Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T59: andrea, spain, portugal, tribute, horatio, king, bellimperia, prince, lord, lorenzo.
How now, what means this trumpet's sound? My liege, the Portugalles. Are up in arms glittering in steel. Where's our lord general, lorenzo stout andrea, With whom I rank sprightly Horatio. what for shame, shall the Portugalles Trample the fields before you. No my liege, there's time enough To let out blood enough, tribute shall flow, Out of their bowels, and be tendered so. Farewell brave Lords, my wishes are bequeathed A nobler rank of spirits never breathed. O my sweet boy, heaven shield thee still from care, O be as fortunate as thee art fair. And heaven bless you my father in this fight, that I may see your Grey head crowned in white. You came but now, must you part again. You told me that you spirit Should put on peace but see war follows war. Nay sweet love cease, to be denied our honour why 'twere base, to breathe and live, and wars in such a case, Is even as necessary as our blood, swords are in season then, when rights with stood, Deny us tribute, that so many years, We have in peace told out, Why it would raise spleen in the host Of Angels: 'twere enough to make tranquil saints of angry stuff. You have over wrought the chiding of my breast, And by that argument, you firmly prove Honour to soar above the pitch of love. Lend me thy loving and thy warlike arm, On which I knit this soft and silken charm, Tied with an amorous knot, O may it prove Enchanted armour, being charmed by love, That when it mounts up to thy warlike crest, It may put by the sword, and so be blessed. O what divinity proceeds from love? What happier fortune than myself can move, Hark, the drum beckons me; sweet dear farewell, This scarf shall be my charm, 'gainst foes and hell. O let me kiss thee first. The drum again. Hath that more power than I? Do't quickly then: farewell. Farewell O cruel part, Andrea's bosom bears away my heart. Come valiant spirits you Peers of Portugal, That owe your lives, your faiths, and services, To set you free from base captivity: O let our father's scandal near be seen, As a base blush upon our free born cheeks, Let all the tribute that proud Spain received, Of those all captive Portugales deceased, Turn into chafe, and choke their insolence: Methinks no, moiety not one little thought, Of them whole servile acts live in their graves, But should raise spleens big as a cannon bullet, Within your bosoms: O for honour, Your country's reputation, your lives freedom, Indeed your all, that may be termed revenge, Now let your bloods be liberal as the sea: And all those wounds that you receive of Spain, Let theirs be equal to quit yours again▪ Speak portugales: are you resolved as I, to live like captives, or as free borne die?
seed 43: T61 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
How now, what means this trumpets sound? My léedge, the Portugalles. Are vp in armes glittring in stéel. Wheres our lord generall, lorenzo stout andrea, With whome I ranck spritely Horatio. what for shame, shall the Portugalles Trample the fields before you. No my léedge, thers time enough To let out bloud enough, tribute shall flow, Out of their bowels, and be tendered so. Farwell braue Lords, my wishes are bequeathd A nobler ranke of sperits neuer breathd. O my swéet boy, heauen shield thée still from care, O be as fortunate as thée art faire. And heauen blesse you my father in this fight, that I may sée your Gray head crownd in white. You came but now, must you part agen. You told me that you sperit Should put on peace but sée war followes war. Nay swéet loue cease, to be denide our honor why twere base, to breath and liue, and wars in such a case, Is euen as necessary as our bloud, Swordes are in season then, when rightes with stood, Deny vs tribute, that so many yéeres, We haue in peace told out, Why it would raise spléene in the host Of Angels: twere enough to make tranquile saints of angry stuffe. You haue ore wrought the chiding of my brest, And by that argument, you firmly proue Honor to sore aboue the pitch of loue. Lend me thy louing and thy warlicke arme, On which I knit this softe and silken charme, Tyed with an amorous knot, O may it proue Inchaunted armour, being charmed by loue, That when it mounts vp to thy warlick crest, It may put by the sword, and so be blest. O what deuinity procéeds from loue? What happier fortune then my selfe can moue, Harke, the drum beckens me; sweet deere farwell, This scarfe shall be my charme, gainst foes and hell. O let me kisse thée first. The drum agen. Hath that more power then I? Doot quickly then: farwell. Farwell O cruell part, andreas bosome bears away my hart. Come valliant sperits you Péeres of Portugale, That owe yout liues, your faiths, and seruices, To set you frée from base captiuity: O let our fathers scandall nere be séene, As a base blush vpon our frée borne chéeks, Let all the tribute that proud Spaine receaud, Of those all captiue Portugales deceased, Turne into chafe, and choke their insolence: Methinks no, moyetie not one little thought, Of them whole seruile acts liue in their graues, But should raise spléens big as a cannon bullet, Within your bosomes: O for honor, Your countries reputation, your liues fréedome, Indéed your all, that may be termed reueng, Now let your blouds be liberall as the sea: And all those wounds that you receiue of Spaine, Let thers be equall to quit yours againe▪ Speake portugales: are you resolued as I, to liue like captiues, or as free borne die?