Selected quad for the lemma: cause_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
cause_n	act_n	king_n	law_n	2,065	5	4.8358	4	true

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A84326	An elegy on the death of the Right Honourable Spencer, Earle of Northampton, who died a conquerour at the battaile of Hopton-heath.		1643 (1643)	Wing E407; Thomason E103_11; ESTC R212786	2,226	8

AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF THE RIGHT Honourable SPENCER EARLE OF NORTHAMPTON WHO DIED A CONQUEROUR At the Battaile of Hopton-heath BAck back yee too officious Teares our Greife Moves in a Sphere too high to find reliefe From your moist Tribute go and help to mourne At some dry Nurses Grave or thirsty Urne Of a Court Parasite who there did lye While others fought to beg their dignity Or if you like not these your aid afford At the scorn'd Fall of some great Edge-hill Lord Who mounted on that Tarrace viewd the Field With such delight as Gardens use to yeeld Set with Brigads of Bones or els French Box Cut into Knots for whose Familiar Pox His living Carkasse had for long time been Steep'd in Populion and Gum Seraphine That'mongst the Surgeons a dispute might be Whether his Morbus were imbalm'd or he Bedew what hearse ye please here is no room For such light mourners at this Solemne Tombe But ah where i' st Northampton must not have Such is their inhumanity a Grave To him who in his death deserved Heaven Five foot of Common earth would not be given Foolish and Cruell in denying one Ye have bestowed on him a Million Each noble English breast is now become Recorder of his vertues and his Tombe Who shall his name in lasting letters keep When short liv'd Marble shall be laid to sleep When Brook and Gell and Pym Strode Gray That poor one-syllabled race shall melt away And dwindle into nothing He shall fill Times Brasen Leaves that who come after will Forbeare great Acts for fear there should not be For them and him too room in history But on yee Gallant spirits of the Age Hee 'l be content to crowd into a page Rather then have his sacred Masters cause For which he dyed Religion and the Lawes To bleed for as his life was old and plain So in his death he did affect no Train Or idle Pompe like Kings who when they dy Oft send a plague out to presse Company Of followers to wait on them that so They may in state salute the Shades below He did desire so free was he from pride But two or three t' attend his naked side Unto his blisse store of his friends 't is true Did strongly Court him for the journey too Witnesse the blood they lost that fatall day Witnesse the noble wounds they bore away But all their large endeavours could not move His Lordship did the better Courtyer prove To leave the Kings Troops full to him was more Then to see old Charon tugg at 's Ebon Oare By the weight of his retinue He fell indeed so nobly did he close His life he fell with multitudes of Foes So in faire Beaumont I have seen an Oake When mercenary hands by many a stroak Have made him nod all tottering as he stood Threaten a ruine to the underwood But alas the Rabble that he slew that day Was neither for his company nor way For as they met on bloody Hopton-plaine They parted there too ne're to meet againe While his blest Soule did up to Heaven fly To weare an Anadem for his Loyalty And his most rightly ordered valour they Hunted quite counter downe the other way Cursing that Ordinance made them Rebell And sent them to the Lower House of Hell Where that darke Close Committee shall not need To make a post-nate Law for their black deed It is confess'd he might have been alive But that he scorn'd breath as a Donative And that from them he blush'd to have it se'd They gave him life who their own had forfeited Heroicke Soul how easie wer 't for me To make whole Nature weep an Elegy I cannot view a shower nor yet stood still To see a Spring come trickling from a Hill To court a sportive Mead but I could call Them Heaven Earth's teares at thy Funerall Night weares a sable Mantle and for you The Morne and Euening drop their pearly dew Autumne for grief teares off his tawny Locks The Trees weep Gummes their amber-Grease the Rocks Lightning as Tapers at thy hearse I place And Thunder style but sorrowes deeper Base When I the glances of fal'n starres espy I fancy tears sent from Astraeas eye To mourne thy losse this I could doe but feare Apollo then would pluck me by the eare And call me foole tell me such wanton dresses Would better fit the curl'd and amorous Tresses Of silken Squires who safe in a warme Towne Doe chuse to dye upon ignoble Downe Summond by surfets rather then to feele The shock of Mars lockt up in manly steele Who lye at home like to a boaking Toad To blast their Acts who are imployd abroad And like blind veynes through which the waters fall Make the pure springs tast of their minerall Who scarcely can their buriall day out live And have no worth but what their Heraulds give I could be angry now but that I see With what a gentle scorne he laughs at me And my distemper'd zeale pardon blest soule I cannot my unruly griefe controle Nor think with patience how each family Almost but thine parts stakes with Loyalty And Treason so abetting on both hands If God or the Divell can doe 't to save their lands Thou sett'st but all thou had'st thy estate thy life Thy goodly offspring thy heroick Wife That vertuous Lady who like Niobe Would mourne into a statue but that shee Beholds thy picture in her noble Sonne Who after thee being dead made hast to runne But that Bellona in love with him assay'd To wound his foot and so his journey stayd Greatest of Gamesters why wouldst thou hazard so What all thy Iewells at one desperate throw Who shall forbid my vexed Muse to call Northampton now the Loyall Prodigall Who ventur'd his whole Stock would others bring Such aides we quickly then should have a KING And Church Lawes restor'd which now do lye Wounded by a many headed tyranny Becalme your rugged foreheads then ô all Ye that lament this Lord 's too hasty fall For though his age be shortne'd it appeares He as gain'd in fame what he has lost in years Though th' one halfe of his dayes he hath not told Who dyes with Honour Vertue makes him Old FINIS