Selected quad for the lemma: book_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
book_n	life_n	see_v	write_v	5,407	5	5.3704	4	true

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A64749	Thalia rediviva the pass-times and diversions of a countrey-muse, in choice poems on several occasions : with some learned remains of the eminent Eugenius Philalethes, never made publick till now.	Vaughan, Henry, 1622-1695.; J. W.; Vaughan, Thomas, 1622-1666. Viri insignissimi et poetarum.	1678 (1678)	Wing V127; ESTC R1483	43,453	114

all Their poor Men-mules sent thither by hard fate To yoke our selves for their Sedans and State Of all ambitions this was not the least VVhose drift translated man into a beast VVhat blind discourse the Heroes did afford This Lady was their Friend and such a Lord. How much of Blood was in it one could tell He came from Bevis and his Arundel Morglay was yet with him and he could do More feats with it than his old Grandsire too Wonders my Friend at this what is 't to thee Who canst produce a nobler Pedigree And in meer truth affirm thy Soul of kin To some bright Star or to a Cherubin When these in their profuse moods spend the night With the same sins they drive away the light Thy learned thrift puts her to use while she Reveals her firy Volume unto thee And looking on the separated skies And their clear Lamps with careful thoughts eyes Thou break'st through Natures upmost rooms bars To Heav'n and there conversest with the Stars Well fare such harmless happy nights that be Obscur'd with nothing but their privacie And missing but the false world's glories do Miss all those vices which attend them too Fret not to hear their ill-got ill-giv'n praise Thy darkest nights outshine their brightest dayes On Sir Thomas Bodley's Library the Author being then in Oxford Boast not proud Golgotha that thou can'st show The ruines of mankind and let us know How fraile a thing is flesh though we see there But empty Skulls the Rabbins still live here They are not dead but full of Blood again I mean the Sense and ev'ry Line a Vein Triumph not o're their Dust whoever looks In here shall find their Brains all in their Books Nor is 't old Palestine alone survives Atbens lives here more than in Plutarch's lives The stones which sometimes danc'd unto the strain Of Orpheus here do lodge his muse again And you the Roman Spirits learning has Made your lives longer than your Empire was Caesar had perish'd from the World of men Had not his Sword been rescu'd by his pen. Rare Seneca how lasting is thy breath Though Nero did thou could'st not bleed to Death How dull the expert Tyrant was to look For that in thee which lived in thy Book Afflictions turn our Blood to Ink and we Commence when Writing our Eternity Lucilius here I can behold and see His Counsels and his Life proceed from thee But what care I to whom thy Letters be I change the Name and thou do'st write to me And in this Age as sad almost as thine Thy stately Consolations are mine Poor Earth what though thy viler dust enrouls The frail Inclosures of these mighty Souls Their graves are all upon Record not one But is as bright and open as the Sun And though some part of them obscurely fell And perish'd in an unknown private Cell Yet in their books they found a glorious way To live unto the Resurrection-day Most noble Bodley we are bound to thee For no small part of our Eternity Thy treasure was not spent on Horse and Hound Nor that new Mode which doth old States confound Thy legacies another way did go Nor were they left to those would spend them so Thy safe discreet Expence on us did flow Walsam is in the mid'st of Oxford now Th' hast made us all thine Heirs whatever we Hereafter write 't is thy Posterity This is thy Monument here thou shalt stand Till the times fail in their last grain of Sand. And wheresoe're thy silent Reliques keep This Tomb will never let thine honour sleep Still we shall think upon thee all our fame Meets here to speak one Letter of thy name Thou can'st not dye here thou art more than safe Where every Book is thy large Epitaph The importunate Fortune written to Doctor Powel of Cantre FOr shame desist why should'st thou seek my fall It cannot make thee more Monarchical Leave off thy Empire is already built To ruine me were to inlarge thy guilt Not thy Prerogative I am not he Must be the measure to thy victory The Fates hatch more for thee 't were a disgrace If in thy Annals I should make a Clause The future Ages will disclose such men Shall be the glory and the end of them Nor do I flatter So long as there be Descents in Nature or Posterity There must be Fortunes whether they be good As swimming in thy Tide and plenteous Flood Or stuck fast in the shallow Ebb when we Miss to deferve thy gorgeous charity Thus Fortune the great World thy period is Nature and you are Parallels in this But thou wilt urge me still Away be gone I am resolv'd I will not be undone I scorn thy trash and thee nay more I do Despise my self because thy Subject too Name me Heir to thy malice and I 'le be Thy hate 's the best Inheritance for me I care not for your wondrous Hat and Purse Make me a Fortunatus with thy Curse How careful of my self then should I be Were I neglected by the world and thee Why do'st thou tempt me with thy dirty Ore And with thy Riches make my Soul so poor My Fancy's pris'ner to thy Gold and thee Thy favours rob me of my liberty I 'le to my Speculations Is 't best To be confin'd to some dark narrow chest And Idolize thy Stamps when I may be Lord of all Nature and not slave to thee The world 's my Palace I 'le contemplate there And make my progress into ev'ry Sphere The Chambers of the Air are mine those three Well furnish'd Stories my possession be I hold them all in Capite and stand Propt by my Fancy there I scorn your Land It lies so far below me Here I see How all the Sacred Stars do circle me Thou to the Great giv'st rich Food and I do VVant no Content I feed on Manna too They have their Tapers I gaze without fear On flying Lamps and flaming Comets here Their wanton flesh in Silks and Purple Shrouds And Fancy wraps me in a Robe of Clouds There some delicious beauty they may woo And I have Nature for my Mistris too But these are mean the Archtype I can see And humbly touch the hem of Majestie The power of my Soul is such I can Expire and so analyse all that's man First my dull Clay I give unto the Earth Our common Mother which gives all their birth My growing Faculties I send as soon VVhence first I took them to the humid Moon All Subtilties and every cunning Art To witty Mercury I do impart Those fond Affections which made me a slave To handsome Faces Venus thou shalt have And saucy Pride if there was ought in me Sol I return it to thy Royalty My daring Rashness and Presumptions be To Mars himself an equal Legacy My ill-plac'd Avarice sure 't is but small Jove to thy Flames I do bequeath it all And my false Magic which I did believe And mystic Lyes to Saturn I do

clear that Friendship is nought else But a Joint kind propension and excess In none but such whose equal easie hearts Comply and meet both in their whole and parts And when they cannot meet do not forget To mingle Souls but secretly reflect And some third place their Center make where they Silently mix and make an unseen stay Let me not say though Poets may be bold Thou art more hard than Steel than Stones more cold But as the Mary-gold in Feasts of Dew And early Sun-beams though but thin and few Unfolds its self then from the Earths cold breast Heaves gently and salutes the hopeful East So from thy quiet Cell the retir'd Throne Of thy fair thoughts which silently bemoan Our sad distractions come and richly drest With reverend mirth and manners check the rest Of loose loath'd men why should I longer be Rack't 'twixt two Ev'ls I see and cannot see Thalia Rediviva The King Disguis'd Written about the same time that Mr. John Cleveland wrote his A King and no King Is he gone from us And stoln alive into his Coffin thus This was to ravish Death and so prevent The Rebells treason and their punishment 〈◊〉 would not have them damn'd and therefore he 〈◊〉 deposed his own Majesty 〈◊〉 did pursue him and to fly the Ill 〈◊〉 wanders Royal Saint in sheep-skin still 〈◊〉 obscure shelter if that shelter be 〈◊〉 which harbours so much Majesty 〈◊〉 prophane Eyes the mysterie's so deep 〈◊〉 Esdras books the vulgar must not see 't Thou flying Roll written with tears and woe 〈◊〉 for thy Royal self but for thy Foe 〈◊〉 grief is prophecy and doth portend 〈◊〉 sad 〈◊〉 's sighs the Rebells end Thy robes forc'd off like Samuel's when rent Do figure out anothers Punishment Nor grieve thou hast put off thy self a while To serve as Prophet to this sinful Isle These are our days of Purim which oppress The Church and force thee to the Wilderness But all these Clouds cannot thy light confine The Sun in storms and after them will shine Thy day of life cannot be yet compleat 'T is early sure thy shadow is so great But I am vex'd that we at all can guess This change and trust great Charles to such a dress When he was first obscur'd with this coarse thing He grac'd Plebeians but prophan'd the King Like some fair Church which Zeal to Charcoals burn'd Or his own Court now to an Ale-house turn'd But full as well may we blame Night and chide His wisdom who doth light with darkness hide Or deny Curtains to thy Royal Bed As take this sacred cov'ring from thy Head 〈◊〉 of State are points we must not know This vizard is thy privy Councel now Thou Royal Riddle and in every thing The true white Prince our Hieroglyphic King Ride safely in his shade who gives thee Light And can with blindness thy pursuers smite O may they wonder all from thee as farr As they from peace are and thy self from Warr And wheresoe're thou 〈◊〉 design to be With thy now spotted spottles Majestie Be sure to look no Sanctuary there Nor hope for 〈◊〉 in a temple where Buyers and Sellers trade O strengthen not With too much trust the Treason of a Scot The Eagle 'T Is madness sure And I am in the Fitt To dare an Eagle with my unfledg'd witt For what did ever Rome or Athens sing In all their Lines as loftie as his wing He that an Eagles Powers would rehearse Should with his plumes first feather all his Verse I know not when into thee I would prie Which to admire thy Wing first or thine Eye Or whether Nature at thy birth design'd More of her Fire for thee or of her Wind. When thou in the clear Heights and upmost Air Do'st face the Sun and his dispersed Hair Ev'n from that distance thou the Sea do'st spie And sporting in its deep wide Lap the Frie. Not the least Minoe there but thou can'st see Whole Seas are narrow spectacles to thee Nor is this Element of water here Below of all thy miracles the sphere If Poets ought may add unto thy store Thou hast in Heav n of wonders many more For when just Jove to Earth his thunder bends And from that bright eternal Fortress sends His louder vollies strait this Bird doth fly To Aetna where his Magazine doth lye And in his active Talons brings him more Of ammunition and recruits his store Nor is 't a low or easie Lift. He soares 'Bove Wind and Fire gets to the Moon and pores With scorn upon her duller face for she Gives him but shadows and obscurity Here much displeas'd that any thing like night Should meet him in his proud and loftie flight That such dull Tinstures should advance so farr And rival in the glories of a star Resolv'd he is a nobler Course to try And measures out his voyage with his Eye Then with such furie he begins his flight As if his Wings contended with his sight Leaving the Moon whose humble light doth trade With Spotts and deals most in the dark and shade To the day 's Royal Planet he doth pass With daring Eyes and makes the Sun his glass Here doth he plume and dress himself the Beams Rushing upon him like so many Streams While with direct looks he doth entertain The thronging flames and shoots them back again And thus from star to star he doth repaire And wantons in that pure and peaceful air Sometimes he frights the starrie Swan and now Orion's fearful Hare and then the Crow Then with the Orbe it self he moves to see Which is more swift th' Intelligence or He. Thus with his wings his body he hath brought Where man can travell only in a thought I will not seek rare bird what Spirit 't is That mounts thee thus I 'le be content with this To think that Nature made thee to express Our souls bold Heights in a material dress To Mr. M. L. upon his reduction of the Psalms into Method SIR YOu have oblig'd the Patriarch And t is known He is your Debtor now though for his own What he wrote is a Medley We can see Confusion trespass on his Piety Misfortunes did not only Strike at him They charged further and oppress'd his pen. For he wrote as his Crosses came and went By no safe Rule but by his Punishment His quill mov'd by the Rod his witts and he Did know no Method but their Misery You brought his Psalms now into Tune Nay all His measures thus are more than musical Your Method and his Aires are justly sweet And what 's Church-musick right like Anthems meet You did so much in this that I believe He gave the Matter you the form did give And yet I wish you were not understood For now 't is a misfortune to be good Why then you 'l say all I would have is this None must be good because the time 's amiss For since wise Nature did ordain the Night I would not have the Sun

hundred pillars by account Dig'd from the quarries of the Theban mount Here as the Custom did require they say His happy parents dust down he doth lay Then to the Image of his Lord he bends And to the flames his burden strait commends Unto the Altars thus he destinates His own Remains the light doth gild the gates Perfumes divine the Censers up do send While th' Indian odour doth it self extend To the Pelusian fens and filleth all The men it meets with the sweet storm A gale To which compar'd Nectar it self is vile Fills the seav'n channels of the misty Nile O happy bird sole heir to thy own dust Death to whose force all other 〈◊〉 must Submit saves thee Thy ashes make thee rise 'T is not thy nature but 〈◊〉 age that dies Thou hast seen All and to the times that run Thou art as great a witness as the Sun Thou saw'st the deluge when the sea outvied The land and drown'd the mountains with the tide What year the stragling Phaeton did fire The world thou know'st And no plagues can conspire Against thy life alone thou do'st arise Above mortality the Destinies Spin not thy days out with their fatal Clue They have no Law to which thy life is due Pious thoughts and Ejaculations To his Books BRight books the perspectives to our weak sights The clear projections of discerning lights Burning and shining Thoughts man's posthume day The track of fled souls and their Milkie-way The dead alive and busie the still voice Of inlarg'd Spirits kind heav'ns white Decoys Who lives with you lives like those knowing flow'rs Which in commerce with light spend all their hours Which shut to Clouds and shadows nicely shun But with glad haste unveil to kiss the Sun Beneath you all is dark and a dead night Which whoso lives in wants both health and sight By sucking you the wise like Bees do grow Healing and rich though this they do most slow Because most choicely for as great a store Have we of Books as Bees of herbs or more And the great task to try then know the good To discern weeds and Judge of wholsome Food Is a rare scant performance for Man dyes Oft e're 't is done while the bee feeds and flyes But you were all choice Flow'rs all set and drest By old sage florists who well knew the best And I amidst you all am turn'd a weed Not wanting knowledge but for want of heed Then thank thy self wild fool that would'st not be Content to know what was to much for thee Looking back FAir shining Mountains of my pilgrimage And flow'ry Vales whose flow'rs were stars The days and nights of my first happy age An age without distast and warrs When I by thoughts ascend your Sunny heads And mind those sacred midnight Lights By which I walk'd when curtain'd Rooms and Beds Confin'd or seal'd up others sights O then how bright And quick a light Doth brush my heart and scatter night Chasing that shade Which my sins made While I so spring as if I could not fade How brave a prospect is a bright Back-side Where flow'rs and palms refresh the Eye And days well spent like the glad East abide Whose morning-glories cannot dye The Shower WAters 〈◊〉 eternal Springs The dew that 〈◊〉 the Doves wings O welcom welcom to the sad Give dry dust drink drink that makes glad Many fair 〈◊〉 many Flowr's Sweeten'd with rich and gentle showers Have I enjoy'd and down have run Many a fine and shining Sun But never till this happy hour Was blest with such an Evening-shower Discipline FAir prince of life lights living well Who hast the keys of death and hell If the mule man despise thy day Put chains of darkness in his way Teach him how deep how various are The Councels of thy love and care When Acts of grace and a long peace Breed but rebellion and displease Then give him his own way and will Where lawless he may run until His own choice hurts him and the sting Of his 〈◊〉 sins full sorrows bring 〈◊〉 Heav'n and Angels hopes and mirth Please not the mole so much as Earth Give him his Mine to dig or dwell And one sad Scheme of hideous hell The Ecclipse WHither O whither did'st thou fly When I did grieve thine holy Eye When thou did'st mourn to see me lost And all thy Care and Councels crost O do not grieve where e'er thou art Thy grief is an undoing smart Which doth not only pain but break My heart and makes me blush to speak Thy anger I could kiss and will But O! thy grief thy grief doth kill Affliction O Come and welcom Come refine For Moors if wash'd by thee will shine Man blossoms at thy touch and he When thou draw'st blood is thy Rose-tree Crosses make strait his crooked ways And Clouds but cool his dog-star days Diseases too when by thee blest Are both restoratives and rest Flow'rs that in Sun-shines riot still Dye scorch'd and sapless though storms kill The fall is fair ev'n to desire Where in their sweetness all expire O come pour on what calms can be So fair as storms that appease thee Retirement FResh fields and woods the Earth's fair face God's foot-stool and mans dwelling-place I ask not why the first Believer Did love to be a Country liver Who to secure pious content Did pitch by groves and wells his tent Where he might view the boundless skie And all those glorious lights on high With flying meteors mists and show'rs Subjected hills trees meads and Flow'rs And ev'ry minute bless the King And wise Creatour of each thing I ask not why he did remove To happy Mamre's holy grove Leaving the Citie' s of the 〈◊〉 To Lot and his successless train All various Lusts in Cities still Are found they are the Thrones of Ill. The dismal Sinks where blood is spill'd Cages with much uncleanness fill'd But rural shades are the sweet fense Of piety and innocence They are the Meek's calm region where Angels descend and rule the sphere Where heav'n lyes Leiguer and the Dove Duely as Dew comes from above If Eden be on Earth at all 'T is that which we the Country call The Revival UNfold unfold take in his light Who makes thy Cares more short than night The Joys which with his Day-star rise He deals to all but drowsy Eyes And what the men of this world miss Some drops and dews of future bliss Hark! how his winds have chang'd their note And with warm whispers call thee out The frosts are past the storms are gone And backward life at last comes on The lofty groves in express Joyes Reply unto the Turtles voice And here in dust and dirt O here The Lilies of his love appear The Day-spring EArly while yet the dark was gay And gilt with stars more trim than day Heav'ns Lily and the Earth's chast Rose The green immortal BRANCH arose And in a solitary place Bow'd to his father his bless'd face