Selected quad for the lemma: cause_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
cause_n	body_n	life_n	soul_n	5,160	5	5.5664	4	true

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A17461	Saint Marie Magdalens conuersion	I. C., fl. 1603.	1603 (1603)	STC 4282; ESTC S118867	10,918	28

And alwaies were imploi'de in doing good To see that hart where Charitie doth dwell Peirced with Enuies speare the dart of Hell To see those worne but neuer-wear'ed feete Who manie longe and toyle some iorneys made To seeke vs loste and euer-wandringe sheepe In the vaste desert of blacke sinne insnar'de Now nether going standing nor at rest But to a peece of woode with nayles addrest To see that body which the purest wombe Of an vnspotted Virgin once contain'de Now to bee fitter for some gastlie tombe By cruell stripes and woundes deform'de and stain'de Thy selfe dispised naked and for lorne Bereft of freindes and to thy foes a scorne How can I chose o Lord but weepe and moane In sad remembrance of these dire aspectes How can I chose but sigh to heare the grone Vnder the heuie loade of our defects Was there no other meanes to pay our losse But thou must needes be naled to this Crosse O wounderfull effectes of wonderous loue He that of late gaue life vnto the dead And from possessed bodies did remoue Legions of Diuelles that his presence fled For them that kills him doth his life bestow And paies the debt which they themselues did owe. O you vngratefull bloudy-mynded Iewes Allwaies imbr'de in spilling righteous bloode How can you thus this innocent abuse Who neuer in the way of sinners stoode What hath he done that you should vse him thus Was he not euer mercifull and iust Did hee not feede the hongrie of the lande And cure the sicke through his health-giuinge mighte Did hee not make the lame to goe and stande And to the blinde restore desired sighte Did not both poore and sicke both lame and blinde Through his milde pitty health and comfort finde O you are more in humane beast-like men Then sauadge beastes in wildest desertes bred They for a good deede still haue gratefull ben And such as did releiue them they haue fed But you do pay the hire of ill desart To him that did all good to you impart This maks the heauens who earst were bright cleare To chainge their purple weedes to saddest blacke No signes of ioye in heauen or earth appeare Because the Lord of ioye and blisse they lacke The Sonne himselfe doth hide his glorious face Lothing to see his makers foule disgrace The earth doth tremble att this horred deede Frighting the ghostes of the infernall deepe Her wombe bringes forth straing and vntimelie seede The dead arise which in her bosome sleepe The adamantine rockes doe cleaue a sunder Their stonie hartes do rent to see this wonder But you whose hartes are harder then the rockes You bloody actors of this tragicke sceane You that repay sweete Charitie with mockes And seeke his losse who doth your welfare meane You neither earth belowe nor heauen aboue With their vnwonted prodigies can moue O thou sad mother of a sadder Sonne Thou art spectator too of this great losse Thy ioyes are past thy sorrowes newe-begunne Whome once the Cribe receau'de now beares the Crosse Vnto his Birth the one did harbor tend Vpon the other hee his Life doth spend My greeued soule is wounded with remorce To see thy swollen eyes to heare thy groanes The very sight would flinty hartes enforce To take compassion of thy bitter moanes Thou art more like the dead or deathes palle wife Then to the mother of the Lord of life Shall you and I deare Ladie plight our troth And wed our selues to sorrowes restles bed Our loue and ioye is taken from vs both And we are lefte for to bewale the dead Wee both lament the losse of him that 's gonne I a most louing Lord thou a blessed Sonne Sall wee be take vs to a Heremitage In some wilde desert vnto men vnknowne And there weare out the remnant of our age Filling the wide woodes with our ceaseles moane Lette me take part of this thy heauy cheare And for ech figh of thine I le spend a teare Fellowes in misery lessens sorrowes waight But I vnworthy am to be thy mate I haue a spotted soule with sinnes full fraight But thou a Virgine art Immaculate Thou art assin'de vnto a Virgines keeping I will alone betake my selfe to weeping By that time this her sad complaint was done He that giues life had vanquish'de death by dying And Ioseph comes t'interr this Holy one Which in this weeper breedes newe cause of crying Before shee wept to see him so tormented Because shee sees him not shee now lamented For Ioseph had newe tane him from the Crosse And lai'de him in a Sepulchre of stone Not his spent life but his dead bodies losse Is now the cause of this her second moane Shee sees the tree of life of fruit bereft But her loue-wounded soule vncured left Which makes her thus to speake O sacred tree His precious bloud hath left thee sanctified Thou wert ordain'de an Aulter for to bee Whereon this offring should bee sacrified Since hee is gone who was thy ornament To thee my sad complaintes shall all bee bent I le sett thee for an obiect fore myne eyes In seing thee I shall not him forget Who did vouchsafe on thee to sacrifice His owne deare life to pay our sinnefull debt Though for my Sauiours shame they did thee make Yet I will honour thee for his sweete sake With these and such like plaintes the day was spent And duskie nighte had darkened all the sckye Which when shee sawe vnto her home shee went And there absentes her from all companye Like to a Turtle hauing lost her mate So shee without her Lord is desolate This restles night and Saboathes rest b'eing past A day of sorrowe and vnrest to her Vnto the Monument early shee did hast Where they his Precious Body did intier Shee doth present the rising of the sunne And takes her Iorney ere the day begunne Noe wonted daungers of the fearfull night Coulde make her from her enterprise to staye When Ghostes and Sprites night-walkers vse to fright When Wolues and rauonous Beastes doe wach their pray When none but murderrers and theeues did wake Then all-alone this Pilgrimage shee takes Shee might haue fear'de the Souldiers cruell garde Who did about that Holy place attende And night and day his toumbe did watch and warde And from all Visitores the same defend But her stout harte these perilles could not touch Her loue was more although her daunger much Loue made her strong although herselfe were weake Loue gaue swifte winges vnto her quicke desire Loue added fire to her former heate Of doubtes nor daungers Loue doth not enquire O powerfull loue thou dost no perilles cast The bitt'rest pilles seeme pleasant to thy taste By this time loue had brought her to his toumbe Which shee findes open by the stones remoue But nought shee sees with in his emptie toumbe But linnen cloths which had inwrapt her loue Whome when shee findes not shee doth weep moane Imaginning that he was stolne and gone O you profaine and Sacraligious theeues Who haue quoth shee his sacred corps bereft It is a sinne to rob from him that liues To rob the house of death is dubble theft Was not your enuy by his dying past But after death the same must also last O Enuy thou art a more blaker sinne Then bloudy murder who seekes naught but death His thirstie appetie hath quenshed beene But thou thy killing sworde dost neuer sheath The act being done he often doth relent But thy hell-borne malice nere is spent I had not long enioy'de his blessed sight But thou did'st take him to the Crosse from mee Where hauing kill'de him in thy selfe dispite Thou seem'dst content that he intomb'de should bee There did I thinke I should his presence haue But thou hast also taine him from his graue Vnhappie I to come no sooner hether I might aswell haue come the day before Now they haue taine him hence I know not whether And I am neuer like to see him more The Spice and Oyntments which with me I brought I cannot now bestow on him I sought With this two Glorious Angelles doe appeare To Comforte this vncomfortable one They tell her h 'is risen bids her not feare But cease her sad complaintes and heauy moane Whilst shee standes doubtfull of this happie newes Her louing Lord himselfe vnknowne shee vewes Shee takes him to bee gard'ner of that place And gentlie doth bespeake him as dismai'de That if he did his body thence displace Hee would enforme her where the same was lai'de Hee louingly discouers whome he is Shee doth adore when thus her Lord shee sees Her humbled body to the earth shee bowes In odarac'on of his Dietie Meane while her ioyfull soule her-selfe bestowes In Contemplac'on of this Misterie Of heauenlie ioy shee feeles so sweete a taste That shee forgettes her auncient sorrowes paste O thou that art the heauens and earthes Creator Thou great dispensor of Caelestiall treasure Thou that of Angelles Men and Beastes art maker Whose profound wisedome hath nor end nor measure How mercifull O Lord art thou for each good deede Thou doest repay vs with a dubble meede Shee wash'de thy feete with teares her eyes had shed To clense her soule thy bloud thou did'st perfuse Shee powr'de her precious oyntement on thy hed In her thou did'st Caelestiall grace infuse Shee for thy absence did great sorrowe take Thou with thy presence did'st her ioyfull make Giue grace O Lord to me vnworthy one To imitate this blessed Saint of thine Fill thou myne eyes with teares my hart with moane That I may wayle those greuious sinnes of myne And if salt teares vnto myne eyes be scant Bee mercifull O Lord for this my want Make me like her all worldlie ioyes reiect And lett my soule bee wedded to thy loue Thy louing sweetenes lett me not forgete All other fancies from my hart remoue And if I do not loue thee as I should Haue mercie Lord accept of that I would Finis Deo gratias I. N. R. I.

SAINT MARIE MAGDALENS CONVERSION ✚ IHS Printed with Licence THE AVTHOR TO THE READER This smale poeme Gentle Reader was composed for the pleasure of some priuate freinds and intended to haue bin presented for a Newe-yeres gift the first of this mounth But interuention of other affaires delaied the finishing therof vntill the last I made choyce of this subiect as most fitting this time of death the stile being correspondant plaine and passionate much like a morning garment fitting both the time and the matter Graue enough for sobrest wittes and not se harshe but may content the nicest eares The reading whereof I doubt not will proue both pleasant and profitable which is as much as I can wish or thou desire Farewell this last of Ianuarie 1603. Thyne I. C. TO THE DEVOVT AND VERTVOVS MISTRIS F. B. I. C. PRESENTES THIS HIS WORTHELES LABOVR for a Newe-yeares gifte THis day the eight'h from his Natiuitie The glorious Sonne of the Omnipotent Was Circumcis'de bearinge mans frailetie T' appease the wrath of the Magnificent This day the Sonne of blessed MARY shed His first deare bloud to make vs liue b'inge dead In memorie whereof this custome takes That on the first day of the newe-borne yeare Eache freind vnto his freind some present makes Louer to Louer husband to his pheare But I poore I that haue no gifte to bringe Out of my home-bred Muse these verses singe SAINT MARY MAGDALENS CONVERSION OF Romes great conquest in the elder age When she the worlde made subiect to her thrall Of louers giddy fancies and the rage Wherwith that passion is possest withall When ielousie with loue doth share apart And breedes a ciuill warre within the harte Of Helens rape and Troyes beseiged Towne Of Troylus faith and Cressids falsitie Of Rychards stratagems for the english crowne Of Tarquins lust and lucrece chastitie Of these of none of these my muse nowe treates Of greater conquests warres and loues she speakes A womans conquest of her one affects A womans warre with her selfe-appetite A womans loue breeding such effects As th'age before nor since nere brought to light Of these and such as these my muse is prest To spend the idle houres of her rest Thou blessed Saint whose life doth teach to liue Intreate that louing and best loued Lord of thine That he vouchsafe such liuely grace to giue Vnto these dull and liueles rimes of mine That such as read this good though ill told story May be like thee for their offences sorry When first the worlds Creator our dread Lord Did with his presence blesse Iudeae land And to all sortes of people did afforde His gratious fauour and all helping hand Restoring by his power Omnipotent The lazar deafe blind lame and impotent Amongst the daughters of the sonnes of men Shee that did most his gratious mercy proue Was Mary Marthas sister Magdalen Who loued most and had most cause to loue Her wounded soule he cur'de with sinnes opprest Natures deffects in others he redrest Shee needed not the ritch mans golden ring That all desires seldome well gott good Shee needed not the Herauldes deif'ing To make her gentle of vngentle bloud Shee needed not the painters white and red Nature those colors in her face had shed Her eyes vnto their Mistres yeelded light All though her selfe within herselfe were blind Shee was nor lame nor deafe nor lazar-like Perfecc'ous store to each lime was asin'de With natures gifts she plent'iously was graced But sinne those ornamentes had all defaced Sinne made her want in middest of her store Sinne made her seruile in her libertye Of all good graces sinne did make her poore And ritch in nothing but in misery Her soule was subiect to a thousand euilles Her body combred with as many Diuilles But her dear Lord through his life-giuing grace This many-headed Monster draue away And those foule fendes who did his workes deface His blessed presence from her did affray He thought not meete that such vnseemely gest Should in so faire an Arbour build their nest After her foes were thus disperst and gone Her captiue soule b'inge franchis'de from their thrall And shee transformed by that mighty one From her life best ' all to celestiall Her Lord affirmed that her loue was such That shee deserued to bee pardoned much Her Lawles lustes shee chaing'de to lawfull loue Her many pleasures to one chiefe delighte All other ioyes shee did from her remoue And only ioyed in his blessed sighte Who best deserued to bee loued most Sauinge her soule from death by sinne b'inge lost Shee hateth nowe what shee had lou'de before Shee loueth him to whome all loue was due Her former mispent life shee doth deplore And nowe endeauors for to lyue anewe Herselfe vnto herselfe did hatefull growe When thus enlight'ned shee her-selfe did knowe This Holy hatred did true loue encrease Shee lou'de the more in that shee hated soe This Holy hatred did her false loues cease And howe to loue arighte to her did showe O Hatred thow are only good in this In all thinges else thow doest worke amisse Like to a monster to her selfe shee seem'ed And of her selfe her selfe was now afraide Shee sawe 't was otherwyse then shee had deem'ed And loth'de to see how fondly shee had straied Shee now perceaues the errors of her life Which makes her with her selfe to be in strife O how haue I deceaued beene quoth shee With the false shew of counterfeyt delight Were these the pleasures this the vanities Which now so much my gilty soule affright Haue I incurr'd the losse of life and fame To purchase sorrow and repentant shame Did I for this my fathers house forsake Leauing my carefull sister sisterles Did I for this of frendes me frendles make Shaming my kindred through my sinnefullnes Did I for this leaue sister frends and all And from the seruice of my maker fall O sinne thou art a serpent full of fleyght Thy face seem'de not so fowle as now I see Thou dost bewitch vs with a strong deceipte Of seeming good though full of miserye Our soules thou woundest with thy poysonus dart And we as senceles neuer feele the smart Thou art the losse of heauen and hels best frend How many like a Syren here thee sing How many by in chantment dost thou send To Plutoes Kingdome ere they feele thy sting But why doe I exclaime against thee so When I was partner in my ouer throw I gaue consent that thou shoul'dst worke my fall I pleased was with what thou did'st suggest I was attendant to ech seruill call And basely subiect to thy foule be-hest I grew a cunning Artist in thy trade And with thy Charmes haue many soules insnar'de O sinne of sinnes and the worst of euills To poyson others with thy stinking breath No meruaile though I was a lodge for Deuilles And worthely became a hell on earth Wast not enoughe that thou thy selfe did'st sinne But that thou others to the same must winne O my lost