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	part_n	time_n	1,743	5	3.4636	3	false

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A89049	Musarum deliciæ: or, The Muses recreation. Conteining severall select pieces of sportive vvit. / By Sr J.M. and Ja:S.	Mennes, John, Sir, 1599-1671.; Smith, James, 1605-1667.; Herringman, Henry, d. 1704,; H. H.	1655 (1655)	Wing M1710; Thomason E1672_1; ESTC R202916	33,905	95

Quoth he dear let me kisse those thighes That prop the taile will carry hence Our glory and magnificence His suit being granted home he walkes And to himselfe of wonders talkes From whence he brings a painted stake High to be seen above the Brake And having ask'd my name he writ In yellow Letters who 'twas shit Which still stands as a Monument Call'd Long-taile from the Man of Kent This being all the first day did We home retir'd where we lay hid In Alehouse till another day Shall prompt my Muse then more I 'le say 'Till when take this to make an end I rest your servant and your friend To a friend upon his Marriage SInce last I writ I heare deare honey Thou hast committed Matrimony And soberly both Morn and Even Dost take up smock in fear of Heaven Alas poor Soul thy Marriage vow Is as the Rites unhallowed now Sleighted by Man ordain'd by Bishop Not one whom zeal hath scar'd from his shop The Ring prophane and Surplice foule No better then a Friers Cowl With Poesie vile and at thy Table Fidlers that were abhominable Who sung perhaps a song to Hymen And not a Psalm to edifie men It is th' opinion of this place Thou canst not get a Babe of Grace This story is sad to make amends I 'le tell thee news to tell thy friends You heard of late what Chevaliers Who durst not tarry for their eares Prescribed were for such a plot As might have ruin'd Heaven knows what Suspected for the same 's Will D'avenant Whether he have been in 't or have not He is committed and like Sloven Lolls on his Bed in garden Coven He had been rack'd as I am told But that his body would not hold Soon as in Kent they saw the Bard As to say truth it is not hard For Will has in his face the flawes Of wounds receiv'd in Countreys cause They flew on him like Lions passant And tore his Nose as much as was on 't They call'd him Superstitious Groom And Popish Dog and Curre of Rome But this I 'm sure was the first time That Wills Religion was a crime What ere he is in 's outward part He is sure a Poet in his heart But 't is enough he is thy friend And so am I and there 's an end From London where we sit and muse And pay Debts when we cannot chuse The day that Bishops Deans and Prebends And all their friends wear mourning Ribbands If this day smile they 'l ride in Coaches And if it frown then Bonas Noches In answer to certaine Letters which he received from London whilst he was engaged to follow the Camp WHat Letters two on New-years-day 'T is signe thy Muse hath leave to play And swelling grape distills his Liquor Which makes thy Pulse and muse flow quicker Alas poor Soules in Mud we travell And each day vex'd with Martch and Gravel And when at night we come to quarter Drink what thou wouldst not give to Porter From Northern soyl I lately came With Horses two of mine one Lame But when I came to house of state Where quondam fled his Grace in Plate Expecting after journey scurvey Solace I found all topsie turvy New Orders bid me thence away The people grumble they want pay And now like wandring Knights we wend Without a penny or a friend Our score growes great from whence we goe And every Alehouse turn'd a foe These give their friends intelligence That we are coming without pence And those we feare will shut the door At wandring Prince when known so poor However we march on to morrow And here and there small summes we borrow Judge if thy Muse could soar so high When pinion 's clip'd what Bird can fly No no good Wine and ease I 'm barr'd of Which makes my Muse to come so hard off And hearing fellowes nine in London Get cash carouse while I am undon While not one Captaine here will tarry But John with Horse of Commissary And here he spends his time and pence Without a hope of recompence And scarce sees friends but such as grutch him If he have coyn they none they catch him With that old beaten trodden way Jack canst thou lend till next pay day Till now at length my pocket 's grown Like Nest defil'd when Bird is flown Judge from such stories if you can Expect a Muse from any man Yet have I still respects from them Who weekly think upon J. M. To noble Kenelm say I drink And unto Lord of Downe I thinke The day when Janus with face double Looks on the pass'd and coming trouble The first day ever rich or poor Wrote forty yeares and one before The House the Talbot Corney Host My liquor now but Ale and Tost In answer to this last or some such like Letter WHy seeks my friend so vain excuse For the long silence of his Muse As if her faculty were worse Because joyn'd with an empty purse Lines may accrew although the pence That use to purchase Influence From constellation of Corney Be fewer then will fee Attorney Thou knowst that Vacuus cantabit Ther 's Latin for thee though but a bit Sing then and le ts be free from blame Thy Verse is fat though horse be lame Seest thou not Ovid Homer Virgil With Muse more needy John then your Gill Indite things high and rest the Ivie From wealthy Tacitus and Livie From Cicero that wrote in Prose So call'd from Rouncival on 's Nose For though 't was hid till now of late Yet 't is a truth as firme as fate That Poets when their Money scants Are oft inspired by their wants Want makes them rage and rage Poetick Makes Muse and Muse makes work for Critick As for thy pocket which thou say'st Is like to a defiled Nest A Nest that is of all bereft Save what the Cat in Maulthouse left There is a Proverb to thy comfort Known as the ready way to Rumford That when the pot ore fire you heat A Lowse is better then no meat So in your Pocket by your favour Something you know will have some savour But soft the word is now come forth We all must pack into the North When minde of Man was set to play And riding Boot lay out of th' way We were commanded in a Minute To journey base the Devil 's in it For now I have no more minde to 't Then is an Apple like a Nut Yet look I must for riding tackle In corners of my Tabernacle And look as men for slanders heark Or one that gropes in privy darke So must I search with fear of minde And seek for what I would not finde Had I two faces like to Janus A Month that now hath overtane us With one of them I 'le smile in Town While tother 'mong my foes did frown But wishes help not nor can with Hold from embracing thee James Smith Long Aker from the Angel Tavern Two hundred miles from head of Severn Where for my shillings