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Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
book_n	great_a	world_n	write_v	3,052	5	5.1732	4	true

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A11194	The tvvo famous pitcht battels of Lypsich, and Lutzen wherein the ever-renowned Prince Gustavus the Great lived and died a conquerour: with an elegie upon his untimely death, composed in heroick verse by John Russell, Master of Arts, of Magdalene Coll. in Cambridge.	Russell, John, d. 1688.; Russell, John, d. 1688. Elegie upon the death of the most illustrious and victorious Prince Gustavus Adolphus King of Swethland &c. aut	1634 (1634)	STC 21460; ESTC S116282	35,062	94

the Frame Of some rare Frontispice with neat device Tying unto it the Spectatours eyes So both in equall tye are excellent Thy Book 's His Elegie He its Monument WHat loose Prose could not pay to Swedens Herse Thou hast discharg'd in thy Heroick Verse Th' Intelligencers Feet on which he 'l runne Now round the world like a surveying Sunne 'T was greater art to chuse thy Theme then write Some Poems But to pen it in despite Of others grief or silence argues Love Great as thy Art And if the People prove Thy hand hath rudely op't a publick wound Newly clos'd up the Magistrate's not bound As Athens mulcted Phrenicus to be Their Censor and to fine thy Historie No Let us know our Guilt that Matchlesse Man Whose Dirge thou sing'st hath murdred Nay I can And dare tell how too 'T was the fond excesse Of our big thoughts decreas'd his Happinesse Whose modest Soul we vext with restlesse crie Of love pretended Proud Idolatrie His purer Breast divin'd asmuch while we Mad men still tempted him with Prophesie Oh! had this Frenzie rested in the heart Onely of us the People little Art Might frame a Plea But our great Rabbins too Oh Learning what huge mischiefs mayst thou do Seduc'd by Pride and Flatt'rie nay those Brains That wear the Sacred Cappe through all their veins Descri'd infected bloud whose tainted streams Danger'd the Nations whil'st noisome steams Exhal'd as high as Heav'n That starrie Sphere Stranger to vapours could not now be cleare Egypt examin'd Starres and father'd lies On their pure Substances all Mysteries Are pri'd into and stretcht The Chiliast Takes sev'rall shapes now poses us in vast Contemplative just nothings and then slips Into a Cassock picks th' Apocalyps And showes us Wonders which poore I dare swear His fleering heart well knew were never there The unclaspt Book was read the Signes unseal'd The Trumpets Phials and the Beast reveal'd The Pope and Cesar slain outright and all By GVSTAVE and by Heav'n This was his fall The Sinne was ours the troubled Vertue his So Evil hasted Goodnesse to her blisse Now th' An'grams blush and had not Pirrhus art Excus'd the letter when the Authours heart Glow'd with a lie by this time Levi had Like Iss'chars asse coucht under 's burden glad Though strong to be releas'd Let this suffice We all confesse we slew him and our eyes Shall testifie our sorrows LYPSICH may And LUTZEN tell his Life some half the way What we confesse tells all perfects the Storie More then the Annals of his living Glorie Oh! this Confession well-penn'd would be His Chronicle his Tombe his Elegie T. RILEY Fellow of Trin. Coll. TO THE AVTHOVR OF this ensuing Poem Master RUSSELL HOw dares thy mortall Fancie undertake A Theme Divine unlesse for Vertues sake The Germane Eagle to advance thy skill In praising Swethland lends a conqu'red quill Yet when thy Self and loftie Bird have done Neither are able to behold this Sunne Go strive to write and cast away thy pen Repent thy self and take it up agen Sometimes thy self and sometimes Swethland blame And midst thy praises check his glorious Name Tell valiant Swethland if thy Eagle brings A flight too low his Greatnesse clipt her wings CAESAR WILLIAMSON Fellow of Trinit Colledge To his ingenious Friend Master RUSSELL upon his Heroick Poem LEt those soft Poets who have dipt their brains In am'rous humours thaw to looser strains Let Cupid be their theme and let them pay Service to Venus in a wanton lay And let these Rhymers of our silken Age Unlade their Fancies on an emptie page Mars is thy theme thy Muse hath learn'd to talk The Cannon-language of the Warre and walk A loftie March while thy faint readers dread And tremble at each syllable they reade Leade on Stout Poet in thy Martiall state And let these Pages on GVSTAVVS wait Armed with verse of proof and those that aim To wound thy Muse or print upon thy Name Their darts of malice in their full pursuit Charm'd like those stones thrown at the Thracian Lute May they forget their message and in fierce Career dance at the musick of thy verse And if those eyes with pois'ned flame that shine Like Basilisks shed poison on a line To blot a syllable that sounds the least GVSTAVVS Warre Jove turn them to that Beast Then rest GVSTAVVS do not change thy room Within this Book for any marble tombe Each line 's a golden chain to hoise thee farre 'Bove Fate then blaze as fastned to a starre And for these Leaves presented thee a bough Of Laurell shall adorn the Poets brow JOHN SALTMARSH Magd. Coll. To his friend the AUTHOUR INgenious friend that dost so bravely sing The conquests of the Swethes Victorious King Who by thy thundring lines dost seem to follow Aswell the tents of Mars as of Apollo And in depainting of a bloudie fight Dost intermingle Terrour with Delight Though I could tell thee that thy verses worth Abundantly will gild and set them forth Although I might without base flatterie say Thy forehead doth deserve a wreathe or Bay Yet I forbear thy modestie is such I dare not praise at least not praise thee much Indeed what need'st thou my too slender praise To usher thy so sweetly-soaring layes Into the world since that the very name GUSTAVUS will more highly grace the same Then if the rarest Laureats choisest quill To pen thy praise should shew its utmost skill How richly is thy work rewarded See! Thou mak'st GUSTAVUS live GUSTAVUS thee And by thy loftie Muse I know not now Whether shall more be honour'd he or thou Sweds Great * Anagram of GUSTAVUS AVGVSTVS Oh how could I dwell Upon that Name How often could I spell Its every sacred syllable and when I 've done 't a thousand times begin agen That Name who honours not Oh may he be O'rewhelm'd with never-dying infamie His blessed Memorie who adoreth not Oh may he be eternally forgot Thy book my friend if I do not mistake Will please and sell for Great GUSTAVUS sake STEPHEN JONES of S. Johns Coll. THE BATTELL OF LYPSICH HAve you not heard the ever-restlesse Ocean Beat on the shore with waves continuall motion Which fill our eares with sad and murm'ring tones Just like the dolefull sighs and hollow grones Of thousands that together have conjoyn'd T' expresse the sorrows of a wounded minde For some disastrous Fate perhaps the death Of some deare Prince untimely reav'd of breath They fill the troubled aire with confuse cries Which are resounded by the trembling skies Which these sad tunes so often do repeat That now the woodie Choristers forget Their wonted strains and either stand as mute Or to these notes their warbling voices suit The willing aire instructing to expresse To humane eares soul-moving heavinesse Sweet Philomel now thinks upon her rape And former wrongs that she may fitly shape A tune of lively sorrow and make known The grief of others fully as her own Like this

was that amazed time when first Our eares those more then frightfull rumours pierc't Of great Gustavus dismall Fate with whom All then did seem their hopes and hearts t'intombe And did expresse in sighs and drouping looks Sorrow enough t' have fill'd most spatious Books You might have read in thought-discov'ring eyes Volumes of sad and mournfull Elegies While Fame doth with a thousand tongues resound Such trembling murmures as our hearts do wound My fainting Soul not able to sustain So oft redoubled blowes nor such dire pain Sunk to the ground then over all my limbes A frigid sweat and dewie vapour swimmes A Death-like sleep clos'd up my eyes and I As one eternally entranc'd did lie But then methoughts my Genius did appeare And words of comfort whispred in mine eare Then led my airie Spirit by the hand Through darksome shades to that Inferior Land And Region where Vnbodied Souls reside There what my fancied thoughts to me descri'd I now prepare unto the World in verse By favour of the Muses to rehearse Those two so bloudie Battels there I view'd Lypsich and Lutzen dreadfully renew'd But now more furious and a greater ire Their bloud-enraged spirits did enfire Oh that those raptures which then fill'd my brain Would burn in my impris'ned Soul again That I might so in vivid colours paint Those dreadfull fights as should make Mortals faint With horrour and amaze and when they reade My Bloud-besprinkled verse their hearts should bleed Divine Melpomene whose chiefest glorie Consists in sounding of a Tragick storie Fill me with vig'rous heat and for a while Let thy rapt Furie guide my iron style Send Virgils Genius to direct my quill His grave Majestick vein do thou instill Or rather Lucans whose so loftie rhymes Do best befit the Genius of these times But oh what sudden numnesse do I feel To damp my boiling bloud and now I reel As when an Epilepsie doth surprise Some feeble mortall and his senses ties Or when as the Cumean Sibyls breast Some dire Prophetick Spirit hath possest She madly rages struggles all in vain To shake away her Furie-caused pain She raves she frets she storms and tears her hair Stamps with her feet and like a Ghost doth stare Mean while within her rage-distracted soul And troubled thoughts discording Passions roll Thus am I rackt while to my working heart My Phansie doth such jarring thoughts impart For this to ev'ry Poet is enjoyn'd That he shall feel in his impressive minde The reall Thoughts and Passions of all those Whom he in verse presumeth to disclose Judge what a world of discords circling runne Within my breast like Atomes in the Sunne That crosse and meet and meet and crosse agen So many Passions of so many men And such repugning thoughts torment my minde As when two Armies have with furie joyn'd Rage and Revenge march first with burning Ire Dread Fears and Terrours make them to retire Then Shame and Valour with malicious Hate Their reinforced Troups precipitate They charge them home these break and scatt'red flie Unto their main Battalia which stood nigh Here dire Despair was ranged double-rankt With Furie and with Rashnesse strongly flankt These and a thousand more oppugning Phansies Phebus in my enraged breast advances Faint not my Muse but with a fearelesse pace March through the midst of Furies and out-face Armies of Terrours vengefull Wrath and Ire Affrightfull Death devouring Sword and Fire Shrink not at all to heare the hellish jawes Of thundring Cannons roar with hideous noise Mixt with a thousand shot that roughly teare The tender welkin and affright the eare Let not their clam'rous shouts and confuse cries Which seem to wound the aire and pierce the skies Move thee at all Let not the yelling noise Of some half-murdred wights make thee to pause Or draw remorsefull pitie from thy heart Be like a Rock of stone shrink not nor start Be as regardlesse of their shrieks and grones As they themselves have been to others mones If to such tender thoughts thou yeeld'st my Muse Thy Martiall Furie thou wilt quickly lose And none but fearfull Mothers then will praise Thy soft-strain'd verse and heart-relenting layes But now a little breathe my Muse and heare The plaints of others sounded to thy eare The Nymph Germania doth her self present With face disfigur'd and with robes all rent And sprinkled o're with bloud her golden locks She tears and furiously her breast she knocks Then wrings her hands lifts up her woe-sick eyes And thus at last to the unpitying skies She speaks Oh heav'ns how long how long shall we The onely subject of your vengeance be Plagu'd with continuall warre dire cruelties A thousand slaughters and calamities While miscreant Ethnicks who deride thy power Are undisturb'd and flourish to this houre The cursed Pagans laugh when they behold How many miseries on us are roll'd The barb'rous Turk insults with spitefull scorn To see us Christians by our selves so torn And on our bodies those deep wounds to bear Which he so much from us himself did fear To see our Forces by our selves o'return'd Which having joyn'd might easily have spurn'd Him and his Vassall Kings and once again Like their dire Scourge resistlesse Tamerlane Have hew'd their Armies as a field of corn Which is by reaping sickles quickly shorn And then their Sultan in an Iron grate Shut like some monstrous Beast should curse his Fate And rail upon his Grand-Impostour-Prophet That vagabond Arabian Mahomet Then if courage serv'd him valiantly He might dash out his wretched brains and die Then Stampoldam now his Imperiall seat That over-looks the World with flaming heat Enkindled once should send such direfull smoke As should these Infidels for ever choak Then in black clouds enwrapt the fumes should whirle them And Devils to the lowest hell should hurle them And thou bloud-sucking Tartar who of late Proffredst thine aid my wounds to aggravate But wert rejected by that pow'rfull King Who his Commission from the Heav'ns did bring To scourge me for the sinnes of me and mine Dost thou rejoyce to see the Pow'rs Divine Inflict such rig'rous Justice on my Soil Whose very bowels now with torments broil And raging Warre like the Sicylian Hill Whose vaulted caverns sulph'rie flames do fill Thou cursed Rover who dost spend thy dayes In wandring up and down a thousand wayes Whose cold and barren Climate fears no Warre Not worth the sword of any Conquerer Cease for to triumph o're my wofull state Lest at my pray'rs the Heav'ns precipitate A vengeance on thy head shall equallise Warres bloudie mischief and dire cruelties The dreadfull Pestilence whose pois'nous blast Into the grave thousands at once shall cast Or pinching Famine whose long lingring stroke Shall by degrees the vitall spirits choak Or what thou fearest most some rig'rous frost Shall seise upon thy coldly-sited coast And freez the very aire that want of breath May make you yeeld unto unsparing Death But why disturb I thus my wretched heart By wishing