Selected quad for the lemma: book_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
book_n	king_n	read_v	write_v	2,895	5	5.5794	4	true

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A11145	The noble souldier. Or, A contract broken, justly reveng'd A tragedy. Written by S.R.	Rowley, Samuel, d. 1633?; Dekker, Thomas, ca. 1572-1632, attributed name.; Day, John, 1574-1640?	1634 (1634)	STC 21416; ESTC S116260	30,620	64

's garters Onae. Sent from the King to warne me of my death I prethe bid him welcome Cor. He sayes he is a Poet Onae. Then bid him better welcome Belike he 's come to write my Epitaph Some scurvy thing I warrant welcome Sir Enter Poet Poet Madam my love presents this booke unto you Onae. To me I am not worthy of a line Vnlesse at that line hang some hooke to choake me To the Most honour'd Lady Onaelia Reads Fellow thou lyest I 'me most dishonoured Thou shouldst have writ to the most wronged Lady The Title of this booke is not to me I teare it therefore as mine Honour 's torne Cor. Your Verses are lam'd in some of their sect Master Poet Onae. What does it treat of Poet Of the sollemne Triumphs Set forth at Coronation of the Queene Onae. Hissing the Poets whirle-wind blast thy lines Com'st thou to mocke my Tortures with her Triumphs Poet 'Las Madam Onae. When her funerals are past Crowne thou a Dedication to my joyes And thou shalt sweare each line a golden verse Cornego burne this Idoll Cor. Your booke shall come to light Sir Exit Onae. I have read legends of disastrous Dames Will none set pen to paper for poore me Canst write a bitter Satyre brainlesse people Doe call 'em Libels dar'st thou write a Libell Poet I dare mix gall and poyson with my Inke Onae. Doe it then for me Poet And every line must be A whip to draw blood Onae. Better Poet And to dare The stab from him it touches he that writes Such Libels as you call 'em must lanch wide The fores of mens corruptions and even search To 'th quicke for dead flesh or for rotten cores A Poets Inke can better cure some sores Then Surgeons Balsum Onae. Vndertake that Cure And crowne thy verse with Bayes Poet Madam I le doo 't But I must haue the parties Character Onae. The King Poet I doe not love to plucke the quils With which I make pens out of a Lions claw The King shoo'd I be bitter 'gainst the King I shall have scurvy ballads made of me Sung to the Hanging Tune I dare not Madam Onae. This basenesse followes your profession You are like common Beadles apt to lash Almost to death poore wretches not worth striking But fawne with slavish flattery on damn'd vices So great men act them you clap hands at those Where the true Poet indeed doth scorne to guild A gawdy Tombe with glory of his Verse Which coffins stinking Carrion no his lines Are free as his Invention no base feare Can shake his penne to Temporize even with Kings The blacker are their crimes he lowder sings Goe goe thou canst not write 't is but my calling The Muses helpe that I may be inspir'd Cannot a woman be a Poet Sir Poet Yes Madam best of all for Poesie Is but a feigning feigning is to lye And women practise lying more than men Onae. Nay but if I shoo'd write I woo'd tell truth How might I reach a lofty straine Poet Thus Madam Bookes Musicke Wine brave Company and good Cheere Make Poets to soare high and sing most cleare Onae. Are they borne Poets Poet Yes Onae. Dye they Poet Oh never dye Onae. My misery is then a Poet sure For Time has given it an Eternity What sorts of Poets are there Poet Two sorts Lady The great Poets and the small Poets Onae. Great and small Which doe you call the great the fat ones Poet No but such as have great heads which emptied forth Fill all the world with wonder at their lines Fellowes which swell bigge with the wind of praise The small ones are but shrimpes of Poesie Onae. Which in the kingdome now is the best Poet Poet Emulation Onae. Which the next Poet Necessity Onae. And which the worst Poet Selfe-love Onae. Say I turne Poet what should I get Poet Opinion Onae. 'Las I have got too much of that already Opinion is my Evidence Iudge and Iury Mine owne guilt and opinion now condemne me I 'le therefore be no Poet no nor make Ten Muses of your nine I sweare for this Verses tho freely borne like slaves are sold I Crowne thy lines with Bayes thy love with gold So fare thou well Poet Our pen shall honour you Exit Enter Cornego Cor. The Poets booke Madam has got the Inflammation of the Livor it dyed of a burning Feaver Onae. What shall I doe Cornego for this Poet Has fill'd me with a fury I could write Strange Satyrs now against Adulterers And Marriage-breakers Cor. I beleeve you Madam but here comes your Vncle Enter Medina Alanzo Carlo Alba Sebastian Denia Med. Where 's our Neece Turne your braines round and recollect your spirits And see your Noble friends and kinsmen ready To pay revenge his due Onae. That word Revenge Startles my sleepy Soule now throughly wakend By the fresh Object of my haplesse childe Whose wrongs reach beyond mine Seb. How doth my sweet mother One. How doth my prettiest boy Alanz. Wrongs like great whirlewinds Shake highest Battlements few for heaven woo'd care Shoo'd they be ever happy they are halfe gods Who both in good dayes and good fortune share Onae. I have no part in either Carl. You shall in both Can Swords but cut the way Onae. I care not much so you but gently strike him And that my Child escape the lightning Med. For that our Nerves are knit is there not here A promising face of manly princely vertues And shall so sweet a plant be rooted out By him that ought to fix it fast i' th ground Sebastian what will you doe to him that hurts your mother Seb. The King my father shall kill him I trow Dæn. But sweet Coozen the King loves not your mother Seb. I le make him love her when I am a King Med. La you there 's in him a Kings heart already As therefore we before together vow'd Lay all your warlike hands upon my Sword And sweare Seb. Will you sweare to kill me Vncle Med. Oh not for twenty worlds Seb. Nay then draw and spare not for I love fighting Med. Stand in the midst sweet Cooz we are your guard These Hammers shall for thee beat out a Crowne If all hit right sweare therefore Noble friends By your high bloods by true Nobility By what you owe Religion owe to your Country Owe to the raising your posterity By love you beare to vertue and to Armes The shield of Innocence sweare not to sheath Your Swords when once drawne forth Onae. Oh not to kill him For twenty thousand worlds Med. Will you be quiet Your Swords when once drawne forth till they ha forc'd You godlesse perjurous perfidious man Onae. Pray raile not at him so Med. Art mad y' are idle till they ha forc'd him To cancell his late lawlesse bond he seal'd At the high Altar to his Florentine Strumpet And in his bed lay this his troth-plight wife Onae. I I that 's well pray sweare Omnes To this we sweare