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

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A68543	Death repeal'd by a thankfull memoriall sent from Christ-Church in Oxford celebrating the noble deserts of the Right Honourable, Paule, late Lord Vis-count Bayning of Sudbury. Who changed his earthly honours Iune the 11. 1638.	Christ Church (University of Oxford)	1638 (1638)	STC 19042; ESTC S113861	19,163	56

are his Legacies poore-mens present teares Or doe they for the future raise their feares No such contrivance here as to professe Bounty and with Large Miseries feed the Lesse Fat some with their owne almes bestow and pill And Common Hungers with Great Famines fill Making an Hundred Wretches endow Tenne Taking the Field and giving a Sheafe then As Robbers whom they spoile perhaps will lend Small summes to helpe them to their journey's end All was untainted here and th' Author such That every gift from Him grew twice as much We who erewhile did boast his presence doe Now boast a second grace his bounty too Bounty was judgment here for he bestowes Not who disperseth but who giues and knowes And what more wise designe then to renew And dresse the brest from which he knowledge drew Thus pious men ere their departure first Would crown the fountain which had quencht their thirst Hence strive we all his memory to engrosse Our Common Love before but now Our Losse W. CARTWRIGHT of Ch. Ch. Vpon the Death of the Right Honourable the Lord Viscount BAYNING O Had He been at Rome again for there The Mercy of his Sicknesse did him spare Acknowledging this Law that 't is but just The place which gave him breath should make him dust That as we have a Native soile so we Ought not to beare Forreine Mortality Though He was only distant then from 's grave Some store of Miles not Years and we can have No worse then Absence whether in the Tombe He lye or in a Climate live from home Yet had He been though from our selves remov'd To any distance if from death bestow'd We would have buried Envy bin content His presence was to any people lent Bin glad some time was still to come though small And could not long rejourne his funerall Death now came Hasty on him and so quick He searce had leave or time for to grow sick But dy'd almost in Health and you may please To call his very life his chiefe disease The Vrne may triumph that the fatall dart Hath wonne the spoile alone without the Art Or learned help of Physick not a Graine Or curious scruple from the Doctortane Made up a skilfull wound but he did dye By the rude stroke of plain Mortality Which was not give●…●…en his haire turn'd frost And wore the colour which his Ashes must When all his Youth and Beauty were so spent That Age had made him his own Monument When it might be Humanity to kill And the most deadly Drug might proue good-will But in a Spring of fresh and active Blood When there was nothing old in Him but Good He had Graie vertues and by view of 's mind Not yeares he was so soon to heaven design'd He who saw that could see He liv'd his Age Of fourescore made his Race a Pilgrimage And still he lives and from his latest night Breaks out unto the world a glorious light Getting this conquest over death that He Was snatch'd away in 's Liberality In 's Piety to build and care to frame Such sumptuous Trophies as will save his name Had he one vacant houre from Bounty spent And in that houre unto his grave been sent 'T had been lesse glory to his Fall to dye Iust in the sleeping of his Charity But to be caught in Good in Vertue strook Made him Triumphant ere He earth forsook So did the stout Athenian stand in Death Rearing his Statue while he lost his Breath I. MAPPLET of Ch. Ch. To the memory of the Honourable Lord BAYNING FOrbeare yee whining Wits to rayle at Fate In viler termes then Scolds at Billings-gate Nor brand poore Death with baser Epithites Then Textor has when of the Divell he writes All such ill-sounding Dirges yee can have Are but as Mandrakes planted on his grave Your teares are now ridiculous were I A Poet I would write Deaths Elogie Shee here was just and courteous Suppole We should in Ianuary see a Rose Full blown would we not pull 't and think it worth Myriads of those that May or Iune brings forth This early fruitfull Flowre being ripe i' th' Spring Was a fit Present for our Soveraigns King Should shee have left it for the Summers Fly Or Autumn's Worme 't had been ill huswifery Shee cropt it suddenly and was as nice In killing Him as Priests a Sacrifice Lest any bruise should happen 't was her strife To cut and not saw off his thread of life Shee knew he was prepar'd and therefore sent No Gout to tell him that he must repent A tedious sicknesse had his Friends more greiv'd He then had longer died not longer liv'd We judge a Keeper dull and hard of heart That wounds the timorous Dear in every part He doth in Skill and Courtesy excell That kills not hurts and makes his Prey die Well Deaths quicker blow did then no injury But that it hindred Doctors of a Fee There 's none will curse a winde cause it doth send Their ship too soon unto the journies end Doe any Trav'lers think their Horses sinne Vnlesse they bring them Late unto their Inne He now a Voyage took He that did goe To France and Rome must needs see Heaven too What would you say of him that went about To see all England and left London out 'T was for His Glory that He died so soon Should He have lingred till his after-noon We had suspected Him of grosser blood By short continuance we judge things Good A fine pure silken vesture cannot weare So long as garments weav'd of hemp or hayre By this his early fall He did present The Gods with a perfume of sweeter sent Tapers that burne and languish 'till they come To th' socket leave ill odours in the roome Lords count it a disparagement if they Should not have suits which seem new every day Had it not injur'd his high Soule to weare His Body till the flesh had look'd thred-bare Seeing he died so Young it may be said That he 's transplanted rather then decay'd By his fresh looks and his faire youthfull chin We may believe he 's made a Cherubin Those then that wet his Hearse and vainly Cry Not Mourne but Pine at His Eternity Envy that here still follow'd Him is made After His death the shadow of His shade Whil'st others studied how to loose their time Thinking that Logick would their Birth beslime As if it were Gentile not to Dispute It was his chief ambition to confute Who not alone aym'd to deserve his Grace But seem'd by paines to wish a Students place Though Heralds did to Him great Names afford He heard Sir BAYNING sooner then My Lord. Lest the proud noise of Titles might beginne Thoughts that might swell His Plenty into sinne Arts and Religion gnarded them He knew His Fortunes were but Crimes without these two And in a noble scorne disdain'd to spell The Lord i th' Scutchion more then Chronicle His Pride was to be Eloquent and Able As is Our Dorset at