The Trial of Chivalry (This Gallant Cavaliero Dick Bowyer) · chunk 36 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 · 507 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T10: france, french, england, king, lord, english, edward, talbot, peace, lords.
By heaven agreed. Here Pembroke takes his stand: Come France and all the world, I will not start, Till Philip's knightly sword pierce Rodorick's heart. accursed, I am betrayed, encompassed round: Now life and hope and state must kiss the ground. Rodorick, thou seest, all ways are stopped to fly, Be desperate then, fight bravely, and so die. Now are his treacheries repaid with death: Philip and Pembroke, sound your retreats With better hope; in him all hatred ends: The kings will now love peace, & soon be friends. Zounds, never run for the matter, a scratched face can not serve your turn, we must have bloody noses: stand on your guard: & I do not make haggis puddings of your guts, I'll never domineer in the long Alleys again. Cymnell, I'll crack you for this, I'll teach you to deal with Peter de Lions, and that without prolixity. Do: have at you in earnest: S. George, you rogue. So, there's for your prolixities: there's for Thomasin: the Thornbackly slave, and he were made of any thing but gristles, I am a pompion: 'Sheart, he had no mettle in him: yet how the villain craked and domineered when he was living: ah, sirrah, never grin for the matter, 'tis Captain Bowyer that speaks it. When thou meetest the great Devil, commend me to him, and say, I sent him thee for a new years gift: and there's one Sarlaboys to, as arrant a bloodsucker, and as notable a coward, as ever drew weapon in a bawdy house: he carries my mark about him: if Dick Bowyer be not writ a bountiful benefactor in hell for my good deeds, in sending thither such cannibals, I am a rabbitsucker: yet I scorn to vaunt of my deeds too. They sound a retreat: farewell, Peter, and learn hereafter what it is to be rival to an English gentleman, Cavaliero Bowyer, one of the nine worthies. Navarre, why have you sounded a retreat? Will your proud heart decline and call us Lord? We thought by the faint language of your drums, France would have known his error, and begged peace. France beg a peace! Navarre call you his Lord! Why did you cease the fight, and sound retreat? Not we, by this beard: not we, by the life of Pharo. Your Trumpets guided by your fainting breath, Dehorted us from war, and sounded peace. Navarre derides us. France, 'tis you that do't. Sound war, and bravely let us once more to't. Kings of Navarre and France, why do you thus With civil butchery wound this blessed land, Which like a mother, from her melting eyes, Sheds crimson tears, to see you enemies? Lewes of France, wherein hath great Navarre dangered your state, that you should prosecute War with her largest ruin? how hath France Sowed such inveterate hate within your breast, That to confound him, you will undergo The orphans curse, the widows tears & cries, Whose husbands in these wars have lost their lives? ere you contend, discourse your grievances.
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)
By heauen agreed. Heere Pembrooke takes his ſtand: Come Fraunce and all the world, I will not ſtart, Til Philips knightly ſword pearce Rodoricks hart. Accurſt, I am betrayd, incompaſt round: Now lyfe and hope and ſtate muſt kiſſe the ground. Rodorick, thou ſeeſt, all wayes are ſtopt to flie, Be deſperat then, fight-brauely, and ſo die. Now are his trecheries repaid with death: Philip and Pembrooke, ſound your retreats With better hope; in him all hatred endes: The kings will now loue peace, & ſoone be friends. Zounds, neuer runne for the matter, a ſcratcht face can not ſerue your turne, we muſt haue bloudy noſes: ſtād on your gard: & I do not make haggaſſe puddings of your guttes, Ile neuer dominier in the long Alleyes agayne. Cymnell, Ile cracke you for this, Ile teach you to deale with Peter de Lions, and that without prolixitie. Do: haue at you in earneſt: S. George, you rogue. So, there's for your prolixities: there's for Thomaſin: the Thornbackly ſlaue, and he were made of any thing but griſtles, I am a pumpian: 'Shart, he had no mettle in him: yet how the villayne crak't and dominierd when he was liuing: ah, ſirra, neuer gyn for the matter, tis Captayne Bowyer that ſpeaks it. When thou meetſt the great Deuill, commend me to him, and ſay, I ſent him thee for a new yeres gift: and there's one Sarlaboys to, as arrant a bloud-ſucker, and as notable a coward, as euer drew weapon in a bawdy houſe: hee carryes my marke about him: if Dicke Bowyer be not writ a bountifull benefactor in hell for my good deeds, in ſending thither ſuch Canibals, I am a Rabbit-ſucker: yet I ſcorne to vaunt of my deeds too. They ſound a retreat: farewell, Peter, and learne hereafter what it is to be riuall to an Engliſh gentleman, Caualiero Bowyer, one of the nyne worthyes. Nauar, why haue you ſounded a retreyt? Will your proud heart decline and call vs Lord? We thought by the faynt lāguage of your drums, Fraunce would haue knowne his errour, and beg'd peace. Fraunce beg a peace! Nauar call you his Lord! Why did you ceaſe the fight, and ſound retreat? Not we, by this beard: not we, by the life of Pharo. Your Trumpets guided by your faynting breath, Dehorted vs from war, and ſounded peace. Nauar derides vs. Fraunce, tis you that doo't. Sound war, and brauely let vs once more too't. Kings of Nauar and Fraunce, why doe you thus With ciuill butchery wound this bleſſed land, Which like a mother, from her melting eyes, Sheds crymſon teares, to ſee you enemyes? Lewes of Fraunce, wherein hath great Nauar Dangerd your ſtate, that you ſhould proſecute War with her largeſt ruine? how hath Fraunce Sowed ſuch inueterate hate within your breſt, That to confound him, you will vndergoe The orphants curſe, the widdowes teares & cries, Whoſe husbands in theſe warres haue loſt their liues? E're you contend, diſcourſe your grieuances.