The Valiant Welshman (Caradoc the Great) · chunk 11 of 32
A., R. · published 1615 · first performed or written 1612 [1610-1615] (Annals) history · Prince Henry's Men unassigned nearest T2 Roman politics: senate, consuls and civi · 520 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T2: rome, caesar, senate, sulla, roman, consul, brutus, romans, men, marius.
Then soldier, (for thy valour speaks thee so,) Know, that thou hast no common prisoner, But such a one, whose eminence and place Commands officious duty through Rome: Then if thy inward parts deserve no less In honour's eye, than thy mean habit shows, Release me, that a public infamy Fall not upon me by the scandalous host, Whose Critic censure, to my endless shame, Will run division on the chance of war, And brand my fortune with black obloquy: And by my honour, that the Romans hold As dear as life, or any other good The heavens can give to man, the battle donne, I'll pay my ransom in a treble some. Know, Roman, that a Bryttayne scorns thy gold. Let Midas brood adore that Deity, And dedicate his soul unto this saint: Soldiers have mines of honourable thoughts, More wealthy than the Indian veins of gold, Beyond the value of rich Tagus' shore: Their Eagle-feathered actions scorn to stoop To the base lure of usurers and slaves. Let painful Merchants, whose huge riding ships Tear up the furrows of the Indian deep, To shun the slavish load of poverty, Gape after massy gold: the wealth we crave, Are noble actions, and an honoured grave. I'll take no money, Roman: But since thou seemest no counterfeit impression, But bear'st the Royal Image of a man, Give me some private token from thy hands, That's generally known unto thy friends, That if by chance I come to Rome, I may be known to be your friend. Here, worthy Bryttayne, take this golden Lion, And wear it about thy neck: This when thou comest, Will quickly find me out. Soldier, adieu. Cesar is bound both to the gods and you. The Roman Eagle hangs her haggard wings, And all the Army's fled; all by the strength And opposition of one common man, In show, not far superior to a Soldier, That's hired with pay, or priest unto the field: But in his manly carriage, like the son Of some unconquered valiant Mermedon. Sure, 'tis some godlike spirit, that obscures His splendour in these base and borrowed clouds Of common Soldiers habit. All my thoughts Are wrapped in admiration, and I am deep in love With those perfections, only that my eye Beheld in that fair object. Thus have I left the field, To interchange a word or two with him. And see, in happy time he walks alone. Well met, brave soldier: may a Prince be bold To ask thy name, thy nation and thy birth? Fair Prince, you question that you know already. I am not what I seem, but hither sent, On honourable terms, to aid this King; Which he unkingly, basely did refuse, And in reward of this his proffered good, Ungratefully returned (what other Kings With princely donatives would recompense) My service with injurious contempt: But I, in lieu of this disgraceful wrong, Have done him right, and through the jaws of death, Have brought a glorious triumph to his Crown, And hung sweet peace about his palace gates. True honour should do that, which envy hates.
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)
Then souldiour, (for thy valour speakes thee so,) Know, that thou hast no common prisoner, But such a one, whose eminence and place Commaunds officious duety through Rome: Then if thy inward parts deserue no lesse In honours eye, then thy meane habite shewes, Release me, that a publike infamy Fall not vpon me by the scandalous hoste, Whose Criticke censure, to my endlesse shame, Will runne diuision on the chaunce of warre, And brand my fortune with blacke obloquy: And by my honour, that the Romanes hold As deare as life, or any other good The heauens can giue to man, the battell donne, Ile pay my ransome in a treble some. Know, Romane, that a Bryttayne scorns thy gold. Let Midas broode adore that Deity, And dedicate his soule vnto this saint: Souldiours haue mines of honourable thoughts, More wealthy then the Indian veynes of gold, Beyond the value of rich Tagus shore: Their Eagle-feathered actions scorne to stoope To the base lure of vsurers and slaues. Let painefull Marchants, whose huge riding ships Teare vp the furrowes of the Indian deepe, To shun the slauish load of pouerty, Gape after massie golde: the wealth we craue, Are noble actions, and an honoured graue. Ile take no money, Romane: But since thou seemest no counterfeit impression, But bear'st the Royall Image of a man, Giue me some priuate token from thy hands, That's generally knowne vnto thy friends, That if by chance I come to Rome, I may be knowne to be your friend. Here, worthy Bryttayne, take this golden Lyon, And weare it about thy necke: This when thou commest, Will quickly finde me out. Souldiour, adieu. Cesar is bound both to the gods and you. The Romane Eagle hangs her haggard wings, And all the Army's fled; all by the strength And opposition of one common man, In shew, not farre superiour to a Souldiour, That's hyred with pay, or prest vnto the field: But in his manly carryage, like the sonne Of some vnconquered valiant Mermedon. Sure, tis some god-like spirite, that obscures His splendour in these base and borrowed clouds Of common Souldiours habit. All my thoughts Are wrapt in admiration, and I am deepe in loue With those perfections, onely that my eye Beheld in that fayre obiect. Thus haue I left the field, To interchange a word or two with him. And see, in happy time he walkes alone. Well met, braue souldiour: may a Prince be bolde To aske thy name, thy nation and thy birth? Fayre Prince, you question that you know already. I am not what I seeme, but hither sent, On honourable termes, to ayd this King; Which he vnkingly, basely did refuse, And in reward of this his proffered good, Vngratefully returnd (what other Kings With princely donatiues would recompence) My seruice with iniurious contempt: But I, in lieu of this disgracefull wrong, Haue done him right, and through the iawes of death, Haue brought a glorious triumph to his Crowne, And hung sweet peace about his palace gates. True honour should doe that, which enuy hates.