Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T17: tamburlaine, persian, cyrus, king, mahomet, arms, mighty, assyrian, thousand, army.
But what say you unto that Persian Prince That beat the Turk with thirty thousand horse, Selim the first, the bloodiest Ottoman Of all his race; who brought into the field Two hundred thousand strong of horse and foot. Indeed you touch me now, that history, Makes much for you, that Sophy Ismael, Did meet the tyrant in the open field, Whose multitudes did think to swallow him With open jaws, like to a mighty whale: But as an anchor he stuck in his throat; And made him keck and shrink, to quit himself. As how good brother, I desire to hear: This likes me well: mine host I drink to you. I thank you sir, you shall not go unpledge: Here Pasquill, Hans, you two shall have your shares: We thank you both, we mean not to refuse. Yea, to't and spare not, it will be your own, Good drink breeds blood, & blood makes able men This warlike Prince divides his troops in two The right hand battle he himself did lead, The left, his vassal named Ustan Oghlie, When Turks divided they did do the like, And so escaped the thundering Ordinance. Unhappy Ustan could not get so clear As did his Master, for the Canon shot Fell 'mongst his troops, and did him greater harm. This dreadless Prince with valour bravely armed, Falls on amain, with Turkish routs enclosed On every side, and from each side he sends Such fiery balls, as made them know his force. They forwards ride, and backwards send their shot On either hand, no place from them was free, He onward flings, amongst the janissars, The chiefest guard that this grand Seigneur hath, And drives them back within their strongest hold, Amongst their packs, and Camels bound with chains, No words, nor blows, nor fairest promises Could make them budge, or move, or stir one foot. The wounded Prince, that fainted bleeding sore, Unable scarce to keep his courser's back, Perceiving this, with slow paced steps retired, And wheel about, leaving his richest tents Unto their spoils, that durst not stir to see, For three days space, what was become of him. In this I yield, the world's best service known That ever Horsemen did, themselves alone. Well Younker, have I catched you. I am glad Of any thing, wherewith to stop your mouth. Nay soft, good Sergeant, what can Horsemen do, Before a town, when we beleaguer it. They'll scale the walls, pass trenches, give assaults, Or enter breaches, yes I warrant you. They scour the Country, bring rich booties in, While we lie starving here, they live at ease, Eat, drink and sleep. The more they answer for: When they ride struggling forth for lawless spoil, we keep our works in danger night and day, No spoiled peasant cries on us for's goods, Nor ravished maid, for lost Virginity, Nor wronged wife for forc't dishonesty. What? would you have no Horsemen then,
seed 43: T18 · seed 44: T18 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
But what ſay you vnto that Perſian Prince That beat the Turke with thirty thouſand horſe, Selim the firſt, the bloudieſt Ottoman Of all his race; who brought into the field Two hundred thouſand ſtrong of horſe and foot. Indeed you touch me now, that hiſtory, Makes much for you, that Sophy Iſmael, Did meet the tyrant in the open field, Whoſe multitudes did thinke to ſwallow him With open iawes, like to a mighty whale: But as an anker he ſtucke in his throat; And made him kecke and ſhrinke, to quit himſelfe. As how good brother, I deſire to heare: This likes me well: mine hoſt I drinke to you. I thanke you ſir, you ſhall not go vnpledgde: Here Paſquill, Hans, you two ſhall haue your ſhares: We thanke you both, we mean not to refuſe. Yea, toot and ſpare not, it will be your owne, Good drink breeds blood, & bloud makes able men This warlike Prince diuides his troups in two The right hand battle he himſelfe did leade, The left, his vaſſall namde Vſtan Oghlie, When Turkes diuided they did doe the like, And ſo eſcapte the thundering Ordinance. Vnhappy Vſtan could not get ſo cleare As did his Maſter, for the Canon ſhot Fell mongſt his troupes, and did him greater harme. This dreadleſſe Prince with valour brauely armde, Fals on amayne, with Turkiſh routes encloſde On euery ſide, and from each ſide he ſends Such fiery balles, as made them know his force. They forwards ride, and backewards ſend their ſhot On eyther hand, no place from them was free, He onward flings, amongſt the anizars, The chiefeſt guard that this grand Seigneur hath, And driues them backe within their ſtrongeſt hold, Amongſt their packes, and Camels bound with chaines, No words, nor blowes, nor fayreſt promiſes Could make them budge, or moue, or ſtirre one foot. The wounded Prince, that fainted bleeding ſore, Vnable ſcarce to keepe his Courſers backe, Perceyuing this, with ſlow pac'te ſteps retirde, And wheelde about, leauing his richeſt tents Vnto theyr ſpoyles, that durſt not ſtirre to ſee, For three dayes ſpace, what was become of him. In this I yeelde, the worlds beſt ſeruice knowne That euer Horſemen did, themſelues alone. Well Younker, haue I catcht you. I am glad Of any thing, wherewith to ſtop your mouth. Nay ſoft, good Serieant, what can Horſemen doe, Before a towne, when we beleaguer it. They'l ſcale the walles, paſſe trenches, giue aſſaults, Or enter breaches, yes I warrant you. They ſcoure the Countrey, bring rich booties in, While we lye ſtaruing here, they liue at eaſe, Eate, drinke and ſleepe. The more they anſwere for: When they ride ſtrugling forth for lawleſſe ſpoyle, Wee keepe our works in daunger night and day, No ſpoyled peaſant cryes on vs for's goods, Nor rauiſht mayde, for loſt Virginity, Nor wronged wife for forc't diſhoneſty. What? would you haue no Horſemen then,