Selected quad for the lemma: cause_n

Word A Word B Word C Word D Occurrence Frequency Band MI MI Band Prominent
cause_n death_n die_v sin_n 7,620 5 5.8816 4 true
View all documents for the selected quad

Text snippets containing the quad

ID Title Author Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication) STC Words Pages
A41818 Gratiae theatrales, or, A choice ternary of English plays composed upon especial occasions by several ingenious persons. T. W., fl. 1662. Thorny-abbey.; Watson, Thomas, d. 1686. 1662 (1662) Wing G1580; ESTC R26436 30,642 73

There is 1 snippet containing the selected quad. | View lemmatised text

King Here on this humble ground lies he That once was King of this vast Monarchy Alas What are we Kings what 's Majesty But like a flattring glass that shews forth pride And with one stripe of all destroying death Is past to nothing lookes that face now Like to a brow that did command a Kingdome Thus pale and bloodless was this the head That wore the golden wreath thus groveld all with earth Take up the body and let it have a second buriall And layd within the sepulchers of Kings Our self will take our way And make a progress to establish Laws That this our Land Iustice may rule so even Our life may be acceptable to heaven E●eu●● Enter Chorus The body being intomb'd King Edmund takes A progress through the Realm to establish Laws Himself in Iudgment Sits to hear mens cause Five years he spent mean time what cares befell Unto his Love the Nun of Holy-well And her affection'd Father now behold What 's done in shew I shall in words unfould A dumb shew Enter Thorny with Cittizens giving them large summes of money shewing them the money desires them to see his building goe forward takes his leave with a deaths head in his hand goes into the tombe Second dumbe shew Enter one way Edmund Wiltshire Bishop Lutius at the other Woodford and the Child he kneeles delivers to the King a Letter and a Ring he reads the Letter and smiles blesses the Child and gives it to Wiltshire the King and Bishop departes to see Anne Chorus Old Thorny thus o're grown with misery Who never more would see his vertuous Child But in a plot of ground a mile from London Builds up a tombe where night and day he lives His goods are sold and to the poor he gives Large sommes of money and takes a solem● oath Of those his friends and worthy Cittizens Fast by his tombe to build a famous Abbey And with three hundred work men dayly plied To have it finisht ere old Thorny died This done the King returned back to London And faithfull Woodford watching a fit time Presents him with a Letter and a Ring His long forsaken love had sent to him Which read the King wi●h much astonishmen● Remembers her and doth with teares express How much he blames his much forgetfulness Vowing to see her presents to him his Son Being grown to years of some d●scretion Which the King gladly takes and smiles on him What now shall follow with your gratious favour We humbly beg attention to the end And if we fail to please we 'le strive to mend Exit Ent. Old Thorny in his tombe Oh brightsome day thus low poor Thorny bows To strive with briny teares thy gladsome light Whose hopes have shut him up in darksome night Here in this tombe sequestred from the world Will Thorny spend his life and with my nayls To dig my grave and in this glass to see And view the end of all mortality Court-pomp and Citty pride look look on this And teach your souls the way to happiness ●oor flesh and blood is this the face of man After the worlds sad separation Must all return to this oh London London Thy flattery and guile Has bin the cause that I my self exil'd By Servants sorrow and Daughters sin I will behold thy populous streets no more Nor breath in thee nor surfet in thy store Here in my grave I 'le live and learn to dye That after death my Soul to Heav'n may fly Enter Lobster 'T is a fine world when a man must call a man Out of his grave to eat vittles They talke of watching of a dead corse I am Sure I have watcht a quick one this Month and brought him meat so long That I am almost starv'd my self I have brought him a clean shirt I would he would shift himself I found a lowse about him as big as The top of my thumb I thought as much He 's talking with that same casts head still Sure 't is a Lawyers head he Findes so much talke wi●h it it is not abel to Answer a wise word I am so hungry My guts are allmost clung together Mr pray will you leave your prating To that Memento mori and go to break-feast Thorn No set it down I have no mind of meat Till we have thankfull bin we should not eat Lobst Will you say grace and if you 'le wash your hands I 'le fetch some water Thor. Oh vanity of fooles hast thou thus long Bin my carefull contemplation And learn'st thou nothing yet look on this hea● This careless skull had flesh and blood And all like this must meet deformity What swearer sees this moth does not tremble Oh man how vain art thou that speakest th● labours For one bewitching minute of this world And after all thy joys to hell be hurld Lobst I would I were at the heaven of my vittals I 'de talke of hell afterward Thorn Hast thou no abstinence for pious work● Lobst There 's a piece of pye I would faine be at it Will you eat that and leave talking to that Test● de morte Thorn Go call my friends that over see my work Bid them come speak with me and then I 'le eat Lobst I will Sir but I 'le take away the provant Least they oversee that you see over Ent. 2 Cittizens My Master would speak with you 1 Citt. All haile to you Sir Thor. All are alike to me storm hayl or snow I take them thankfully You two were sworn overseers and performers of my will Tell me how goes the Abbey forward 2 Citt. 'T is allmost finisht Sir Thorn When it is finisht I 'le have it dedicated Unto the Monks of St Benedict's Order And since I have no child to keep my fame ●e call it Thorny-Abbey by my name 1 Cit. We shall perform your charge good Sir for pitty At least remember your most wretched daughter Thorn You tear my heart when you but mention her Were every penny that is mine a pound And the least part of it given for her dowry Would raise her to the Title of a Queen She never should possess it Her soul sin Hath brought myne age with sorrow to the grave 2 Citt. Poor soul she spends her hours in a reclusive life With holy Nunnes and lives a votarist in Holy-well That comfort Sir should somewhat ease your grief Thorn It does it does and draws down tears to hear it Give her a constant heart oh powerfull heavenl Still to perseve●e in that pious end And as a signe that I forgive so she continues firme Bear her this blessed token sent from me A Fathers gift and charge her carefully To look upon this head and there select Reasons to answer all the Arguments Of flesh and blood there she shall see The perfect way to find eternity And so for ever may your soules be blest Whilst from the world and you I thus take rest Exit Lob. Are they gone then Lobster lay abou● thee