The Trial of Chivalry (This Gallant Cavaliero Dick Bowyer) · chunk 12 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 · 495 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T14: prince, princess, love, king, lord, queen, madam, grace, lady, life.
Were it to search the furthest Northern clime, Where frosty Hiems with an icy Mace, Strikes dead all living things, I'd find it out, And borrowing fire from those fair sunny eyen, Thaw Winter's frost, and warm that dead cold clime: But this impose is nothing, honoured King, I'll to my father, and conduct him hither: For whilst my soul is parted from her sight, This earth is hell, this day a tedious night. Come Rodorick, you shall bear me company. He shall not, for i'll stay him instantly. 'Twere pity to keep two such loves asunder. Daughter, you & your Ladies to your tent, And deck you richly to receive the prince. My Lord of Pembroke, happily returned: How doth our soon? See where he comes himself. Speak, boy, how spedst thou with fair Katharine? I know not how: Is trothless Pembroke there? Be not dismayed, at length she'll pity thee. Son, bid our Officers adorn our Court In her chief glory: for this happy night Shall set a period to this smarting war. Your sister shallbe troth-plight to Prince Philip, And France and we made friends about it then. Pembroke, have you the charge to see our Captains Prepare a martial welcome to the King. I'll not be idle: since Navarre was crowned, Our heart with so much joy did ne'er abound. Nor mine with so much hate. Pembroke, a word. What will your Grace? That Pembroke is a villain. Look not so strange, I speak it not your friend, But he that in his soul hath sworn thine end. A villain? and my death? I am amazed. Art thou awake? or is all this a dream? A dream of death: meet me tomorrow morning, As thou art Pembroke and a Gentleman, By yond fair riverside, which parts our Camps. You know the place, come armed, and so farewell. Dear friend. Push, meet me. Ferdinand, I will. Revenge, smile on, thou shalt drink blood thy fill. This is my waiting night, 'tis for no good, That I stand Sentronel. Well, good or ill, I care not greatly, so I get the gold: Therefore to avoid prolixity, here walk I. Here comes the men that must reward my pain. Have you the poison? And a strong one too. here's a preservative to save your hand. When Roderick fails your Lordship, heaven shall fail, To illuminate the world with cheerful light. Then here about should Peter wait for me: For this is the Pavilion of the Princess. My Lord. Peter. Here is the key that opens to the Tent, I stole it from my sweet heart Thomasin. Enter without prolixity, woo and win the Lady: But give me gold (my Lord) and I'll to Dice. Hold, take thy fill. And it shall go as fast. Now gentle Peter, get thee unto rest: My business craves the absence of the world: None but my felt and Roderick shall behold The secret complot that I do intend.
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)
Were it to ſearch the furtheſt Northerne clime, Where froſty Hyems with an ycie Mace, Strikes dead all liuing things, Ide find it out, And borrowing fire from thoſe fayre ſunny eyne, Thaw Winters froſt, and warme that dead cold clime: But this impoſe is nothing, honourd King, Ile to my father, and conduct him hither: For whilſt my ſoule is parted from her ſight, This earth is hell, this day a tedious night. Come Rodorick, you ſhall beare me company. He ſhall not, for ile ſtay him inſtantly. 'Twere pity to keepe two ſuch loues aſunder. Daughter, you & your Ladies to your tent, And deck you richly to receiue the prince. My Lord of Pembrooke, happily return'd: How doth our ſoone? See where he comes himſelfe. Speake, boy, how ſpedſt thou with fayre Katharine? I know not how: Is trothleſſe Pembrooke there? Be not diſmayed, at length ſheele pity thee. Sonne, bid our Officers adorne our Court In her chiefe glory: for this happy night Shall a period to this ſmarting war. Your ſiſter ſhalbe troth-plight to Prince Philip, And France and we made friends about it then. Pembrooke, haue you the charge to ſee our Captaines Prepare a martiall welcome to the King. Ile not be idle: ſince Nauar was crownd, Our heart with ſo much ioy did ne're abound. Nor mine with ſo much hate. Pembrooke, a word. What wills your Grace? That Pembrooke is a villayne. Looke not ſo ſtrange, I ſpeake it not your friend, But hee that in his ſoule hath ſworne thine end. A villayne? and my death? I am amaz'd. Art thou awake? or is all this a dreame? A dreame of death: meet me to morrow morning, As thou art Pembrooke and a Gentleman, By yon fayre Riuer ſide, which parts our Camps. You know the place, come armde, and ſo farewell. Deare friend. Puſh, meet me. Ferdinand, I will. Reuenge, ſmile on, thou ſhalt drink bloud thy fill. This is my wayting night, tis for no good, That I ſtand Sentronell. Well, good or ill, I care not greatly, ſo I get the gold: Therefore to auoyd prolixity, here walke I. Here comes the men that muſt reward my paine. Haue you the poyſon? And a ſtrong one too. Heere's a preſeruatiue to ſaue your hand. When Rodoricke fayles your Lordſhip, heauen ſhall fayle, To illuminate the world with cheerefull light. Then here about ſhould Peter wayt for me: For this is the Pauilion of the Princeſſe. My Lord. Peter. Here is the key that opens to the Tent, I ſtole it from my ſweet heart Thomaſin. Enter without prolixity, woo and winne the Lady: But giue me gold (my Lord) and Ile to Dice. Hold, take thy fill. And it ſhall goe as faſt. Now gentle Peter, get thee vnto reſt: My buſineſſe craues the abſence of the world▪ None but my felte and Rodoricke ſhall behold The ſecret complot that I doe intend.