Selected quad for the lemma: blood_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
blood_n	draw_v	young_a	youth_n	19	3	7.1798	4	false

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A30923	Poetical recreations consisting of original poems, songs, odes, &c. with several new translations : in two parts / part I, occasionally written by Mrs. Jane Barker, part II, by several gentlemen of the universities, and others.	Barker, Jane.	1688 (1688)	Wing B770; ESTC R7698	114,866	432

13 following Copies done by Mr. Hovenden Walker sometime of Trinity-Colledge in Dublin Psalm 139. Paraphras'd from Verse 7. to Verse 13. p. 207 A Pastoral in imitation of Virgil's 2d Eclogue p. 210 The fourth Elegy of Cornelius Gallus of the Miseries of Old Age. Made English p. 219 To my Mistriss Translated out of Tibullus p. 226 The Agreement p. 228 Song p. 231 The Innocent Discov'ry p. 234 The Petition A Song p. 234 Fate A Song p. 235 My Religion p. 237 The Kiss p. 239 The Wrack A Song p. 241 To Mr. P. Berault upon his French Grammar p. 242 Song p. 245 The same Song Inverted by Mr. VValker p. 246 The Five following Copies done by Mr. C. G. of AEton-Colledge A Paraphrase on part of the 23d Idyll of Theocritus p. 247 Chorus 1. Of Seneca's Agamemnon p. 255 The Penitent p. 259 To Duserastes p. 262 The Vow p. 263 The Six following POEMS by Mr. T. B. of Cambridge An Elegy on King Charles the Second p. 265 A Dithyrambique made just before the King and Queen went to their Coronation p. 269 To their Graces the Duke and Dutchess of Albemarle upon their Voyage for Iamaica p. 280 Ovid. Amor. lib. 2. Eleg. 15. A Ring presented to his Mistriss p. 283 To Afer Martial Epig. 31. lib. 4. Made English p. 285 An Excuse for not Rhiming in the Time of the Rebellion p. 286 MISCELLANY POEMS PART II. Written by several Authors A Paraphrase on an HYMN Sung when the Corps is at the Grave By T. S. Fellow of Maudlin-Colledge Oxon. I. HOW full of Troubles is the Life of Man Vain like a bubble shorter than a span He springs and blossoms as an early Flower Whose silken Leaves the Frosts and Snow devour He like the ●leeting Shadow hastes away Unable to continue in one stay It disappears and can't survive the day II. The Noon-tide of our Life is plac'd in Death We 're not secure of one light puff of Breath To whom O God can we for succour fly But unto thee by whom we live and dye 'T is for our Sins thou dost employ this Sting Thou justly angry art our God and King But takest no delight in punishing III. O Holy Mighty Lord and Saviour Declare thy signal Mercies and thy Pow'r Condemn us not unto the pains of Hell Where Horror reigns and endless Torments dwell From whence no ransom ever can be made Since we our bless'd Redeemer have betray'd And both his Will and Laws have disobey'd IV. Thou know'st the secret Closet of our Hearts Thy divine Presence fills our secret parts Therefore be mercifull unto our Pray'r Most worthy Iudge thy wretched People spare Forsake us not when on our Death-beds thrown Lest through despair we deeply sigh and groan And Hell grow proud of the Dominion Advice to his Friends lamenting the Death of I. F. By the same Hand RIse and rejoyce all ye that Mourn Dry ev'ry Eye that weeps The Body in this hollow Urn Is not quite dead but sleeps See how the Leaves in Autumns falling Dew Forsake the weeping Tree And how the jocund Spring renews With Buds their infancie What though the Root lye under-ground The Boughs to Heav'n aspire Thus Bodies in the Grave are found The Souls are mounted higher Hark! hark I hear the Trumpet 's Voice Cry Come ye Blessed come Methinks I hear our Friend rejoyce That he is Summon'd home Now Dronish Death hath lost her Sting The Grave her Victorie For Christ in Triumph rides as King Of this great Iubilee Arise my Friends and wipe your Eyes Salvation's drawing nigh Let 's live to dye and dye to rise T' enjoy Eternity T. S. EPITAPH on Mrs. E. F. who sickned of the Small Pox and Deceased December the 31st 1686. being the Day before her intended Nuptials THis fair young Virgin for a Nuptial Bed More fit is lodg'd sad Fate among the Dead Storm'd by rough Winds so falls in all her pride The full-blown Rose design'd t' adorn a Bride Truth is this lovely Virgin from her Birth Became a constant strife 'twixt Heav'n and Earth Earth claim'd her pleaded for her either cry'd The Nymph is mine at length they did divide Heav'n took her Soul the Earth her Corps did seize Yet not in Fee she only holds by Lease With this proviso When the Iudge shall call Earth shall give up her share and Heav'n have all An EPITAPH to the Memory and fix't on the Tomb of Sir PALME FAIRBORN Governour of Tangier who in Execution of his Command was Mortally Wounded by a Shot from the Moors that then besieged the Town Octob. 24. 1680. YE Sacred Reliques which this Marble keep Here undisturb'd by Wars in quiet sleep Discharge the Trust which when it was below Fairborn's undaunted Soul did undergo And be the Towns Palladium from the Foe Alive and dead he will these Walls defend Great Actions Great Examples must attend The Candian Siege his early Valour knew Where Turkish Blood did his young hands embrew From thence returning with deserv'd applause Against the Moors his well-flesh'd Sword he draws The same the Courage and the same the Cause His Youth and Age his Life and Death combine As in some great and regular design All of a piece throughout and all Divine Still nearer Heav'n his Vertues shone more bright Like rising Flames expanding in the height The Martyrs Glory crown'd the Souldiers Fight More bravely Brittish Gen'ral never fell Nor Gen'rals Death was e'er reveng'd so well Which his pleas'd Eyes beheld before their close Follow'd by Thousand Victims of his Foes An ELEGY on the Death of N. D. Doctor of Physick By I. C. WHat will my Mourning yet no period find Must sighs sorrow still distract my Mind My Sense grows ●eeble and my Reason's gone Passion and Discontent usurp the Throne With blubber'd Eyes my veiled sight grows dim Ah cruel Death cou'd you ●ind none but him To gratifie your hungry Iaws withall Or if in haste none but a Doctor 's fall Howe'er you might forbore your stroke a while But possibly you thought he might beguile Your craving Appetite of many more Which you expected to strike long before But sure my Mind 's disturb'd my Passions rav● To censure Death and quarrel with the Grave● Alas he 's bound the blow he cannot give Till his Commission shews we must not live Yet hence we learn and may this inf'rence make That if Physicians Souls their Iourney take Into a distant Climate well may Ours Then with what care ought we to spend those hours Or rather few remaining Sands which are In so much Bounty tender'd to our care The purest Druggs compos'd with greatest Skill Can't preserve Life when Death has pow'r to kill Peasant and Prince are both to him alike And with an equal blow doth either strike All must surrender when his Arm is stretch't With such a weighty force his blow is fetch 't But oh I wander from my Virtuous Friend 'T is true indeed he 's dead but yet no

bouze Old Wine mad Pindar wonted Till by a Vintner being affronted The peevish Cur what could be ruder Forc'd on us 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 He Water 's damn'd Encomium made Maliciously to spoil his Trade But that shan't pass on me by th' Mass● If I drink Water I 'm an Ass. To two great Kings I will be Loyal My Monarch Iames and Claret-Royal Nor shall I love that Greek of thine Scarce any Greek except Greek Wine who 'd be of Old mad Timon's mind Because he did to hate Mankind No Soveraign Claret I 'll adore thee Submissively fall down before thee And will by Whores be burnt to Tinder If I adore that Rebel Pindar Yours I. Whitehall A DIALOGUE Between IACK and DICK Concerning the PROHIBITION OF French Wines DICK AH Iack had'st thou bin t'other day To see the Teeming Vine display The swelling Glories of her Womb And hopefull Progeny to come Which Mirth and Iollity create And sweeten up the Frowns of Fate Thou would'st with me have sigh'd and said Why has Obliging Nature made Such Iuice to be Prohibited A Iuice which duly understood With kindly heats ferments the Blood Not makes it posting to miscarry As do's the Hot-spur styl'd Canary Nearly related ●tis unto 't And colour'd o'er with the same Coat Half Blood already in one round It is assimulated found With gentle Tides Poetick Vein It swells into a comely strain And binding all its Numbers tight Breeds nothing dissolute nor light Whereas Canary with Combustion Makes still the Writer speak in Fustian When e'ry stroak by this devis'd Is in Red●letters signaliz'd IACK Dear Dick it is not thou alone That thus in wofull plaint makes moan The main of the whole Kingdom joyns And weeps the loss of Claret Wines As t'other day I musing went With unknown Griefs my Breast was pent The cause I knew not but did fear Some dreadfull danger to be near Turning my Eyes aside I found A num'rous Croud in wofull sound Banning a Wight with Accent ●ierce About to Stave a well-teem'd Tierce Oh 't was a dismal sight to view With Sleeves tuck 't up and Apron blue The cruel and remorsless wretch His blow was ready ●or to fetch When streight a Philoclareteer Made up and in this wise drew near Hold hold I say that horrid Hand Enough our Mournfull Streets are ●lain'd With Scarlet dye of dire contusion By braining Pipe in Execution What is the crime has bin committed By this poor Liquor how endited To which he grimly gives Response As if he 'd stave my Monsieur 's Sconse Sir mind your business you are ruder Than e'er I yet found bold Intruder In short Sir 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 'T was all the answer he could get Which put my Youngster in a pet And forc'd him to this language keen Oh thou more fierce than e'er has been The wildest Tigers Bacchus drew Or hottest Rage yet ever knew Of harmless Claret thus to spill The Blood and Urban gutters fill As 't were no more to be lookt after Than Urine stale or Kennel Water How many of the thirsty train Open their Mouths as Earth for Rain For one poor drop of the rich Iuice This swelling Vessel do's produce The better half of all the crude And undigested multitude Now demi-Rogues and near Disloyal Two spoonfulls makes them all turn Royal. When did you know the Lad did love True Claret and rebellious prove Besides it Rubies do's create Of richer dye and greater state Than e'er was planted as a Trophy On Mogull's Crown or Persian Sophy Rascal look to 't you 'll rue it one day For spoiling of this brisk Burgundy Oh had you seen the People stand Each one with Handkerchief in hand With watry Eyes surveying o'er The coming Floods of Purple gore You you your self had shed one Tear Among the Thousands let fall there To see a hopefull Vessel come With Gales of Sighs 't was usher'd from The peacefull Harbour where it lay In shamefull wise to view the day From Mansions of dark Sable Night And shady Grots stor'd with delight Of luscious tast and racy smell And rosie blush of Carbuncle VVith Hoops disjoynted Tackle broke VVould force a Groan from Heart of Oak Half ruptur'd bruis'd in dismal shew He thrust up ev'ry avenue Till to the open Street he comes Bestrid by many ill-bred Bums Over his bulky Body striding You never saw so ill a riding For the fierce Wight no more regret had Than Greek or Tartar ready booted To seize with their light Horse the prey Of Youth or Damsel gone astray The Vagabond and Truant Tub VVhich held so many Quarts of Bub Forc'd by Ill luck and Wind to fall By missing Port on Canniball And savage Shoars he basely binding And all his Teeth together grinding VVith Words insulting thus accosts France boast no more that by thy Vine Thou canst an English Soul confine To soop up nought but what is gotten From sowre Burgundian Grape grown rotten Old British Drinks which Bard of Yore Tasted and liv'd till near Five score We'ave got the Art now for to heighten And our endarkned Souls enlighten Above what pitch you e'er can mannage By all your bo●sting French Appannage The Apple o'er the Grape shall reign And Hereford's above Campaign The Vine no more shall rule the Field But to Pomona Bacchus yield This said he gives the fatal blow And now the Streets o'er-whelm'd do flow With ruddy Iuice of Crimson gore Which in loud Cataracts do pour Through ev'ry Channel and the Tide Mounts up alo●t on ev'ry side 'T is hard to guess which flow'd more high That in the Streets or in the Eye Each Tunicle●ull ●ull deep was sunk You 'd thought all to be Maudlin drunk Yet amongst all this noise and weeping Some though their Sorrows were full deep in Made shift to muster Bowl or twain For to attend the Fun'ral train Which they had got from gorg'd Canal Lest some to fainting Fits should fall For why should Gutter swallow all up When many a dry Soul wish'd a gullup Dams being made the Good wife brings out Her Churn and Kettle Damsel springs out With Pipkin Chamber-pot and Ladle And Sucking-Bottle fetch'd from Cradle Treys brought by Butcher Trough by Mason And forth the Barber brings his Bason The Tinker wisely as I judge it Makes Leathern-Bottle of his Budget O' th' broken Ribs full many a piece They got and suck'd like Liquorish And to their Children Splinters good Of the ruby-tinctur'd Wood Instead of Coral they bestow To rub their Gums aloft and low VVhilst others o'er the Dams lye lolling As ready the Red Sea to fall in VVith frequent Laps their Thirst allaying Pronouncing many a ruefull saying Concerning loss of Champaign Burdeaux And what a grinning ugly Cur 't was That dash'd out brain of Hogshead awfull E'er Thirsty Mortal had his Maw full Giving out many words half raving 'Gainst Hammers Knocks and Blows and Staving Continuing such a dismal pother They'd like at last t o'ave