The Trial of Chivalry (This Gallant Cavaliero Dick Bowyer) · chunk 27 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 · 518 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T10: france, french, england, king, lord, english, edward, talbot, peace, lords.
For love of Ferdinand your princely brother, Whose Hearse he guards in honourable Arms. Is this my brother's Hearse? is this the place, Where I was shipwrecked of a brother's name? Oh, let me spend a loving sigh for him, And sacrifice a sister's holy rites: For ever rest, sweet Ferdinand, in peace, Until thy body glorified from heaven, Become immortal by thy soul's return. Poor Bellamira, how I pity thee! Yet must forbear to comfort thy distress. Is my young Lord buried here? I say no more, but I pray God send him a joyful insurrection. Enough, sweet Bellamire, These leprous spots, 'tis time they were removed. Come, go with me. Since I left Aquitaine, And came acquainted with these private walks, It was my happy chance to meet an Hermit, Whose skill in Physic warrants present cure, And pure refining of your poisoned blood: I'll bring you thither: afterward select Delicious sweets, to deck your brother's tomb. Come, sirrah, follow us. Do not think, Madam, that i'll forsake you. And so, sir, you that walk in pewter vessel, like one of the worthies, will you be ruled by me? Wherein? To set a 'gin for Woodcocks, & catch yourself first. Hence, beetlehead. And Pembroke, now bethink How great a tide of miseries breaks in. First, thou art taxed with the loss of him, Whom equal with thyself thou holdest dear: Next, Bellamira is become a Leper, Whose absence Philip carefully laments: Then treacherous Bourbon joins himself with France, And both the Kings are angrily incensed: But last, which is some comfort to the rest, Disdainful Katharine wastes with fruitless love. Would all so minded like mishap might prove. But by this signal there are Knights at hand, I must provide their valours to withstand. Stay your intended march. What Peer of France, Or in the world so haughty resolute, Dare breath the word of stay to mighty France? Or what art thou presum'st to stay my course? A Knight I am, and to adventures bound: This monument erected for my friend, By me is guarded: If you mean to pass, You must do homage, or else fight with me. Homage of me! Know I am King of France, And in subjection to no earthly power. Thou know'st not what thou sayst, to challenge us, Of any such inferior privilege. What homage is it thou requirest of us? First, to acknowledge him lies buried here, The faithfulst Lover, and most valiant Knight, That in this time drew sword, or managed horse. And what was he? A scapart, or your Countryman Gargantua, that stuffed every button of his coat with a load of hay? 'Sheart, we have me a fellow; here's all mouth, he speaks nothing but Monarch. Dost thou hear, King? give me leave to encounter this puckfist: and if I do not make him cry Peccavi, say Dick Bowyer's a powdered mackerel. My blood begins to boil, I could be pleased, To have this fellow by the ears, but that There's many of my betters here in place. King of Navarre, let Flanders cope with him.
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)
For loue of Ferdinand your princely brother, Whoſe Hearſe he gards in honourable Armes. Is this my brothers Hearſe? is this the place, Where I was ſhipwrackt of a brothers name? Oh, let me ſpend a louing ſigh for him, And ſacrifice a ſiſters holy rites: For euer reſt, ſweet Ferdinand, in peace, Vntill thy body glorified from heauen, Become immortall by thy ſoules returne. Poore Bellamira, how I pity thee▪ Yet muſt forbeare to comfort thy diſtreſſe. Is my yong Lord buried here? I ſay no more, but I pray God ſend him a ioyfull inſurrection. Inough, ſweet Bellamire, Theſe leprous ſpots, tis time they were remou'd. Come, goe with me. Since I left Aquitayne, And came acquaynted with theſe priuate walks, It was my happy chance to meet an Hermit, Whoſe skill in Phiſike warrants preſent cure, And pure refining of your poyſoned bloud: Ile bring you thither: afterward ſelect Delicious ſweets, to decke your brothers tombe. Come, ſirra, follow vs. Doe not think, Madam, that ile forſake you. And ſo, ſir, you that walk in pewter veſſayle, like one of the worthyes, will you be rul'd by me? Wherein? To ſet a gyn for Woodcocks, & catch your ſelfe firſt. Hence, beetle-head. And Pembrook, now bethink How great a tyde of miſeries breakes in. Firſt, thou art taxed with the loſſe of him, Whom equall with thy ſelfe thou holdeſt deare: Next, Bellamira is become a Leper, Whoſe abſence Philip carefully laments: Then trecherous Burbon ioynes himſelfe with Fraunce, And both the Kings are angerly incenſt: But laſt, which is ſome comfort to the reſt, Diſdaynfull Katharine waſtes with fruitleſſe loue. Would all ſo minded like miſhap might proue. But by this ſignall there are Knights at hand, I muſt prouide their valours to withſtand. Stay your intended march. What Peere of Fraunce, Or in the world ſo haughty reſolute, Dare breathe the word of ſtay to mighty Fraunce? Or what art thou preſum'ſt to ſtay my courſe? A Knight I am, and to aduentures bound: This monument erected for my friend, By me is garded: If you meane to paſſe, You muſt doe homage, or elſe fight with me. Homage of me! Know I am King of France, And in ſubiection to no earthly power. Thou knowſt not what thou ſayſt, to challenge vs, Of any ſuch inferiour priuiledge. What homage is it thou requir'ſt of vs? Firſt, to acknowledge him lyes buryed here, The faythfulſt Louer, and moſt valyant Knight, That in this time drew ſword, or manag'd horſe. And what was he? A ſcapart, oryour Countreyman Gargantua, that ſtuft euery button of his coate with a load of hay? 'Shart, wee haue mee a fellow; here's all mouth, hee ſpeakes nothing but Monarch. Doeſt thou heare, King? giue me leaue to incounter this puckfiſt: and if I doe not make him cry Peccaui, ſay Dicke Bowyer's a powdred Mackrell. My bloud beginnes to boyle, I could be pleaſd, To haue this fellow by the eares, but that Theres many of my betters heere in place. King of Nauarre, let Flanders cope with him.