Iaylor? a heauenly hell! The darkest dungeon, which spite can deuise, To throw this carkasse in, her glorious eyes Can make as lightsome, as the fairest chamber In Paris Louure: come captiuitie, And chaine me to her lookes; how am I tost? Being twice in minde, as twice in body lost.