The Trial of Chivalry (This Gallant Cavaliero Dick Bowyer) · chunk 37 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 · 500 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T10: france, french, england, king, lord, english, edward, talbot, peace, lords.
False Ferdinand his son, ravished our child. Now by my Knighthood, honour, and this gage, France, i'll approve you wrong that Ferdinand. Who can accuse him? That did Rodorick. That Traitor, for a deed so false, so foul, Hath answered it by this, even with his soul. Our son, and valour's bloom, th'English Pembroke, By Lewes treachery were butchered. Were the whole world joined in so false a thing, Alone I'd combat all, and clear the King. France never had design in their two deaths. He leagued with Bourbon, that destroyed my child. He poisoned her deservedly. That deed of shame Cut off his life, and razed out Bourbon's name. His death shallbe thy death; for thy hand slew him. This other in the battle twice today, Made us retire, France, shall we join in league, Till we have venged our malice on these knights? Navarre, agreed. soldiers, this killed your Lords. And this our fame: let's mangle them with swords. Take truce a while with rage: hear what we'll urge: This knight flew Bourbon, this enforced you fly; Therefore you hate them, and for hate they die. Since then true virtue is disfigured, Desert trod down, and their heroic worth, In justice doomed on traitors merits, Death: Behold these two, which thousands could not daunt, But your ungratitude, on bended knee, Yield up their swords to bide your tyranny. 'Twas he killed Bourbon: if you love him dead, Show it by paring off this valiant head: Do you the like: to this revenge apace. They fear not threats, and scorn to beg for grace. And they shall find none. Knights, triumph in death, We are your headsmen, Kings shall stop your breath. Philip, my son! Young Ferdinand my joy! Call them not sons, whom you would fain destroy. Hold not our age too long in deep suspect. Art thou Ferdinand? And thou Philip? We are the friendly sons of adverse parents, Your long lost children, though supposed slain, We live, and come to joy your age again. Welcome all earthly bliss. Welcome, dear child, Thy presence half our sorrow hath exiled. How soon this Scene is changed! those that even now Were sworn wars servants, now to peace do bow: Then Pembroke, strive to make their joys more full, See, kingly father, to that princely son. Pembroke, the hated murderer of his friend: Pembroke, that did divide thee from his sight, And cut so many passages of death, In his endeared bosom, humbly thus Forgets his honour, and from your high hand, Invokes revenge for wounding Ferdinand. Still he surmounts me in an honoured love, Rise, friend; or if thou strivest to have the world, In me, as in a glass, see a false friend. Behold, I kneel, and here proclaim to all, My friendship's broke, but thine substantial. Model of virtue, honoured Pembroke's Earl, Rise in as dear regard as Ferdinand. Oh, had I Bellamira once in hold, Age would turn youth, & I should ne'er be old.
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)
Falſe Ferdinand his ſonne, rauiſht our child. Now by my Knighthood, honor, and this gage, Fraunce, ile approue you wrong that Ferdinand. Who can accuſe him? That did Rodorick. That Traytor, for a deed ſo falſe, ſo foule, Hath anſwered it by this, euen with his ſoule. Our ſonne, and valours bloome, th'Engliſh Pembrooke, By Lewes trechery were butchered. Were the whole world ioynd in ſo falſe a thing, Alone Ide combat all, and cleere the King. Fraunce neuer had deſsigne in their two deaths. He leagu'd with Burbon, that deſtroyd my child. He poyſoned her deſeruedly. That deed of ſhame Cut off his life, and rac'd out Burbons name. His death ſhalbe thy death; for thy hand ſlue him. This other in the battell twice to day, Made vs retire, Fraunce, ſhall we ioyne in league, Till we haue veng'd our malice on theſe knights? Nauar, agreed. Souldiers, this kyld your Lords. And this our fame: let's mangle them with ſwords. Take truce a while with rage: heare what wee'le vrge▪ This knight flew Burbon, this inforſt you fly; Therfore you hate them, and for hate they die. Since then true vertue is disfigured, Deſert trod downe, and their heroick worth, In iuſtice doomd on Traytors merits, Death: Behold theſe two, which thouſands could not daunt, But your vngratitude, on bended knee, Yeeld vp their ſwoords to bide your tyranny. 'Twas he kild Burbon: if you loue him dead, Shew it by paring off this valiant head: Do you the like: to this reuenge apace. They feare not threats, and ſcorne to beg for grace. And they ſhall find none. Knights, tryumph in death, We are your headſmen, Kings ſhall ſtop your breath. Philip, my ſonne! Young Ferdinand my ioy! Call them not ſonnes, whom you would fayne deſtroy. Hold not our age too long in deepe ſuſpect. Art thou Ferdinand? And thou Philip? We are the friendly ſonnes of aduerſe parents, Your long loſt children, though ſuppoſed ſlayne, We liue, and come to ioy your age agayne. Welcome all earthly bliſſe. Welcome, deare child, Thy preſence halfe our ſorrow hath exil'd. How ſoon this Scene is chāg'd! thoſe that euē now Were ſworne warres ſeruants, now to peace do bow: Then Pembrooke, ſtriue to make their ioyes more full, See, kingly father, to that princely ſonne. Pembrooke, the hated murderer of his friend: Pembroke, that did deuide thee from his ſight, And cut ſo many paſſages of death, In his indeared boſome, humbly thus Forgets his honour, and from your hye hand, Inuokes reuenge for wounding Ferdinand. Still he ſurmounts me in an honour'd loue, Riſe, friend; or if thou ſtriu'ſt to haue the world, In me, as in a glaſſe, ſee a falſe friend. Behold, I kneele, and here proclayme to all, My friendſhip's broke, but thine ſubſtantiall. Model of vertue, honord Pembroks Earle, Riſe in as deare regard as Ferdinand. Oh, had I Bellamira once in hold, Age would turne youth, & I ſhould ne're be old.