A Larum for London, or The Siege of Antwerp · chunk 7 of 25
Anonymous · published 1602 · first performed or written 1599 [c.1594-1600] (Annals) history · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T10 England and France: war, embassy and pea · 508 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T10: france, french, england, king, lord, english, edward, talbot, peace, lords.
Count Egmont, surely Antwerp is bewitched, Security hath slain their providence, And riches makes them reckless of their friends; We must assume the charge upon ourselves, And pray the Prince and States to bear the pay; Or else their private avarice, will pull Public destruction on this flower of towns, To the disgrace of all the Netherlands. I will make tender of so much to them, Two months the Prince of Orange and the States, And we ourselves, will pay four thousand men: If afterward, our powers be not of use, We shall withdraw them to their Provinces, May this content you curious Citizens? The offer is so Honourable now, As modestly, we cannot challenge it: Captain Cornelius what's your counsel? This: Say, that you fear the Spaniards will conceive Some high displeasure, if you take them in, My Lords these fat pursed peasants are so proud, Friends and defence, are less esteemed than pelf. Governor of Antwerp, how are you resolved? My Lords, the Prince of Orange and yourselves, And all the States deserve our duteous love And humble service: first, for sending power, Then promising pay and victuals for that power: But with your pardon, yet there is a let, That makes us loath to take your army in. What let champaign? The Spanish Governor, Danila, commander of the Castle here, If we receive your troops into our Town, Will judge we have some purpose of revolt, And raising arms against the King of Spain. What if he do? His fiery spirit inflamed, Will send our bullets from the Citadel, And tear the sumptuous buildings of our town. As late he did when we were banqueting, And thought no harm, but drinking health to health, He shot, and slew some innocent poor souls, And rent our Statehouse and some buildings else. he'll rend you better if our purpose hold. What was the cause? Because we did not sink, The Prince of Orange Ships, that lay to waft Provision to our City up the River. Observe by that you discreet Governors, What love or faith the Spaniard holds with you, That for his pride would have your City pine; Having destroyed the corn on Flanders side, And crossed a bridge of Convoy to your town; Then that the River should not victual you, He wished you sink that shipping in the Skelt. Collect by this the Spaniards cruelty, Who though occasion should not come from you, Would pick a quarrel for occasion, To sack your City, and to suck your blood, To satisfy his pride and luxury: Let Harlem, Mastricht, Alst example you, And many cities models of his wrath, Think on my Father and the County Horn, Whose tragedy, if I recount with ruth, May move the stones of Antwerp to relent. They served the Spaniard as his Liegemen sworn, Yet, for they did but wish their country good, He picked a quarrel, and cut off their heads. Burghers the Spaniard waits to take your lives, That he may spoil your town, your wealth, your wives
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Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Count Egmont, surelie Ant werpe is bewitcht, Securitie hath slaine their prouidence, And riches makes them retchles of their friends; We must assume the charge vpon ourselues, And pray the Prince and States to beare the pay; Or else their priuate auarice, will pull Publicke destruction on this flower of townes, To the disgrace of all the Netherlands. I will make tender of so much to them, Two monthes the Prince of Orenge and the States, And we our selues, will pay foure thousand men: If afterward, our powers be not of vse, We shall withdraw them to their Prouinces, May this content you curious Cittizens? The offer is so Honorable now, As modestly, we cannot challenge it: Captaine Cornelius what's your counsell? This: Say, that you feare the Spaniards will conceiue Some high displeasure, if you take them in, My Lords these fat purs'd peasants are so proude, Friends and defence, are lesse esteem'd then pelfe. Gouernor of Antwerpe, how are you resolu'd? My Lords, the Prince of Orenge and your selues, And all the States deserue our dutious loue And humble seruice: first, for sending power, Then promising pay and victuals for that power: But with your pardon, yet there is a let, That makes vs loath to take your armie in. What let Champaigne? The Spanish Gouernor, Danila, commaunder of the Castle heere, If we receiue your troopes into our Towne, Will iudge we haue some purpose of reuolt, And raising armes against the King of Spaine. What if he doe? His fierie spirit enflam'd, Will send our bullets from the Cittadell, And teare the sumptuous buildings of ou towne. As late he did when we were banqueting, And thought no harme, but drinking health to health, He shot, and slew some innocent poore soules, And rent our State-house and some buildings else. Hee'll rend you better if our purpose holde. What was the cause? Because we did not sincke, The Prince of Orenge Ships, that lay to waft Prouision to our Citty vp the Riuer. Obserue by that you discreete Gouernors, What loue or faith the Spaniard holdes with you, That for his pride would haue your Citty pine; Hauing destroy'd the corne on Flaunders side, And cross'd a bridge of Conuoy to your towne; Then that the Riuer should not victuall you, He wish'd you sinke that shipping in the Skelt. Collect by this the Spaniards crueltie, Who though occasion should not come from you, Would picke a quarrell for occasion, To sacke your Cittie, and to sucke your bloud, To satisfie his pride and luxurie: Let Harlem▪ Marstricht, Alst example you, And many Citties models of his wrath, Thinke on my Father and the Countie Horne, Whose tragedie, if I recount with ruth, May mooue the stones of Antwerpe to relent▪ They seru'd the Spaniard as his Liedge-men sworne, Yet, for they did but wish their countrie good, He pickt a quarrell, and cut off their heades. Burgers the Spaniard waites to take your liues, That he may spoyle your towne, your wealth, your wiue