The Trial of Chivalry (This Gallant Cavaliero Dick Bowyer) · chunk 4 of 38
Anonymous · published 1605 · first performed or written 1601 [1599-1604] (Annals) romance · Derby's (Strange's) Men unassigned nearest T14 Royal love, favour and dynastic relation · 539 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T14: prince, princess, love, king, lord, queen, madam, grace, lady, life.
Pity such true love, which like blessed seed, Sown in such fertile soil, his princely breast, By the rough stormy brow and winter's hate Of adverse parents should be timeless nipped, And die ere it attain maturity: For I have heard, the Princess whom he serves, Is hotly courted by the Duke of Bourbon, Who to effect his choice, hath in these wars Furnished your father with a gallant power: His love may haply then disable Philip's. O no, my father doth affect the Prince: Besides, my sister's heart is so combined To his in perfect love, that Bourbon's hate, Nor all the world that knot can separate. Then sorrow not for him, but turn the stream Of gentle pity on thy wretched friend, Within whose bosom love hath kindled fire, So ardent, that the flames will bury me. Philip is throned in my sister's eyes: But in my love disdain and hatred lies. Doth she not pay true kindness with the like? As stepdames, orphans, night, the clear-faced day, So doth she hate me, and return my woes, Like a steeled Anvil backward on myself. She is all hate, yet such a lovely foe, That I must kiss the sword that wounds me so. Inter these thoughts, this is her father's tent. Drum, give a friendly summons to the King. Forbear a while (dear Pembroke:) by our vows, Which in the book of heaven are registered, By all the rights of friendship, by that love Thou bearest thy native Country, I conjure thee, This day to be the Trumpet of my worth, To speak the passions of thy grieved friend, To Katherine's ears, till those pure ivory gates, Pierced with the volley of thy battering words, Give way to my laments to touch her heart: For this have I extracted thee from many, Made thee my fellow Pilgrim to her shrine, Knowing thy thoughts from loves Religion free▪ When my prayers fail, thy tongue may plead for me. Must I be spokesman? Pembroke plead for love? Whose tongue tuned to the Instruments of war, Never knew strain of fancy on my breath: Affection never dwelled, but war and death. But if thou lov'dst to have thy soldiers fight, Or hearten the spent courages of men, Pembroke could use a style invincible. lov'dst thou a town, I de teach thee how to woo her, With words of thunder-bullets wrapped in fire, Till with thy Cannon battery she relent, And humble her proud heart to stoop to thee. Or if not this, then mount thee on a Steed, Whose courage never awed an iron Bit, And thou shalt hear me hollow to the beast, And with commanding accents master him: This Courtship Pembroke knows; but idle love, The slick-faced object of an amorous brain, Did never clothe mine eyeballs, never taught This tongue enured to broils and stratagems, The passionate language of a troubled heart: I am too blunt and rude for such nice service. Yet since my friend enjoins me to this task, Take courage, i'll both speak, plead, woo for thee, And when I want fit words to move her mind, I'll draw my sword, and swear she must be kind. Drummer report our presence to the King.
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)
Pity ſuch true loue, which like bleſſed ſeed, Sowne in ſuch fertile ſoyle, his princely breſt, By the rough ſtormy brow and winters hate Of aduerſe parents ſhould be timeleſſe nipt, And dye e're it attayne maturity: For I haue heard, the Princeſſe whom he ſerues, Is hotely courted by the Duke of Burbon, Who to effect his choyce, hath in theſe warres Furniſht your father with a gallant power: His loue may haply then diſable Philips. O no, my father doth affect the Prince: Beſides, my ſiſters heart is ſo combin'd To his in perfect loue, that Burbons hate, Nor all the world that knot can ſeparate. Then ſorrow not for him, but turne the ſtreame Of gentle pity on thy wretched friend, Within whoſe boſome loue hath kindled fire, So ardent, that the flames will bury me. Philip is throned in my ſiſters eyes: But in my loue diſdayne and hatred lyes. Doth ſhe not pay true kindneſſe with the like? As ſtepdames, orphanes, night, the cleer-fac't day, So doth ſhe hate me, and returne my woes, Like a ſteeld Anuill backward on my ſelfe. She is all hate, yet ſuch a louely foe, That I muſt kiſſe the ſword that wounds me ſo. Interre theſe thoughts, this is her fathers tent. Drum, giue a friendly ſummons to the King. Forbeare a while (deare Pembrooke:) by our vowes, Which in the booke of heauen are regiſtred, By all the rightes of friendſhip, by that loue Thou bearſt thy natiue Countrey, I coniure thee, This day to be the Trumpet of my worth, To ſpeake the paſsions of thy grieued friend, To Katharines eares, till thoſe pure Iuory gates, Pearſt with the volley of thy battring words, Giue way to my laments to touch her heart: For this haue I extracted thee from many, Made thee my fellow Pilgrim to her ſhrine, Knowing thy thoughts from loues Religion free▪ When my prayers fayle, thy tongue may plead for me. Muſt I be ſpokesman? Pembrooke plead for loue? Whoſe toung tunde to the Inſtruments of war, Neuer knew ſtraine of fancy on my breath: Affection neuer dwelt, but war and death. But if thou lou'dſt to haue thy ſoldiers fight, Or hearten the ſpent courages of men, Pembrooke could vſe a ſtile inuincible. Lou'dſt thou a towne, I de teach thee how to woo her▪ With words of thunder-bullets wrapt in fire, Till with thy Cannon battry ſhe relent, And humble her proud heart to ſtoop to thee. Or if not this, then mount thee on a Steed, Whoſe courage neuer awde an yron Bit, And thou ſhalt heare me hollow to the beaſt, And with commaunding accents maſter him: This Courtſhip Pembrooke knowes; but idle loue, The ſlicke-fac't obiect of an amorous brayne, Did neuer clothe mine eye-balls, neuer taught This toung inurde to broyles and ſtratagems, The paſſionate language of a troubled heart: I am too blunt and rude for ſuch nice ſeruice. Yet ſince my friend inioynes me to this taske, Take courage, ile both ſpeake, plead, woo for thee, And when I want fit words to moue her mind, Ile draw my ſword, and ſweare ſhe muſt be kind. Drummer report our preſence to the King.