A Larum for London, or The Siege of Antwerp · chunk 15 of 25
Anonymous · published 1602 · first performed or written 1599 [c.1594-1600] (Annals) history · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men T11 Siblings, kin and confidants typicality 0.76 · 510 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T11: sister, brother, love, friend, heart, father, mother, woman, lord, hear.
So is the Cat that dallieth with the mouse, But in the end, her pastime is his death; We must provide, the Spaniards thirst is great, And better that we quench it with our gold, Than let them swallow and carouse our bloods: I prithee Godfrie try thy friends abroad, And any money that thou hast bring forth, That we may make the sum which he desires. I'll do the best I can, though hard it be, To find a friend in this extremity. Let not your rough entreaty so molest, The soul of him whose spirit already stoops, Under the heavy burden of weak age; You have my treasure, what more can you crave? Thy life if so we please: there yet remains A jewel of more worth than all thy wealth, Which (like a mizer) thou didst hide from us. Thou hast a daughter, whom till we enjoy, All pity that proceeds from us, sits here, the sharp point of my scimitar; speake? Cit slain in this tumult. What other being than her grave my Lord, Can be supposed she hath? Torture the slave, His guileful heart, that studies to conceal, My dear heart's treasure, shall be forced in sighs To publish, what his stubborn tongue denies. Thou hearst old fellow, trifle then no longer, But show him where thy daughter doth abide. Why pause ye on my bidding let him die, That doubles with a Spaniard in his will. Hear ye my Lord. Not any whispering noise, Not any tittle, doth not bear the sound, Of beauty's sweet fruition to mine ears. My daughter lives, but not within the reach Of my command: a Nunnery in the arms Of her religious peaceful privilege, Doth clip her silly frighted virgin's life, From whence my Lord she cannot be recalled. Bear Art upon thy tongue, that may unlock The gates of that in closed Sanctuary, And first entreat; but if entreaty fail, Then use command; if neither will prevail, Yet so thou shalt not cease, but in the cords Of violent fury drag the Damsel thence: My soldiers shall attend to see it done, That if, thou shrink, their weapons naked points, May gorge thy sides, till thou bleed out thy life. I would that Sacrifice might end this strife. Away with him love faints through cold delay, 'tis Danila speaks, and what he will he may. Of whence are you? Of England Noble Lord, A Factor to a London Merchant here, Who having tried my friends, and strained my purse, To make my ransom: am now carrying it To mighty Alva, to redeem my life. What value is it? Full five hundred dollars. Is this the utmost penny thou canst make? The length and depth of my ability. It will not serve to search thy chest for more Or bide the torture we impose on such, As cunningly, withhold what we demand. There is not in the world (that I may call Rightly mine own) one Stiver or one doit, More than is there comprised within that bag.
nodes 900–968 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 15 of 25 in this edition
Length
510 words · 657 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T11 — Siblings, kin and confidantscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.764 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
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)
So is the Cat that dallieth with the mouse, But in the end, her pastime is his death; We must prouide, the Spaniards thirst is great, And better that we quench it with our golde, Than let them swallow and carouse our bloudes: I prethee Godfrie trie thy friendes abroad, And any money that thou hast bring foorth, That we may make the summe which he desires. Ile doe the best I can, though hard it be, To finde a friend in this extreamitie. Let not your rough intreatie so molest, The soule of him whose spirit alreadie stoopes, Vnder the heauy burthen of weake age; You haue my treasure, what more can you craue? Thy so we please: there yet remaines A ewell of more worth than all thy wealth, Which (like a ) thou didst hide from vs. Thou hast a daughter, whome till we enioy, All proceedes from vs, sits heere, point of my Semiter; speake? in this tumult. What than her graue my Lord, Can be she hath? Torture the slaue, His guilefull heart, that studies to conceale, My deare hearts treasure, shall be forc't in sighes To publish, what his stubborne tongue denies. Thou hearst olde fellow, trifle than no longer, But shew him where thy daughter doth abide. Why pawse ye on my bidding let him dye, That doubles with a Spaniard in his will. Heare ye my Lord. Not any whispering noise, Not any tittle, doth not beare the sound, Of beauties sweet fruition to mine eares. My daughter lies, but not within the reach Of my commaund: a Nunnerie in the armes Of her religious peacefull priuiledge, Doth clip her silly frighted Virgins life, From whence my Lord she cannot be recall'd. Beare Arte vpon thy tongue, that may vnlocke The gates of that in closed Sanctuarie, And first intreate; but if intreatie faile, Then vse commaund; if neither will preuaile, Yet so thou shalt not cease, but in the cordes Of violent furie drag the Damsell thence: My soldiers shall attend to see it done, That if, thou shrinke, their weapons naked points, May gordge thy sides, till thou bleed out thy life. I would that Sacrifice might end this strife. Away with him loue faints through colde delay, Tis Danila speakes, and what he will he may. Of whence are you? Of England Noble Lord, A Factor to a London Marchant heere, Who hauing tryed my friends, and strain'd my purse, To make my ransome: am now carrying it To mightie Alua, to redeeme my life. What value is it? Full fiue hundred Dollors. Is this the vtmost penny thou canst make? The length and depth of my abilitie. It will not seruetor search thy chest for more Or bide the torture we impose on such, As cunningly, withholde what we demaund. There is not in the world (that I may call Rightly mine owne) one Stiuer or one Dote, More then is there compriz'd within th bag.