The Trial of Chivalry (This Gallant Cavaliero Dick Bowyer) · chunk 11 of 38
Anonymous · published 1605 · first performed or written 1601 [1599-1604] (Annals) romance · Derby's (Strange's) Men T60 Imperial Rome: rulers, favour and politi typicality 0.84 · 510 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T60: caesar, rome, emperor, empire, honour, lord, lucius, great, palsgrave, kings.
Never fear (General) if Iulius Caesar rise up against us, ere he do my Lord any wrong, zounds, i'll be cut smaller than potherbs. I'll to the trenches, come Thomasin. leer not, Lobster, lest I thum that russeting face of yours with my sword hilt, till that it look as pied coloured as the Rainbow. By Iesu i'll do it, and therefore follow me not. Why should this load of grief lie on my heart With such a ponderous weight? I know no cause, Unless it be by thinking on the wrong My friend receives in the unmatched love, Which Katharine bears me: yet my faith is sound, And like a solid Rock shall check her tears. Katharine loves me; yet for my friend's delight, Pembroke will hate her love, and fly her sight. Navarre, you sprinkle me with foul reproach, And dim the lustre of our royal name, With colours of dishonour. Hear me, Bourbon. What words can satisfy so great a wrong? Have you not with consent of all your Lords, Promised your daughter to this generous prince? Their true love forced us to it. True love? 'tis feigned. Ha, Bourbon. Gentle Philip. With my sword, I'll prove my love unfeigned, thee a false Lord. This like a Sanctuary frees thy tongue, And gives thee childish liberty of speech, Which else would fawn and crouch at Bourbon's frown. Now by S. Denis— I'll not chat with boys. Navarre, to thee I speak: thy daughters looks, Like the North Star to the Sea-tossed Mariners, Hath brought me through all dangers, made me turn Our royal Palace, to this stage of death, Our state and pleasures, to a bloody Camp, And with the strength and puissance of our force, To lift thy falling and decayed state, Even to her pristine glory, in thy quarrel Bourbon hath set himself against his King, And soiled his greatness with a traitors name. Now when our worth expected rich reward, Fair Bellamira, wonder of her time, Must Philip have her? Bourbon, she is mine. i'll be revenged, by heaven I will, Or I will pave these plains with the dead bodies Of our dear subjects: we have sworn thy fall, That oaths thy death, our rage thy funeral. Hear our excuse. We will not credit air. Peter, watch Rodorick, when the prince is gone, Tell him, I'd speak with him. Enough, 'tis done. Navarre, this setting Sun, which sees our wrong, Shall e'er his morrows beams guide the proud East, View Hymen's rites turned to a tragic feast His anger bears him hence, young prince of France, Since to reduce our enmity to love, And thereby like a fair and lovely Bride, To marry peace to France, we are content, To bring the sea-tossed bark of your affects, Half shipwrecked with the tempest of these wars, To their desired port, as we agreed: Go to your father, and inform him thus: If personally he'll view our friendly Tents, And seal these Articles of peace proposed, This night you shall be troth-plight to our child.
seed 43: T1 · seed 44: T2 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Neuer feare (Generall) if Iulius Caeſar riſe vp againſt vs, e're he do my Lord any wrong, zounds, ile be cut ſmaller then pot-hearbs. Ile to the trenches, come Thomaſin. Leere not, Lobſter, leſt I thum that ruſſeting face of yours with my ſword hilt, till that it looke as pyde colourd as the Rainbow. By Ieſu ile do it, and therefore follow me not. Why ſhould this load of griefe lye on my heart With ſuch a ponderous waight? I know no cauſe, Vnleſſe it be by thinking on the wrong My friend receyues in the vnmatched loue, Which Katharine beares me: yet my fayth is ſound, And like a ſolid Rock ſhall check her teares. Katharine loues me; yet for my friends delight, Pembrooke will hate her loue, and flye her ſight. Nauar, you ſprinckle me with foule reproch, And dimme the luſtre of our royall name, With colours of diſhonour. Heare me, Burbon. What words can ſatiſfy ſo great a wrong? Haue you not with conſent of all your Lords, Promiſd your daughter to this generous prince? Their true loue forſt vs to it. True loue? tis fayn'd. Ha, Burbon. Gentle Philip. With my ſword, Ile proue my loue vnfayned, thee a falſe Lord. This like a Sanctuary frees thy toung, And giues thee childiſh liberty of ſpeach, Which els would fawne and crouch at Burbons frowne. Now by S. Denis— Ile not chat with boyes. Nauar, to thee I ſpeak: thy daughters looks, Like the North Star to the Sea-toſt Mariners, Hath brought me through all dangers, made me turne Our royall Palace, to this ſtage of death, Our ſtate and pleaſures, to a bloudy Campe, And with the ſtrength and puiſſance of our force, To lift thy falling and decayed ſtate, Euen to her priſtine glory, in thy quarrell Burbon hath ſet himſelfe againſt his King, And ſoyld his greatneſſe with a Traytors name. Now when our worth expected rich reward, Fayre Bellamira, wonder of her time, Muſt Philip haue her? Burbon, ſhee is mine. ile be reueng'd, by heauen I will, Or I will paue theſe plaines with the dead bodies Of our deare ſubiects: we haue ſworne thy fall, That oathes thy death, our rage thy funerall. Heare our excuſe. We will not credit ayre. Peter, watch Rodorick, when the prince is gone, Tell him, Ide ſpeake with him. Enough, tis done. Nauar, this ſetting Sun, which ſees our wrong, Shall e're his morrowes beames guide the proud Eaſt, View Himens rites turnd to a tragick feaſt His anger beares him hence, young prince of France, Since to reduce our enmity to loue, And thereby like a fayre and louely Bryde, To mary peace to France, we are content, To bring the ſea-toſt barke of your affects, Halfe ſhipwrackt with the tempeſt of theſe wars, To their deſired port, as we agreed: Go to your father, and informe him thus: If perſonally heele view our friendly Tents, And ſeale theſe Articles of peace propoſde, This night you ſhall be troth-plight to our child.