The Valiant Welshman (Caradoc the Great) · chunk 10 of 32
A., R. · published 1615 · first performed or written 1612 [1610-1615] (Annals) history · Prince Henry's Men unassigned nearest T18 Rebels, barons and the king's wars at ho · 479 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T18: king, lord, wallace, earl, edward, england, scotland, rebels, bruce, english.
Once more, brave Peers of Wales, welcome to Bryttayne. Herein Octavian shows his kingly love, That in this rough sea of invasion, When the high swelling tempests of these times O'erflow our British books, and Cesar's rage, Like to an Inundation, drowns our land, To send so many warlike Soldiers, Conducted by the flowers of famous Wales. Now Cesar, when thou dar'st, we are prepared. Britons would rather die, then be outdared. But soft, what messenger is this? Speak Messenger, from whom, or whence thou comest. From Wales, my Lord, sent in all post-haste, From noble Earl of Gloster, to your Grace, With this letter. From Wales! I pray you, good posts and messengers, tell us, how fares all our friends, our Cousin ap Guinevere, ap Caradoc, ap Voada. I know them not. Cads blue-hood, know not our Cousin? I'll give her such a blow on the pate, I'll make her know her cousins. Cads zwownes, he had best tell her, he knows not her nose on her face. This fellow was porne at hogs Norton, where pigs play on the Organ. Posts call you her? 'Sploud, were a simple Carpenter to build house on such posts: not know our Cousins? This letter from our brother Gloster sent, Entreats me, not to trust the gilded outsides Of these strangers. We know our brother well: He is a man of honourable parts, judicious, upon no slight surmise, Gives us intelligence, it shall be so. we'll trust a friend, afore an unknown foe. Prince Caradoc, you with your forces lie upon you hill; From whence, unless you see our Army faint, Or discouraged by the Roman bands, There keep your standing. Hark, Roman Cesar comes: now Brittaynes fight, Like Brutus' sons, for freedom and for right. Disgraced by letters? shifted to a hill? Fond King, thy words, and all the treacherous plots Of secret mischief, sink into the gulf Of my oblivion: memory, be dull, And think no more on these disgraceful airs, My fury relished. King, Set punies to keep hills, that scarce have read The first material Elements of war, That wink to see a Canoneere give fire, And like an Aspen, shakes his coward joints, At musket shot. Within these noble veins, There runs a current of such high-born blood, Achilles well may father for his own. These honourable sparks of man we keep, Descended lineally from Hector's race, And must be put in action. Shall I stand, Like gazing Figure-flingers on the stars, Observing motion, and not move myself? Hence with that baseness. I that am a star, Must move, although I move irregular. Go you unto the hill, in some disguise. I'll purchase honour by this enterprise. Hold, valiant Britain, hold thy warlike hands. Then yield thyself, proud Roman, Or by those gods the Britain's do adore, Not all thy Roman host shall save thy life.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Once more, braue Peeres of Wales, welcome to Bryttayne. Herein Octauian shewes his kingly loue, That in this rough sea of inuasion, When the high swelling tempests of these times Oreflow our Bryttish bks, and Csar's rage, Like to an Inundation, drownes our land, To send so many warlike Souldiours, Conducted by the flowres of famous Wales. Now Cesar, vvhen thou dar'st, vvee are prepared. Brittaines vvould rather die, then be outdared. But soft, vvhat messenger is this? Speake Messenger, from whom, or whence thou commest. From Wales, my Lord, sent in all post-haste, From noble Earle of Gloster, to your Grace, With this letter. From Wales! I pray you, good postes and messengers, tell vs, how fares all our friends, our Cousin ap Guiniuer, ap Caradoc, ap Voada. I know them not. Cads blue-hood, know not our Cousin? Ile giue her such a blow on the pate, Ile make her know her cousins. Cads zwownes, hee had best tell her, he knowes not her nose on her face. This fellow was porne at hogs Norton, where pigges play on the Organ. Posts call you her? Sploud, were a simple Carpenter to build house on such posts: not know our Cousins? This letter from our brother Gloster sent, Intreates me, not to trust the gilded outsides Of these strangers. We know our brother well: He is a man of honourable parts, Iudicious, vpon no slight surmise, Giues vs intelligence, it shall bee so. Weele trust a friend, afore an vnknowne foe. Prince Caradoc, you with your forces lye vpon you hill; From whence, vnlesse you see our Army faint, Or discouraged by the Romane bands, There keepe your standing. Harke, Romane Cesar comes: now Brittaynes fight, Like Brutus sonnes, for freedome and for right. Disgraced by letters? shifted to a hill? Fond King, thy words, and all the trecherous plots Of secret mischiefe, sinke into the gulfe Of my obliuion: memory, be dull, And thinke no more on these disgracefull ayres, My fury relisht. King, Set punies to keepe hils, that scarce haue read The first materiall Elements of warre, That winke to see a Canoneere giue fire, And like an Aspin, shakes his coward ioynts, At musket shot. Within these noble veynes, There runnes a current of such high-borne bloud, Achilles well may father for his owne. These honourable sparkes of man wee keepe, Descended linially from Hectors race, And must be put in action. Shall I stand, Like gazing Figure-flingers on the starres, Obseruing motion, and not moue my selfe? Hence with that basenesse. I that am a starre, Must moue, although I moue irregular. Goe you vnto the hill, in some disguise. Ile purchase honour by this enterprise. Hold, valiant Bryttaine, hold thy warlike hands. Then yeeld thy selfe, proud Romane, Or by those gods the Bryttaines doe adore, Not all thy Romane hoste shall saue thy life.