Selected quad for the lemma: book_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
book_n	law_n	lord_n	word_n	3,240	5	4.1297	3	true

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A08009	A pleasant comedie, called Summers last will and testament. Written by Thomas Nash; Summer's last will and testament	Nash, Thomas, 1567-1601.	1600 (1600)	STC 18376; ESTC S110081	34,412	60

termes Bring forth no action worthie of their bread What should I speake of pale physicions Who as Fismenus non nasatus was Vpon a wager that his friends had laid Hir'de to liue in a priuie a whole yeare So are they hir'de for lucre and for gaine All their whole life to smell on excrements Wil. Summer Very true for I haue heard it for a prouerbe many a time and oft Hunc os fatidum fah he stinkes like a phisicion Winter Innumerable monstrous practises Hath loytring contemplation brought forth more Which t' were too long particular to recite Suffice they all conduce vnto this end To banish labour nourish slothfulnesse Pamper vp lust deuise newfangled sinnes Nay I will iustifie there is no vice Which learning and vilde knowledge brought not in Or in whose praise some learned haue not wrote The arte of murther Machiauel hath pend Whoredome hath Ouid to vphold her throne And Aretine of late in Italie Whose Cortigiana toucheth bawdes their trade Gluttonie Epicurus doth defend And bookes of th' arte of cookerie confirme Of which Platina hath not writ the least Drunkennesse of his good behauiour Hath testimoniall from where he was borne That pleasant worke de arte bibendi A drunken Dutchman spued out few yeares since Nor wanteth sloth although sloths plague bee want His paper pillers for to leane vpon The praise of nothing pleades his worthinesse Follie Erasmus sets a flourish on For baldnesse a bald asse I haue forgot Patcht vp a pamphletarie periwigge Slouenrie Grobianus magnifieth Sodomitrie a Cardinall commends And Aristotle necessarie deemes In briefe all bookes diuinitie except Are nought but tales of the diuels lawes Poyson wrapt vp in sugred words Mans pride damnations props the worlds abuse Then censure good my Lord what bookemen are If they be pestilent members in a state He is vnfit to sit at sterne of state That fauours such as will o'rethrow his state Blest is that gouernment where no arte thriues Vox populi vex Dei The vulgars voice it is the voice of God Yet Tully saith Non est consilium in vulgo non ratio non discrimen non differentia The vulgar haue no learning wit nor sence The hauing spent all his time In studie of Philosophie and artes And noting well the vanitie of them Wisht with repentance for his follie past Some would teach him th' arte of obliuion How to forget the arts that he had learnd And Cicero whom we alleadg'd before As saith Valerius stepping into old age Despised learning lothed eloquence Naso that could speake nothing but pure verse And had more wit then words to vtter it And words as choise as euer Poet had Cride and exclaimde in bitter agonie When knowledge had corrupted his chaste mind Discite qui sapitis non haec qua scimus inertes Sed trepidas acies fera bella sequi You that be wise and euer meane to thriue O studie not these toyes we sluggards vse But follow armes and waite on barbarous warres Young men yong boyes beware of Schoolemasters They will infect you marre you bleare your eyes They seeke to lay the curse of God on you Namely confusion of languages Wherewith those that the towre of Babel built Accursed were in the worldes infancie Latin it was the speech of Infidels Logique hath nought to say in a true cause Philosophie is curiositie And Socrates was therefore put to death Onely for he was a Philosopher Abhorre contemne despise these damned snares Will Summer Out vpon it who would be a Scholler not I I promise you my minde alwayes gaue me this learning was such a filthy thing which made me hate it so as I did when I should haue beene at schoole construing Batte mi fili mi fili mi Batte I was close vnder a hedge or vnder a barne wall playing at spanne Counter or Iacke in a boxe my master beat me my father beat me my mother gaue me bread and butter yee all this would not make me a squitter-booke It was my destinie I thanke her as a most courteous goddesse that shee hath not cast me away vpon gibridge O in what a mightie vaine am I now against Horne-bookes Here before all this companie I professe my selfe on open enemy to Inke and paper I le make it good vpon the Accidence body that In speech is the diuels Pater noster Nownes and Pronounes I pronounce you as traitors to boyes buttockes Syntaxis and Prosodia you are tormenters of wit good for nothing but to get a schoolemaster two pence a weeke Hang copies flye out phrase books let pennes be turnd to picktooths bowles cards dice you are the true liberal sciēces I le ne're be Goosequil gentlemē while I liue Sūmer. Winter with patience vnto my griefe I haue attended thy inuectiue tale So much vntrueth wit neuer shadowed Gainst her owne bowels thou Arts weapons turn'st Let none beleeue thee that will euer thriue Words haue their course the winde blowes where it lists He erres alone in error that persists For thou gainst Autumne such exceptions tak'st I graunt his ouer-seer thou shalt be His treasurer protector and his staffe He shall do nothing without thy consent Prouide thou for his weale and his content Winter Thanks gracious Lord so I le dispose of him As it shall not repent you of your gift Autumne On such conditions no crowne will I take I challenge Winter for my enemie A most insaciate miserable carle That to fill vp his garners to the brim Cares not how he indammageth the earth What pouerty he makes it to indure He ouer-bars the christall streames with yee That none but he and his may drinke of them All for a fowle Back-winter he layes vp Hard craggie wayes and vncouth slippery paths He frames that passengers may slide and fall Who quaketh not that heareth but his name O but two sonnes he hath worse then himselfe Christmas the one a pinch-back cut-throate churle That keepes no open house as he should do Delighteth in no game or fellowship Loues no good deeds and hateth talke But sitteth in a corner turning Crabbes Or coughing o're a warmed pot of Ale Back-winter th' other that 's his none sweet boy Who like his father taketh in all points An elfe it is compact of enuious pride A miscreant borne for a plague to men A monster that deuoureth all he meetes Were but his father dead so he would raigne Yea he would go goodneere to deale by him As Nabuchodonozors vngratious sonne Euilmerodach by his father dealt Who when his sire was turned to an Oxe Full greedily snatcht vp his soueraigntie And thought himselfe a king without controwle So it fell out seuen yeares expir'de and gone Nabuchodonozor came to his shape againe And dispossest him of the regiment Which my young prince no little greeuing at When that his father shortly after dide Fearing lest he should come from death againe As he came from an Oxe to be a man Wil'd that his body spoylde of