Selected quad for the lemma: book_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
book_n	holy_a	new_a	old_a	3,310	5	5.0606	4	true

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A02132	A maidens dreame vpon the death of the Right Honorable Sir Christopher Hatton knight, late Lord Chancelor of England / by Robert Green ...	Greene, Robert, 1558?-1592.	1591 (1591)	STC 12271; ESTC S2695	7,286	21

happy be his high immortal rest That was to hospitalitie addrest For few such liue and then she sigh'd so sore And so she wept that she could speak no more Then Courtesie whose face was full of smiles And frendship with her hand vpon her hart And tender Charitie that loues no wiles And Clemencie her passions did impart A thousand vertues there did straight vp start And with their teares and sighes they did disclose For Hattons death their harts were ful of woes The complaint of Religion NExt from the farthest nooke of all the place Weping full sore there rose a nimph in black Seemelie and sober with an Angels face And sighd as if her heart-strings straight should crak Hir outward woes bewraid her inward wracke A golden booke she caried in her hand It was religion that thus meeke did stand God wot her garments were full looslie tucked As one that carelesse was in some despaire To tatters were her roabes and vestures pluckt Her naked lims were open to the aire Yet for all this her lookes were blith and faire And wondring how religion grew forlorne I spied her roabes by Heresie was torne This holy creature sate her by this knight And sigh'd out this Oh here he lies quoth she Liuelesse that did religions lampe still light Deuout without dissembling meeke and free To such whose words and liuings did agree Lip-holines in Cleargie men he could not brooke Ne such as counted gold aboue their booke Vpright he liu'd as holy writ him lead His faith was not in ceremonies old Nor had he new found toies within his head Ne was he luke-warme neither hot nor colde But in religion he was constant bold And still a sworne professed fo to all Whose lookes were smooth harts pharesaicall The brainsicke and illiterate surmisers That like to Saints would holy be in lookes Of fond religions fabulous deuisers Who scornd the Academies and their bookes And yet could sin as others in close nookes To such wild-headed mates he was a foe That rent her robes and wrongd Religion so Ne was his faith in mens traditions He hated Antichrist and all his trash He was not led away with superstitions Nor was he in religion ouer rash His hands from heresie he loued to wash Then base report ware what thy tongue doth spred Tis sin and shame for to bely the dead Hart-holy men he still kept at his table Doctors that wel could doom of holie writ By them he knew to seuer faith from fable And how the text with iudgement for to hit For Pharisies in Moses chaire did sit At this Religion sigh'd and greeu ' so sore And so she wept that she could speak no more Primate Next might I see a rowt of Noble-men Earles Barons Lords in mourning weedes attir'd I cannot paint their passions with my pen Nor write so queintly as their woes requir'd Their teares and sighs some Homers quil desir'd But this I know their grief was for his death That there had yeelded nature life and breath Milites Then came by Souldiers trailing of their pikes Like men dismaid their beuers were adown Their warlike hearts his death with sorrow strikes Yea war himselfe was in a sable gowne For griefe you might perceiue his visage frowne And Scholers came by with lamenting cries Wetting their bookes with teares fel from their eies Plebs The common people they did throng in flocks Dewing their bosomes with their yernfull teares Their sighs were such as would haue rent the rocks Their faces ful of griefe dismay and feares Their cries stroke pittie in my listning eares For why the groanes are lesse at hels black gate Then Eccho there did then reuerberate Some came with scrolles and papers in their hand I ghest them sutors that did rue his losse Some with their children in their hand did stand Some poore and hungrie with their hands acrosse A thousand there sate wayling on the mosse O pater Patriae stil they cried thus Hatton is dead what shal become of vs At all these cries my heart was sore amoued Which made me long to see the dead mans face What he should be that was so deare beloued Whose worth so deepe had won the peoples grace As I came pressing neere vnto the place I lookt and though his face were pale and wan Yet by his visage I did know the man No sooner did I cast mine eie on him But in his face there flasht a ruddie hue And though before his lookes by death were grim Yet seemd he smiling to my gazing view As if though dead my presence still he knew Seeing this change within a dead mans face I could not stop my teares but wept a pace I cald to minde how that it was a knight That whilome liu'd in Englands happie soile I thought vpon his care and deepe insight For Countries weale his labour and his toile He tooke least that the English state might foile And how his watchfull thought from first had bee Vowed to the honor of the maiden Queene I cald to minde againe he was my friend And held my quiet as his hearts content What was so deare for me he would not spend Then thoght I straight such friends are seldom hent Thus still from loue to loue my humor went That pondering of his loayltie so free I wept him dead that liuing honord me At this Astraea seeing me so sad Gan blithly comfort me with this replie Virgin quoth she no boote by teares is had Nor doth laments ought pleasure them that die Soules must haue change from this mortalitie For liuing long sinne hath the larger space And dying well they finde the greater grace And sith thy teares bewraies thy loue quoth she His soule with me shall wend vnto the skies His liuelesse bodie I will leaue to thee Let that be earthde and tombde in gorgeous wise Ile place his ghost amongst the Hierarchies For as one starre another far exceeds So soules in heauen are placed by their deeds With that me thought within her golden lap This Sun-bright Goddesse smiling with her eie The soule of Hatton curiously did wrap And in a cloud was taken vp on hie Vaine Dreames are fond but thus as then dreamt I And more me thought I heard the Angels sing An Alleluia for to welcome him As thus attendant faire Astrea flew The Nobles Commons yea and euerie wight That liuing in his life time Hatton knew Did deepe lament the losse of that good Knight But when Astrea was quite out of sight For griefe the people shouted such a screame That I awooke and start out of my dreame FINIS