Selected quad for the lemma: book_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
book_n	deed_n	fame_n	great_a	47	3	2.1250	3	false

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A96974	Parnassus biceps. Or Severall choice pieces of poetry, composed by the best wits that were in both the universities before their dissolution. With an epistle in the behalfe of those now doubly secluded and sequestred Members, by one who himselfe is none.	Wright, Abraham, 1611-1690.	1656 (1656)	Wing W3686; Thomason E1679_1; ESTC R204146	62,203	178

Cloak And many a beaker of bear in your Cloak And yet I stand in fear of your Cloak That I shall be nere the near for your Cloak Therefore good Sir forbear the Cloak For though I have worn bare the Cloak I had rather for to tear the Cloak Then see another wear the Cloak Your friend in truth till death me choak If you will let me have the Cloak Loves Courtship HArk my Flora Love doth call us To the strife that must befall us He hath rob'd his mothers Myrtles And hath puld her downy Turtles See our geniall posts are crownd And our beds like billowes rise Softer lists are no where found And the strife its selfe 's the prize Let not shades and dark affright thee Thy eyes have lustre that will light thee Think not any can surprize us Love himselfe doth now disguise us From thy wast that girdle throw Night and silence both wait here Words or actions who can know Where there 's neither eye nor eare Shew thy bosome and then hide it Licence touching and then chide it Profer something and forbear it Give a grant and then forswear it Ask where all my shame is gone Call us wanton wicked men Doe as Turtles kisse and grone Say thou nere shalt joy againe I can hear thee curse yet chase thee Drink thy tears and still embrace thee Easie riches are no treasure She that 's willing spoiles the pleasure Love bids learn the wrestlers slight Pull and struggle when we twine Let me use my force to night The next conquest shall be thine Vpon the death of the Lord Stafford the last of his name MUst then our loves be short still must we chuse Not to enjoy only admire loose Must axiomes hence grow sadly understood And we thus see t is dangerous to be good So books begun are broken off and we Receive a fragment for an History And as 't were present wealth what was but debt Lose that of which we are not owners yet But as in books that want the closing line We onely can conjecture and repine So must we here too onely grieve and guesse And by our fancy make what 's wanting lesse Thus when rich webs are left unfinished The spider doth supply them with her thred For tell me what addition can be wrought To him whose youth was even the bound of thought Whose buddings did deserve the robe whiles we In smoothnesse did the deeds of wrinkles see When his State-nonage might have been thought fit To break the custome and allowed to sit His actions veiled his age and could not stay For that we call ripenesse and just day Others may wait the staffe and the gray haire And call that wisdome which is onely fear Christen a coldnesse temperance and then boast Full and ripe vertue when all actions lost This is not to be noble but be slack A Stafford ne're was good by the Almanack He who thus stayes the season and expects Doth not gaine habits but disguise defects Here nature outslips culture he came tried Straight of himselfe at first not rectified Manners so pleasing and so handsome cast That still that overcame which was shewn last All minds were captived thence as if 't had been The same to him to have been loved and seen Had he not been snatch'd thus what drive hearts now Into his nets would have driven Cities too For these his essayes which began to win Were but bright sparks which shewed the mine within Rude draughts unto the Picture things we may Stile the first beams of the increasing day Which did but onely great discoveries bring As outward coolenesse shews the inward spring Nor were his actions to content the sight Like Artists pieces plac'd in a good light That they might take at distance and obtrude Something unto the eye that might delude His deeds did all most perfect then appear When you observ'd view'd close and did stand near For could there ought else spring from him whose line From which he sprung was rule and discipline Whose vertues were as books before him set So that they did instruct who did beget Taught thence not to be powerfull but know Shewing he was their blood by living so For whereas some are by their big-lip known Others by imprinted burning swords were shown So they by great deeds are from which bright fame Engraves free reputation on their name These are their native marks and it hath been The Staffords lot to have their signes within And though this firme hereditatry good Might boasted be as flowing with the blood Yet he ne're graspt this stay but as those who Carry perfumes about them still scarce doe Themselves perceive them though anothers sence Suck in the exhaling odour so he thence Ne're did perceive he carried this good smell But made new still by doing himselfe well To imbalme him then is vaine where spreading fame Supplies the want of spices where the name It selfe preserving may for ointment passe And he still seen lie coffind as in glasse Whiles thus his bud dims full flowers and his sole Beginning doth reproach anothers whole Coming so perfect up that there must needs Have been found out new titles for new deeds Though youth and lawes forbid which will not let Statues be rais'd or him stand brasen yet Our minds retaines this royalty of Kings Not to be bound to time but judge of things And worship as they merit there we doe Place him at height and he stands golden too A comfort but not equall to the crosse A faire remainder but not like the losse For he that last pledge being gone we doe Not onely loose the heir but the honour too Set we up then this boast against our wrong He left no other signe that he was young And spight of fate his living vertues will Though he be dead keep up the Barony still Vpon the same UNequall nature that dost load not pair Bodies with souls to great for them to bear As some put extracts that for soules may passe Still quickning where they are in frailer glasse Whose active generous spirits scorne to live By such weak means and slight preservative So high borne minds whose dawnings like the day In torrid climes cast forth a full-noon ray Whose vigorous brests inherit throngd in one A race of soules by long succession And rise in their descents in whom we see Entirely summ'd a new born ancestry These soules of fire whose eager thoughts alone Create a feaver or consumption Orecharge their bodies labring in the strife To serve so quick and more then mortall life Where every contemplation doth oppresse Like fits of the Calenture and kills no lesse Goodnesse hath its extreams as well as sin And brings as vice death and diseases in This was thy fate great Stafford thy fierce speed T' out-live thy years to throng in every deed A masse of vertues hence thy minutes swell Not to a long life but long Chronicle Great name for that alone is left to be

next Bring better notes or chuse a fitter text On a Lady that dyed of the small pox O Thou deformed unwomanlike desease That plowest up flesh and blood and sowest there pease And leav'st such prints on beauty if thou come As clouted shoon doe in a floare of loame Thou that of faces honicombs dost make And of two breasts two cullinders forsake Thy deadly trade thou now art rich give ore And let our curses call thee forth no more Or if thou needs wilt magnifie thy power Goe where thou art invoked every hour Amongst the gamesters where they name thee thick At the last man or the last pocky nick Thou who hast such superfluous store of gaine Why strikst thou one whose ruine is thy shame O thou hast murdred where thou shouldst have kist And where thy shaft was needful there thou mist Thou shouldst have chosen out some homely face Where thy ill-favourd kindness might add grace That men might say how beautious once was she And what a curious piece was mard by thee Thou shouldst have wrought on some such Lady-mould That never loved her Lord nor ever could Untill she were deformed thy tyranny Were then within the rules of charity But upon one whose beauty was above All sorts of art whose love was more then love On her to fix thy ugly counterfeit Was to erect a Piramid of jet And put out fire to dig a turfe from Hell And place it where a gentle soule should dwell A soule which in the body would not stay When t was no more a body nor pure clay But a huge ulcer o thou heavenly race Thou soule that shunst the infection of thy case Thy house thy prison pure soule spotless faire Rest where no heat no cold no compounds are Rest in that country and enjoy that ease Which thy fraile flesh denied and thy disease Vpon the Kings Returne to the City of London when he came last thether from Scotland and was entertained there by the Lord Mayor SIng and be merry King Charles is come back Le ts drink round his health with Claret Sack The Scots are all quiet each man with his pack May cry now securely come see what you lack Sing and be merry boyes sing and be merry London's a fine Town so is London-Derry Great preparation in London is made To bid the King welcome each man gives his aide With thanksgiving cloths themselves they arrayd I should have said holy-day but I was afraid Sing c. They stood in a row for a congratulation Like a company of wild-geese in the old fashion Railes in the Church are abomination But Railes in the street are no innovation Sing c. My Lord Mayor himselfe on cock-horse did ride Not like a young Gallant with a sword by his side T was carried before him but there was espied The crosse-bar in the hilt by a Puritan eyed Sing c. Two dozen of Aldermen ride two by two Their Gowns were all scarlet but their noses were blew The Recorder made a speech if report it be true He promis'd more for them then ere they will do Sing c. They should be good subjects to the King and the State The Church they would love no Prelates would hate But methinks it was an ominous fate They brought not the King thorow Bishops-gate Sing c. The Citizens rod in their Golden Chaines Fetch'd from St. Martyns no region of Spaines It seems they were trobl'd with Gundamors pains Some held by their pummels and some by their manes Sing c. In Jackets of Velvet without Gown or Cloak Their faces were wainscot their harts were of oke No Trainbands were seen no drums beat a stroke Because City Captains of late have been broke Sing c. The King Queen and Prince the Palsgrave of Rhine With two branches more of the royal vine Rod to the Guild-Hall where they were to dine There could be no lack where the Conduits run wine Sing c. Nine hundred dishes in the bill of fare For the King and Nobles prepared there were There could be no lesse a man might well swear By the widgeons and woodcocks and geese that were there Sing c. Though the dinner were long yet the grace was but short It was said in the fashion of the English Court But one passage more I have to report Small thanks for my paines I look to have for t Sing c. Down went my Lord Mayor as low as his knee Then up went the white of an Aldermans eye We thought the Bishops grace enlarged should be Not the Arch-Bishops no such meanign had he Sing c. When 's Lordship kneeld down we lookd he should pray So he did heartily but in his own way The cup was his book the collect for the day Was a health to King Charles all out he did say Sing c. The forme of prayer my Lord did begin The rest of the Aldermen quickly were in One Warner they had of the greatnesse of the sin Without dispensation from Burton or Prin. Sing c. Before they had done it grew towards night I forget my Lord Mayor was made a Knight The Recorder too with another wight Whom I cannot relate for the torches are light Sing c. Up and away by St. Pauls they passe When a prickear'd brayd like a Puritan ass Some thought he had been scar'd with the painted glasse He swore not but cry'd high Popery by th' masse Sing c. The Quire with Musick on a Scaffold they see In Surplices all their Tapers burnt by An Anthem they sung most melodiously If this were Popery I confesse it was high Sing c. From thence to White Hall there was made no stay Where the King gave them thanks for their love that day Nothing was wanting if I could but say The House of Commons had met him half way Sing c. Vpon the kings-Kings-Book bound up in a Cover coloured with His Blood LEt abler pens commend these leaves whose fame Spreads through all languages through time whose name Nor can those Tongues add glory to this book So great as they from the translation took Shine then rare piece in thine own Charls his ray Yet suffer me thy covering to display And tell the world that this plain sanguine vail A beauty far more glorious doth conceal Then masks of Ladies and although thou be A Book where every leafe's a Library Fil'd with choise Gems of th' Arts Law Gospel The chiefest Jewel is the Cabinet A shrine much holier then the Saint you may yet To this as harmelesse adoration pay As those that kneel to Martyrs tombs for know This sacred blood doth Rome a Relique show Richer then all her shrines and then all those More hallowed far far more miraculous Thus cloth'd go forth bless'd Book and yield to none But to the Gospel and Christs blood alone Thy Garments now like his so just the same As he from Bozra and the wine-presse came Both purpled with like

death but a not taking leave T is true the shortnesse doth forbid to weep For so our Fathers dying fell asleep So Enoch whilst his God he did adore Instead of suffering death was seen no more But oh this is too much and we should wrong Thy ashes thought we not this speed to long Methinks a dream had serv'd or silent breath Or a still pulse or something like to death Now t were detraction to suppose a tear Or the sad weeds which the glad mourners wear Could value such a losse He that mourns thee Must bring an eye can weep an Elegy A look that would save blacks whose heavy grace Chides mirth and wears a funerall in the face Whose sighs are with such feeling sorrow blown That all the aire he draws returns a groan That griefe doth nearest fit that is begun When the year ends and when the blacks are done Thou needst no guilded Tomb superfluous cost Is best bestowed on them whose names are lost Hadst thou no Statue thy great memory Were Marble to it selfe the bravery Of Jet or rich Enammel were mispent Where the brave Course is its own ornament In thee shine all high parts which falsly wit Or flattering raptures for their Lord beget When they would faigne an Epitaph and write As if their griefe made legs when they indite Such dutifull untruths that ere he grieve The Readers first toile is how to believe Thy greatnesse was no Idoll state in thee Receiv'd its lustre from humility He that will blaze thy Coat and onely looks How thou wer 't Noble by the Heraulds books Mistakes thy linage and admiring blood Forgets thy best descent vertue and good These are too great for Scutcheons and made thee Without fore-fathers thine own Pedigree Vpon his chast Mistresse LOve give me leave to serve thee and be wise To keep thy torch in and restore blind eyes I le such a flame into my bosome take As Martyrs court when they embrace the stake No dull and smoaky fire but heat divine That burns not to consume but to refine I have a Mistresse for perfections rare In every eye but in my thoughts most faire Like tapers on the Altar shine her eyes Her breath is the perfume of sacrifice And wheresoever my fancy would begin Still her perfection lets Religion in I touch her as my beads without devout care And come unto my courtship as my prayer We sit and talk and kisse away the houres As chastly as the mornings dew kisse flowers We were no flesh but one another greet As blessed soules in seperation meet I might have lustfull thoughts to her of all Earths heavenly quire the most Angelicall But looking in my brest her forme I find That like my Guardian Angell keeps my mind From rude attempts and when affections stir I calme all passions with one thought of her Thus they whose reason loves and not their sence The spirit love Thus on intelligence Reflects upon his like and by chast loves In the same sphear this and that Angel moves Nor is this barren love each noble thought Begets another and that still is brought To bed of more vertues and grace encrease And such a numerous issue nere can cease Where children though great blessings onely be Pleasures repriev'd to some postery Beasts love like men if men in lust delight And call that love which is but appetite When Essence meets with Essence and souls joyn In mutuall knots that 's the true nuptiall twine Such Lady is my love and such is true All other love is to your sex not you On a Painters handsome Daughter SUch are your Fathers Pictures that we doe Believe they are not counterfeit but true So lively and so fresh that we may swear Instead of draughts he hath placed creatures there People not shadowes which in time will be Not a dead number but a colony Nay more yet some think they have skill and arts That they are well bred pictures of good parts And you your selfe faire Julia doe disclose Such beauties that you may seem one of those That having motion gaind at least and sence Began to know it selfe and stole from thence Whilst thus his aemulous art with nature strives Some think h' hath none others he hath two wives If you love none faire maide but look on all You then among his set of Pictures fall If that you look on all and love all men The Pictures too will be your Sisters then Your choise must shew you are of another fleece And tell you are his daughter not his piece All other proofes are vaine go not about We two will embrace and love and clear the doubt When you have brought forth your like the world will know You are his Child what Picture can doe so To Dr. Price writing Anniversaries on Prince HENRY Even so dead Hector thrice was triumphd on The walls of Troy thrice slaine when fate had don So did the barbarous Greeks before their hoast Turmoile his ashes and prophane his Ghost As Henryes vault his pure and sacred hearse Is torne and batter'd by thy Anniverse Wast not enough nature and strength were foes Unlesse thou yearly murther him in prose Or didst rhou hope thy ravening verse could make A louder eccho then the Almanack Trust me November doth more gastly look In Dades and Hopsons penniworth then thy book And sadder record their sixt figure bears Then thy false Printed and ambitious tears And wer 't not for Chrismas which is nigh When fruits when eaten and digested Pye Call for more paper no man could make shift How to employ thy writing to his thrift Wherefore forbear for pitty or for shame And let some richer pen redeem his name From rottennesse then leave him captive since So vile a price nere ransom'd such a Prince A Reply upon an Answer to the former Copy NOr is it grieved grave you the memory Of such a story such a book as he That such a Copy might through the world be read Yet Henry lives though he be buried It could be wishd that every day would bear Him one good witnesse that he still were here That sorrow rul'd the year and by this Sun Each man could tell thee how the day had run O 't were an honest cause for him could say I have bin busie and wept out the day Remembring him His name would ever last Were such a trophy such a banner plac'd Upon his grave as this Here a man lies Was kild by Henryes dart not destinies But for a Cobler to throw up his cap And cry the Prince the Prince O dire mishap Or a Geneva bridegroom after Grace To throw his spouse i th' fire or scratch her face To the tune of the lamentation and delay His friday capon to the Sabbath day Or an old Popish Lady halfe vowed dead To fast away the day in gingerbread For him to write such Annals all these things Doe open laughter and shut up griefes springs Wherefore Vertumnus if you le Print the