Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T10: france, french, england, king, lord, english, edward, talbot, peace, lords.
What answer from the Citadel? once more Give them a summons, if they yield not then Give an assault. You shall not need my Lords, What you could wish you have, most cheaply have, The conquest of a woman, and a child. I'm Isabella, (let not that sad name Be ominous to conquerors,) and this This pretty infant, is my luckless child, Borne Prince of that, which you have made your prey. Why do you one consult another's face, As you would see, who could be cruel first? Be not at all, or if at all, to me. O do not war with infants! can these hands Deserve your fear or anger? these weak hands That cannot reach themselves unto their teat? Who have so much of young infirmity, They cannot lift themselves to ask your mercy? O let them have, because they cannot ask. How many dismal accidents may chance To take him hence, before he grow to man, And so excuse, and yet fulfil your purpose? O let disease be cruel, and not you. madam, you shall be honourably used, You, and your fair son: take your liberty To choose your own free course: for this young Lord, He must to France with us, where he shall learn The good of royal education: Where he shall know the happy difference Between a petty, and a kingly Court. Some wait upon the Princess. O my stars! What have I done? ay me? I have betrayed, What Tyranny had left me, my sweet boy: For whom I never knew a grief; till now I brought him forth with pleasure, when I think Upon this pain of parting: my dear child, O too too like thy mother; if thou chance To draw thy life unto that hated length, That thou arrive to the discretion To know, what by my folly, thou hast lost, Call it no more, o do not call it crime, No mother willingly would lose a son: Whilst in some darker cell I will in tomb Thy ruins cause, where whatsoever tear Sorrow did once force, no devotion shall: That my new name unto the heavens may reach Whom misery the way to bliss did teach. Never till now had we the victory, And now no single one, this happy hour Has gained a a conquest for Posterity. They may be idle now, now the French youth May grow up without wounds, and at their homes, Steal to a private grave, no more being forced To death, though by a glory; nay this Land May thank us, for our thrift of victory, For lighting on this blessed occasion, Which makes us need no more to conquer them: If heaven continue us this kindness still, we'll measure out our conquests by our will.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T8 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
What anſwer from the Cittadel? once more Giue them a ſummons, if they yeeld not then Giue an aſſault. You ſhall not need my Lords, What you could wiſh you haue, moſt cheapely haue, The conqueſt of a woman, and a child. I'me Iſabella, (let not that ſad name Be ominous to conquerors,) and this This pretty infant, is my luckleſſe child, Borne Prince of that, which you haue made your prey. Why doe you one conſult anothers face, As you would ſee, who could be cruell firſt? Be not at all, or if at all, to me. O doe not warre with infants! can theſe hands Deſerue your feare or anger? theſe weake hands That cannot reach themſelues vnto their teat? Who haue ſo much of yong infirmity, They cannot lift themſelues to ask your mercy? O let them haue, becauſe they cannot aske. How many diſmall accidents may chance To take him hence, before he grow to man, And ſo excuſe, and yet fulfill your purpoſe? O let diſeaſe be cruell, and not you. Madame, you ſhall be honourably vs'd, You, and your faire ſonne: take your liberty To chuſe your owne free courſe: for this yong Lord, He muſt to France with vs, where he ſhall learne The good of royall education: Where he ſhall know the happy difference Betweene a petty, and a kingly Court. Some waite vpon the Princeſſe. O my ſtarres! What haue I done? ay me? I haue betrayd, What Tyranny had left me, my ſweet boy: For whom I neuer knew a griefe; till now I brought him forth with pleaſure, when I thinke Vpon this paine of parting: my deare child, O too too like thy mother; if thou chance To draw thy life vnto that hated length, That thou arriue to the diſcretion To know, what by my folly, thou haſt loſt, Call it no more, ô doe not call it crime, No mother willingly would loſe a ſonne: VVhilſt in ſome darker cell I will in tombe Thy ruines cauſe, where whatſoeuer teare Sorrow did once force, no deuotion ſhall: That my new name vnto the heau'ns may reach VVhom miſery the way to bliſſe did teach. Neuer till now had we the victory, And now no ſingle one, this happy houre Has gain'd a a conqueſt for Poſterity. They may be idle now, now the French youth May grow vp without wounds, and at their homes, Steale to a priuate graue, no more being forc't To death, though by a glory; nay this Land May thanke vs, for our thrift of victory, For lighting on this bleſt occaſion, Which makes vs need no more to conquer them: If heau'n continue vs this kindneſſe ſtill, Wee'll meaſure out our conqueſts by our will.