The Trial of Chivalry (This Gallant Cavaliero Dick Bowyer) · chunk 24 of 38
Anonymous · published 1605 · first performed or written 1601 [1599-1604] (Annals) romance · Derby's (Strange's) Men unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 514 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Farewell, kind Host: & now let me embrace This empty Monument of my lost friend. Oh! were't so happy to enshrine his bones, How blessed should Pembroke be? but they are torn By the fierce savage Wolf, whose filthy maw Is made an unfit grave to bury him. But if (without offence) I may desire it, I wish his soul from Paradise may see, How well his name is kept in memory: These eyes that saw him bleed, have wept for him: This heart devised his harm, hath sighed for him: And now, this hand, that with ungentle force Deprived his life, shall with repentant service, Make treble satisfaction to his soul. Fortune, thou dost me wrong, to suffer me So long uncombatted: I prithee send Some stubborn Knight, some passenger, Whose stout controlling stomach will refuse To yield to my prescription, but by force. I hate this idle rest of precious time. How now! deridest thou my devotion, goddess? Thou send'st a woman to encounter me. Henceforth i'll hold thee for a feigned name, And no disposer of my Christian hopes: But soft, I know that face: oh! ay, 'tis she Was unjust cause of all this misery. Long have I wandered with unquiet mind, To find my Pembroke: that they fought, I hear: That they were wounded both to death, I hear: But whether cured or dead, I cannot hear: Nor lives there any (if deceased) can tell, Within what place their bodies are interred. Since therefore all my travel is in vain, Here will I take a truce with former care. This cursed nook was that unlucky plot, Where cursed Ferdinand did kill my Love. What Knight is this? i'll question him, perhaps He can resolve me where my Pembroke is: joy and good fortune, sir, attend your state. Your wishes come too late. What seek you, Madam? Tell me, sir knight, for so you seem to be: Know you this dismal place you do frequent? Or have you heard of that unhappy fight, Was here performed by Pembroke and his foe? Yes, Madam, I have heard of it long since, And, to my grief, knew both the Gentlemen. But can you tell me if they live or no? Or dead, what hand hath given them burial. Rest you assured, Madam, they are dead: The one of them to whom I was allied, And nearly knitted in friendship from my youth, By me lies buried here: a braver Knight, And truer Lover never breathed in France. O tell me, is it Pembroke? if for him You have erected this fair monument, Perpetual honour I will do your state: Not only, Madam, have I built this tomb In his memorial: but myself have sworn Continual residence within this Wood: And for the love I bore him, wear these arms, That whatsoever Knight, adventurer or other, Making his journey this way, and refusing To do knight's homage to my breathless friend, By this assailing steel may be compelled. Oh, let me know your name, so kindly moved, To dignify my Pembroke's high deserts.
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)
Farewel, kind Hoſt: & now let me embrace This empty Monument of my loſt friend. Oh! wer't ſo happy to enſhrine his bones, How bleſt ſhould Pembrooke be? but they are torne By the fierce ſauadge Wolfe, whoſe filthy mawe Is made an vnfit graue to bury him. But if (without offence) I may deſire it, I wiſh his ſoule from Paradiſe may ſee, How well his name is kept in memorie: Theſe eyes that ſaw him bleed, haue wept for him: This heart deuiſde his harme, hath ſigh'd for him: And now, this hand, that with vngentle force Depryu'd his life, ſhall with repentant ſeruice, Make treble ſatiſfaction to his ſoule▪ Fortune, thou doſt me wrong, to ſuffer me So long vncombatted: I prythee ſend Some ſtubborne Knight, ſome paſſenger, Whoſe ſtout controuling ſtomacke wil refuſe To yeeld to my preſcription, but by force▪ I hate this idle reſt of precious time. How now! derid'ſt thou my deuotion, goddeſſe? Thou ſendſt a woman to incounter me. Henceforth ile hold thee for a fayned name, And no diſpoſer of my Chriſtian hopes: But ſoft, I know that face: oh! I, tis ſhe Was vniuſt cauſe of all this miſery. Long haue I wandred with vnquiet mind, To find my Pembrook: that they fought, I heare: That they were wounded both to death, I heare: But whether cur'de or dead, I cannot heare▪ Nor liues there any (if deceaſde) can tell, Within what place their bodies are interr'd. Since therefore all my trauell is in vayne, Here will I take a truce with former care. This curſed nooke was that vnlucky plot, Where curſed Ferdinand did kill my Loue. What Knight is this? ile queſtion him, perhaps He can reſolue me where my Pembroke is: Ioy and good fortune, ſir, attend your ſtate. Your wiſhes come too late. VVhat ſeeke you, Madam? Tel me, ſir knight, for ſo you ſeeme to be: Know you this diſmall place you do frequent? Or haue you heard of that vnhappy fight, VVas here perform'd by Pembrook and his foe? Yes, Madam, I haue heard of it long ſince, And, to my griefe, knew both the Gentlemen. But can you tell me if they liue or no? Or dead, what hand hath giuen them buryall▪ Reſt you aſſured, Madam, they are dead: The one of them to whom I was allyed, And neerely kint in friendſhip from my youth, By me lyes buried heere: a brauer Knight, And truer Louer neuer breathd in Fraunce. O tell me, is it Pembrooke? if for him You haue erected this fayre monument, Perpetuall honour I will doe your ſtate: Not only, Madam, haue I built this tombe In his memoriall: but my ſelfe haue ſworne Continuall reſidence within this Wood: And for the loue I bare him, weare theſe armes, That whatſoeuer Knight, aduenturer or other, Making his iourney this way, and refuſing To do Knights homage to my breathleſſe friend, By this aſſayling ſteele may be compeld. Oh, let me know your name, ſo kindly mou'd, To dignifie my Pembrookes high deſerts.