Anonymous / Marlowe, Christopher / Shakespeare, William / Nashe, Thomas · published 1623 · first performed or written 1590 (Annals) history · Derby's (Strange's) Men T10 England and France: war, embassy and pea typicality 0.80 · 465 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T10: france, french, england, king, lord, english, edward, talbot, peace, lords.
O my dear Lord, lo where your Son is borne. Thou antique Death, which laughest us here to scorn, Anon from thy insulting Tyranny, Coupled in bonds of perpetuity, Two Talbots winged through the lither Sky, In thy despite shall scape Mortality. O thou whose wounds become hard favoured death, Speak to thy father, ere thou yield thy breath, Brave death by speaking, whither he will or no: Imagine him a Frenchman, and thy Foe. Poor Boy, he smiles, me thinks, as who should say, Had Death been French, than Death had died to day. Come, come, and lay him in his Father's arms, My spirit can no longer bear these harms. Soldiers' adieu: I have what I would have, Now my old arms are young Iohn Talbots grave. Had York and Somerset brought rescue in, We should have found a bloody day of this. How the young whelp of Talbots raging wood, Did flesh his punie-sword in Frenchmens blood. Once I encountered him, and thus I said: Thou Maiden youth, be vanquished by a Maid. But with a proud Majestical high scorn He answered thus: Young Talbot was not borne To be the pillage of a Giglot Wench: So rushing in the bowels of the French, He left me proudly, as unworthy fight, Doubtless he would have made a noble Knight: See where he lies inherced in the arms Of the most bloody Nursser of his harms. Hue them to pieces, hack their bones asunder, Whose life was England's glory, Gallia's wonder. Oh no forbear: For that which we have fled During the life, let us not wrong it dead. Herald, conduct me to the Dolphin's Tent, To know who hath obtained the glory of the day. On what submissive message art thou sent? Submission Dolphin? 'Tis a mere French word: We English Warriors wots not what it means. I come to know what Prisoner; thou hast ta'en, And to survey the bodies of the dead. For prisoners askest thou? Hell our prison is. But tell me whom thou seekest? But where's the great Alcides of the field, Valiant Lord Talbot Earl of Shrewsbury? Created for his rare success in Arms, Great Earl of Washford, Waterford, and Valence, Lord Talbot of Goodrig and Vrchinfield, Lord Strange of Blackmere, Lord Verdon of Alton, Lord Cromwell of Wingefield, Lord Furnivall, of Sheffeild, The thrice victorious Lord of Falconbridge, Knight of the Noble Order of S. George, Worthy S. Michael, and the Golden Fleece, Great Marshal to Henry the sixth, Of all his Wars within the Realm of France. here's a silly stately stile indeed: The Turk that two and fifty Kingdoms hath, Writes not so tedious a Style as this. Him that thou magnifi'st with all these Titles, Stinking and fly-blown lies here at our feet.
seed 43: T8 · seed 44: T8 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
O my deare Lord, loe where your Sonne is borne. Thou antique Death, which laugh'ſt vs here to ſcorn, Anon from thy inſulting Tyrannie, Coupled in bonds of perpetuitie, Two Talbots winged through the lither Skie, In thy deſpight ſhall ſcape Mortalitie. O thou whoſe wounds become hard fauoured death, Speake to thy father, ere thou yeeld thy breath, Braue death by ſpeaking, whither he will or no: Imagine him a Frenchman, and thy Foe. Poore Boy, he ſmiles, me thinkes, as who ſhould ſay, Had Death bene French, then Death had dyed to day. Come, come, and lay him in his Fathers armes, My ſpirit can no longer beare theſe harmes. Souldiers adieu: I haue what I would haue, Now my old armes are yong Iohn Talbots graue. Had Yorke and Somerſet brought reſcue in, We ſhould haue found a bloody day of this. How the yong whelpe of Talbots raging wood, Did fleſh his punie-ſword in Frenchmens blood. Once I encountred him, and thus I ſaid: Thou Maiden youth, be vanquiſht by a Maide. But with a proud Maieſticall high ſcorne He anſwer'd thus: Yong Talbot was not borne To be the pillage of a Giglot Wench: So ruſhing in the bowels of the French, He left me proudly, as vnworthy fight, Doubtleſſe he would haue made a noble Knight: See where he lyes inherced in the armes Of the moſt bloody Nurſſer of his harmes. Hew them to peeces, hack their bones aſſunder, Whoſe life was Englands glory, Gallia's wonder. Oh no forbeare: For that which we haue fled During the life, let vs not wrong it dead. Herald, conduct me to the Dolphins Tent, To know who hath obtain'd the glory of the day. On what ſubmiſſiue meſſage art thou ſent? Submiſſion Dolphin? Ti a meere French word: We Engliſh Warriours wot not what it meanes. I come to know what Priſoner; thou haſt tane, And to ſuruey the bodies of the dead. For priſoners askſt thou? Hell our priſon is. But tell me whom thou ſeek'ſt? But where's the great Alcides of the field, Valiant Lord Talbot Earle of Shrewsbury? Created for his rare ſucceſſe in Armes, Great Earle of Waſhford, Waterford, and Valence, Lord Talbot of Goodrig and Vrchinfield, Lord Strange of Blackmere, Lord Verdon of Alton, Lord Cromwell of Wingefield, Lord Furniuall, of Sheffeild, The thrice victorious Lord of Falconbridge, Knight of the Noble Order of S. George, Worthy S. Michael, and the Golden Fleece, Great Marſhall to Henry the ſixt, Of all his Warres within the Realme of France. Heere's a ſilly ſtately ſtile indeede: The Turke that two and fiftie Kingdomes hath, Writes not ſo tedious a Stile as this. Him that thou magnifi'ſt with all theſe Titles, Stinking and fly-blowne lyes heere at our feete.