Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T20: hercules, hercles, ioue, deianeira, alcides, hand, lo, death, skies, hell.
No mother no, I am not of such iniquity That I will defile my hands upon the. But be content mother, for I will not rest Till I have fought with some man or wild beast Truly my son if that ye take this way This shall be the conclusion, mark what I shall say Other I will drown myself for sorrow And feed fishes with my body before to morrow Or with a sharp sword, surely I will me kill Now thou mayst save me, if it be thy will I will also cut my paps away That gave the suck so many a day And so in all the world it shall be known That by my own son I was overthrown Therefore if my life be to the pleasant That which I desire good son do me grant Mother thou spendest thy wind but in waste The gods of battle her fury on me hath cast I am fully fixed battle for to taste O how many to death I shall drive in haste I will ruffle this club about my head Or else I pray god I never die in my bed There shall never a stroke be strooken with my hand But they shall think that Iupiter doth thunder in the land My own sweet son I kneeling on my knee And both my hands holding up to the Desire the to cease and no battle make Call to the patience and Better ways take Tusshe mother, I am deaf I will the not hear No no, if Iupiter here himself now were And all the gods, and Iuno his wife And loving Minerva that abhorreth all strife if all these I say, would desire me to be content They did their wind but in vain spent I will have battle in wails or in kente and some of the kuaves I will all to rend where is the valiant knight sir Isenbrase? Appear sir I pray you, dare ye not show your face where is Robin Iohn and little hood approach hither quickly if ye think it good I will teach such outlaws with Christ'S curses How they take hereafter away abbots purses why will no adventure appear in this place where is Hercules with his great maze where is Buspris, that fed his horses Full like a tyrant, with dead men's corpses Come any of you both And I make an oath That yer I eat any bread I will drive a wain ye for need twain Between your body and your head Thus passeth my brains will none take the pains To try with me a blow? O what a fellow am I whom every man doth fly That doth me but once know Son all do you fear That be present here They will not with you fight you, as you be worthy Have now the victory without tasting of your might Here is none I trow that proffereth you a blow Man woman nor child Do not set your mind To fight with the wind be not so mad nor wild
seed 43: T17 · seed 44: T19 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
¶ No mother no, I am not of suche iniquitye That I wyll defyle my handes vpon the. But be contente mother, for I wyll not rest Tyll I haue foughte with some man or wylde beast Truely my sonne yf that ye take thys way Thys shall be the conclusion, marke what I shall say Other I wyll drowne my selfe for sorowe And fede fyshes with my body before to morowe Or wyth a sharpe swerde, surely I wyll me kyll Nowe thou mayst saue me, if it be thy wyll I wyll also cut my pappes awaye That gaue the sucke so manye a daye And so in all the worlde it shall be knowen That by my owne sonne I was ouerthrowen Therefore if my lyfe be to the pleasaunte That whiche I desyre good sonne do me graunte ¶ Mother thou spendest thy winde but in wast The goddes of battayle hyr fury on me hath cast I am fullye fyxed battayle for to taste O how many to deth I shall dryue in haste I wyll ruffle this clubbe aboute my hedde Or els I pray god I neuer dye in my bedde There shall neuer a stroke be stroken with my hande But they shall thynke yt Iupiter doth thonder in ye land ¶ My owne swete sonne I knelynge on my knee And bothe my handes holdinge vp to the Desyre the to ceasse and no battayle make Call to the pacience and Better wayes take ¶ Tusshe mother, I am deafe I wyll the not heare No no, yf Iupiter here him selfe nowe were And all the goddes, and Iuno his wife And louinge Minerua that abhorreth all stryfe yf all these I saye, would desyre me to be content They dyd theyr wynde but in vaine spente I wyll haue battayle in wayles or in kente and some of the kuaues I wyll all to rent where is the valiaunt knighte syr Isenbrase? Appere syr I praye you, dare ye not shewe your face where is Robin Iohn and little hode approche hyther quickely if ye thinke it good I wyll teache suche outlawes wyth Chrystes curses How they take hereafter awaye abbottes purses whye wyll no aduenture appeare in thys place where is Hercules with his greate mase where is Buspris, that fed hys horses Full lyke a tyraunte, with dead mens corses Come any of you bothe And I make an othe That yer I eate anye breade I wyll dryue a wayne ye for neede twayne Betwene your bodye and your heade Thus passeth my braynes wyll none take the paynes To trye wyth me a blowe? O what a fellowe am I whome euerye man dothe flye That dothe me but once knowe ¶ Sonne all do you feare That be presente here They wyll not wyth you fyghte you, as you be worthye Haue nowe the victorye wythoute tastynge of youre myghte Here is none I trowe that profereth you a blowe Man woman nor chylde Do not set your mynde To fyghte with the wynde be not so madde nor wylde