The Trial of Chivalry (This Gallant Cavaliero Dick Bowyer) · chunk 22 of 38
Anonymous · published 1605 · first performed or written 1601 [1599-1604] (Annals) romance · Derby's (Strange's) Men unassigned nearest T10 England and France: war, embassy and pea · 503 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T10: france, french, england, king, lord, english, edward, talbot, peace, lords.
To hunt him for revenge. The darkest angle of this universe, Shall not contain him through the bounded world: I'll prosecute his flight with ceaseless steps: And when long travel makes them dull or faint, Baiting them fresh with Bellamira's wrongs, Like Eagles they shall cut the flaxen air, And in an instant bring me where he is. Where goes our son? To hell, so that in that kingdom, Fate would ascertain me to meet with Bourbon. wherever I confront him, this shall kill him. Thou shalt have aid to compass thy revenge. No aid, but this strong arm. Farewell, farewell. Since Bellamira hath forsook her friend, I seek destruction (Bourbon) and mine end Stay him: this fury will betray thy life. Poor king made wretched by thy daughter's loss. Poor king made wretched by thy desperate son. Spend not your woes too fast, but save some tears To dew the obsequies of your dead son. What, Ferdinand? he's slain by Pembroke's hands, And Pembroke left breathless by Ferdinand. Their quarrel is uncertain, and their bodies By some uncivil hands contrayed away, And no inquiry can discover them. Our son slain? Bellamira poisoned? Navarre, tear off these hairs, and raging die. More Tragedies at hand, what news brings Roderick? Such as will make the hearers, senseless trunks. Why do thy our highness in your foe-men's tents Revel away the time, and yield your person, To the known malice of your enemies, Whilst in your own tents, rapine and foul lust, Grasps your fair daughter to dishonour her? Our daughter? She is slily stolen from thence, Yet none knows whither, save one Sentinel, Who doth report he heard a wretched Lady Exclaim, false Ferdinand would ravish her. That was my child dishonoured by thy son. You wrong him, France. Thou hast betrayed us, king, And trained us to a loathed festival, The marriage of thy stained and leprous child, Whilst in our absence, Ferdinand unjust, Hath stained our daughter's beauty with vild lust. If you remember, he & English Pembroke Last day forsook your Camp, as discontent. That proved their loves were feigned, and of set malice, He came to view our Camp, how he might act That deed of obloquy, and scape with life. 'tis France hath done the wrong: you have commenced This deed of death on Pembroke & our son; And now to cover it, suggest and feign Our guiltless son a guilty ravisher: But render me their bodies. Where's our Child? Seek her. Seek Ferdinand. France. Petty king, For this our wrong, look to be underling. What Drum is this? Are we entrapped, Navarre? Fear not, on yonder hill, whose lofty head o'erlooks the under-valleys, Royal Bourbon, Attended by ten thousand Soldiers, Craves peace and fair accord with mighty France. Bourbon, that was the ruin of my Child? Summon our forces straight and charge the slave, In Bourbon's rescue draw our forces up. What means the king of France? To join with him. What? with a Traitor and a murderer
seed 43: T8 · seed 44: T8 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
To hunt him for reuenge. The darkeſt angle of this vniuerſe, Shall not contayne him through the bounded world: Ile proſecute his flight with ceaſleſſe ſteps: And when long trauell makes them dull or faynt, Bayting them freſh with Bellamiraes wrongs, Like Eagles they ſhall cut the flaxen ayre, And in an inſtant bring me where he is. Where goes our ſonne? To hell, ſo that in that kingdome, Fate would aſſertayne me to meet with Burbon. Where euer I confront him, this ſhall kill him. Thou ſhalt haue ayd to compaſſe thy reuenge▪ No ayd, but this ſtrong arme. Farewell, farewell. Since Bellamira hath for ſooke her friend, I ſeeke deſtruction (Burbon) and Stay him: this fury will betray thy life. Poore king made wretched by thy daughters loſſe. Poore king made wretched by thy deſperat ſonne. Spēd not your woes too faſt, but ſaue ſome teares To dew the obſequies of your dead ſonne. What, Ferdinand? Hee's ſlaine by Pembrokes hands, And Pembroke left breathles by Ferdinand. Their quarrell is vncertain, and their bodies By ſome vnciuill hands contrayed away, And no inquiry can diſcouer them. Our ſonne ſlaine▪ Bellamira poyſoned▪ Nauarre, teare off theſe hayres, and raging die. More Tragedies at hand, what newes bring Rodoricke? Such as will make the hearers, ſenceleſſe truncks. Why do thy our highnes in your foe-mens tents Reuell away the time, and yeld your perſon, To the knowne malice of your enemies, Whilſt in your owne tents, rapine and foule luſt, Graſpes your fayre daughter to dishonour her? Our daughter? She is ſlily ſtolne from thence, Yet none knowes whither, ſaue one Sentinell, Who doth report he heard a wretched Lady Exclaime, falſe Ferdinand would rauiſh her. That was my child dishonor'd by thy ſonne. You wrong him, Fraunce. Thou haſt betrayed vs, king, And traynd vs to a loathed feſtiuall, The mariage of thy ſtaynd and leprous child, Whilſt in our abſence, Ferdinand vniuſt, Hath ſtaind our daughters beautie with vild luſt. If you remember, he & Engliſh Pembroke Laſt day forſooke your Campe, as diſcontent. That proou'd their loues were faynd, and of ſet malice, He came to view our Campe, how he might act That deed of obloquy, and ſcape with lyfe. Tis Fraunce hath done the wrong: you haue cō menſt This deed of death on Pembrook & our ſon; And now to couer it, ſuggeſt and fayne Our guiltleſſe ſonne a guilty rauiſher: But render me their bodies. Where's our Child? Seeke her. Seeke Ferdinand. Fraunce. Petty king, For this our wrong, looke to be vnderling. What Drum is this? Are we intrapt, Nauar? Feare not, on yonder hill, whoſe lofty head Orelookes the vnder-valleyes, Royall Burbon, Attended by ten thouſand Souldiers, Craues peace and faire accord with mighty Fraunce. Burbon, that was the ruyne of my Child? Summon our forces ſtraight and charge the ſlaue, In Burbons reſcue draw our forces vp. What meanes the king of Fraunce? To ioyne with him. What? with a Traytor and a murtherer