Selected quad for the lemma: book_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
book_n	know_v	name_n	write_v	5,306	5	5.6704	4	true

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A96784	Vaticinium votivum or, Palæmon's prophetick prayer. Lately presented privately to His now Majestie in a Latin poëm; and here published in English. To which is annexed a paraphrase on Paulus Grebnerus's prophecie. With several elegies on Charls the First. The Lord Capel. The Lord Francis Villiers.	Grebner, Paul.; Wither, George, 1588-1667.	1649 (1649)	Wing W3206; Thomason E1217_2; ESTC R204106	24,839	96

Trophies and displaie Thy matchless Chivalrie on that black daie Thou copd'st with Destinie and did'st resign Thy Temporal-Title for a more Divine Nor could Thy Courage stop or make a paus Where Honor call'd so loud and such a Caus As might provoke an Hermit and make room With His own Flame to meet His Martyrdom Armed with these resolvs encountring Fear Thou foild'st her quite whil'st in a brave career Thou did'st out-dare the Destinies and tread A loftie measure through whole showres of Lead Spight of the furie of th' opposing croud Cleaving Thy waie like Lightning through a Cloud Thus mid'st these tragick Triumphs wer't Thou hurl'd With loud Field-Musick from th' affrighted world A Conqueror o're Thy doom witness that Peal And vocal Vollie which chim'd forth Thy Knell To tell the world Thy Merit maugre Fate Still still survive's and is Invulnerate How large the storie or how ample wee 'l Not now remember since 't was writ with steel And register'd in Blood Th' indented Face Though no great Volume was the Common-Place And Index of Thy Valor everie scar Seeming at least som mistick Character While 's wee admire those Marginal Notes and vext Wee cannot Comment on so deep a Text But why do I revolv the short-writ-storie Of fading Youth or recollect the Glorie Of Thy blest Beautie which though once the Throne o th' Lillie and Rose was blasted before blown Prepo'strous Fate t' anticipate and bring On Winter e're Thou did'st enjoie Thy Spring To obnubilate Thy Morning-Sun and shroud Thy dawning splendor in a gloomie Cloud But ah Complaints are shadows and too brief To shew the world Thy Goodness or our Grief Nor can wee circumscribe or with weak sens Define Thy Merit which is so immens Alas wee knew 't was not the Cob-web-shrine Of Flesh could lodg so bright a Soul as Thine T' was not a Cabinet of Claie could hold So rich a Jewel nor the brittle Mould Of Earth contain a Seraphin in all His blest dimensions so Angelical Why should wee fondly then repine or why Thus pitie Him wee rather should envie His state transcend's our Passions nor may wee Revers or Counterman'd Heav'ns grand Decree Though Wee could weep a deluge to ingross Our Griefs and make them ample as His Loss And You blest Madam mirror of Your Sex And wonder of our Age surceas to vex Your Soul wth sad Remembrance whiles You smother And burie quick all Comforts in a Brother Those Diamond-Tears You daily shed of more Account then all those on the Indian shore Are spent in vain and You profusely prize His loss to waste the Treasure of Your eies His Fame require's no Monumental-stone Nor Epitaph why should You then bemoan His Funeral-Obsequies and thus make room i th' Tablet of Your Heart t' erect His Tomb Where You blest Votaress piously resign Your Sighs as Incens offer'd at His Shrine Whil'st in the Torrent of these Tears You swim Madam You do bewail Your Self not Him Who soar's above Your Sorrows and sit's in Commission with som blest Cherubin Inthron'd in those Celestial Mansions where Hee shine's like Heaven 's bright Champion in His Sphere On the MARTYRDOM Of His Late MAJESTIE c. COm com let 's Mourn all eies that see this Daie Melt into Showrs and Weep your selvs awaie O that each Private head could yield a Flood Of Tears whil'st Britain's Head stream's out His Blood Could wee paie what His Sacred Drops might claim The World must needs bee drowned once again Hands cannot write for Trembling let our Eie Supplie the Quill and shed an Elegie Tongues cannot speak this Grief know's no such vent Nothing but Silence can bee Eloquent Words are not here significant in This Our Sighs our Groans bear all the Emphasis Dread SIR What shall wee saie Hyperbole Is not a Figure when it speak's of Thee Thy Book is our best Language what to this Shall e're bee added is Thy Meiösis Thy Name 's a Text too hard for us no men Can write of it without Thy Parts and Pen Thy Prisons Scorns Reproach and Povertie Though these were thought too courteous Injurie How could'st Thou bear Thou Meeker Moses how Was ever Lion bit with Whelps till now And did not roar Thou England's David how Did Shimei's Tongue not move Thee Where 's the Man Where is the King CHARLS is all Christian Thou never wanted'st Subjects no when they Rebell'd Thou mad'st Thy Passions to obeie Had'st Thou regain'd Thy Throne of State by Power Thou had'st not then been more a Conqueror But Thou thine own Soul's Monarch art above Revenge and Anger Can'st Thou tame Thy Love How could'st Thou bear Thy Queen's Divorce must Shee At once Thy Wife and yet Thy Widdow bee Where are Thy tender Babes once Princely bred Thy choicest Jewels are They Sequestred Where are Thy Nobles Lo in stead of these Base savage Villains and Thine Enemies Egyptian Plague 't was onely Pharaoh's doom To see such Vermin in His Lodging-room What Guards are set what Watches do they keep They do not think Thee safe though lock't in Sleep Would they confine Thy Dreams within to dwell Nor let Thy Fancie pass their Centinel Are Thy Devotions dangerous Or do Thy Praiers want a Guard These faultie too Varlets 't was onely when they spake for You. But lo a Charge is drawn a Daie is set The silent LAMB is brought the Wolves are met Law is arraign'd of Treason Peace of War And Justice stand's a Prisoner at the Bar. This Scene was like the Passion-Tragedie His Saviour's Person none could Act but Hee Behold what Scribes were here what Pharisees What bands of Souldiers What fals witnesses Here was a Priest and that a Chief one who Durst strike at God and His Vicegerent too Here Bradshaw Pilate there This make's them twain Pilate for Fear Bradshaw condemn'd for Gain Wretch could'st not thou bee rich till Charls was dead Thou might'st have took the Crown yet spar'd the Head Th' hast justifi'd that Roman Judg Hee stood And washt in Water thou hast dipt in Blood And where 's the Slaughter-Hous White-hall must bee Lately His Palace now His Calvarie Great CHARLS is this Thy Dying-place And where Thou wer 't our KING art Thou our MARTYR there Thence thence Thy Soul took flight and there will wee Not ceas to Mourn where Thou did'st ceas to Bee And thus blest Soul Hee 's gon a Star whose fall As no Eclips prove's Oecumenical That Wretch had skill to sin whose Hand did know How to behead three Kingdoms at one blow England hath lost the Influence of Her KING No wonder that so backward was Her Spring O dismal Daie but yet how quickly gon It must bee short Our SUN went down at Noon And now yee Senators is this the Thing So oft declar'd Is this your Glorious King Did you by Oaths your God and Countrie mock Pretend a Crown and yet prepare a Block Did you that swore you 'd Mount CHARLS higher yet Intend the Scaffold for His