Selected quad for the lemma: cause_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
cause_n	good_a	just_a	law_n	2,761	5	4.7834	4	true

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A36056	Directions to fame, about an elegy on the late deceased Thomas Thynn, Esq. and an eulogy on other most famous English worthies / by an unknown author.	Unknown author.	1682 (1682)	Wing D1538; ESTC R11506	8,528	36

Mausolus Tomb Or Aegypts Piramids I 'le stand their Doom Were cry'd-up Dryden Judge I need not care Here 's not vile stuff nor Counterfeited ware Us'd this Triumphant Pillar for to rear Such leave to him who with false weights of late The Medal weigh'd that when he would create Some guilded Fop into a Man of State He may have where-withal the doughty piece To deck and so fetch home the Golden Fleece What matter is' t how little Truth be writ So that there be the Varnish of some wit And yellow Boys have soundly paid for it These charmers make his Sp'rit of Poetry come So Peter-Pence can Bless or Curse from Rome Small Honesty less Truth and little wit For some mens Fame will make a Poet fit Out of no worth great praises to create And then an Hero make not made by Fate Deed great enough for Poet Lawreate But if in Helicon these be the Laws Apollo makes who would espouse his Cause Who but a true Conformist in all ways To what is uppermost through all his days Let no man envy then the Poet's Bayes Who that he might not a Dissenter prove Seems by his Acts resolv'd to fall in Love With this loose Age's Vices Whoring Drinking Lewd Railing Scribling much and little thinking With Huffing Roaring Ranting Damning Sinking But let him like his fancy'd Froggs croak on And ' stead of Medals write Sedition Until by his own croaking sound and ta'ne He live a Slave to some proud Tory Crane And for him then small Panegyricks frame So now to 's Frog-like croaking leave him Fame The generous Eagle scorns so mean a Game And let 's return to our great Man of Name To whom this Pillar of choice Stones prepar'd To future Ages lasting thou hast rear'd 'T is Marble true that stands both Wind and Weather Tho Rain Hail Snow in Storms come all together Now Fame thy utmost aid I do Implore To fill each Isle each Creek each Nook each Shore With Shaftsbury's great Name What can'st thou more O're Hills o're Dales o're Desart Plains it sound And when it shall have past the whole VVorld round Let it 's loud Eccho back to us rebound His Seconds Howard Grey and Cav'ndish Name And not forget some other Nobles Fame Kent Essex Wharton Lovelace Buckingham With Salisbury and other Famous Lords Whose Names and Merits swell up thy Records Fam'd Patriots not in late Poets sense As those who would by Law supplant their Prince But such whose wishes are to have Charles Great That He might ever fill his Fathers Seat With as great Lustre Majesty and Honour As fit it is to ask of the Great Donor Hold now retire to fetch more breath and then Sound forth our Commons true Old English Men Who would not sell their Country's Right for Gold Their names their worth their number should be told Couldst thou but promise me thy breath would hold However sound in gen'ral their Renown They are well known in Country and in Town In the next place to wish who can forbear The praise of Old and of New Shrieves to hear In London fam'd Triumphant Sound this clear Fam'd Bethel Cornish Pilkington and Shute Men of Great Souls great Worth and great Repute Whom Favour could not bribe nor fear compel Their Priviledge to betray nor Birth-right sell The Glories of our English Israel VVho in the Breach ' gainst all Opposers stand The City's Bulwark Safe-guard of the Land Under Our Faith's Defender whom we find His Subjects to protect by Law inclin'd Who as their own espouse their Country's Cause And would not Juries pack to wrest the Laws Tho' Hackney-Pens should Innocence defame False Plots against good Patriots could Frame And Irish Evidence would Swear the same Yet these brave Men would highly scorn to Joyn Against Just Right and second their design Tho' other Pow'rs against them should Combine They fear not great Mens Threats nor Mulct nor Fine Let nemies reproach ill Tongues revile By basest Acts by Bribes by Fraud and Guile Condemn the Innocent the Guilty quit And make Law speak Just as they would have it Then ring the Bells and Huzza-Healths drink round Undaunted Shrieves shall always stand their ground And be in spight of Malice Honest found The Country shall them laud the City Sing Of their high praise how Loyal to their King How great how good how faithful to the State See Fame that thou to all do this relate Lift up thy Voice and thy whole force unite Sound and resound their praise with all thy might Let all the Eccho of thy Trumpet hear In London and all Places far and near That to their Merit all may Trophees rear Another blast make of Great London's Glory So Fam'd in Antient and in Modern Story London that Planet fix't which doth dispence All o're the Nation its grand Influence But pass not o're the good Lord Mayors Show For some were good and some were bad we know Good Mens great Deeds sound forth as faithful true Slight such whose Actions say they slighted you Hold here Refrain Take breath and so return To the great Thynn for whom we now must moum Thy Trumpet veil in Cypress as 't is due And put on Mourning Weeds of sable Hue. But first let 's hear thee make a doleful Tone Most lively to express a dying Grone The City sighs Friends cry and Countries mone Hold there and stop What Marble can forbear For Thynn's untimely Death to drop a tear Unto his Memory Thousands are to small A Tribute to be paid Let 's pay him all Hold hold least that the Sluces of our Eyes Pull'd up so great a Deluge should arise The Cataracts being open as to drown All places near in Country and in Town So great his Merit was such his Renown Or grief renew'd our hearts should faster bleed Than he who suffered or who did the deed In Mourning clad see that thou next refound In Heaven in Earth and Regions under ground Great Thynn's sad Murther in a mournful tone Enough to make the Worlds Foundation grone Above below and in each dead Mans Cell Of Thynn's fate let thy Trumpets Eccho tell Now here leave off a space to get more breath That thou may'st sound more loud the great Thynn's Death But then involve in dark obscurity The Actors of this direful Tragedy Let their 's be the perpetual Infamy Of these Mens horrid Names no mention make Let them sink deep as Lead in Lethe Lake Let their Memorials fret like canker'd rust And perish in the Earths oblivious dust That fatal shot by which great Thynn did dye May ever serve to blast their Memory When these base strangers to his Coach drew near How little did he his own Murther fear Of such a treacherous Act who thought to hear Three Men to come well arm'd what valiant skill Shew'd it one single Man unarm'd to kill But such we find was the design'd intent To shoot to kill to fly 't was this was meant For this were these vile Murd'rers hir'd and sent And with too great success alass Who is' t can choose but weep But now refrain We must and from our griefs some respite gain These Murderers to seek Here sound Thynn's Friend Great Monmouth who prov'd so unto his end Unto his Diligence sound praises due The Murder to Revenge Friendship most true A dying Friend's curst Murd'rers to pursue Just his Resentments Laudable his Zeal Those to detect who friendships common-weal Strove to destroy who would a Sacrifice Of all that 's good make to their Avarice Stop here a while and next sound forth the sence We all should have of a just Providence That when themselves secure the Murd'rers thought They were found out and unto Justice brought Next Carols loudly sound to Charles the good So careful to Revenge his Subjects blood He would not favour grant nor pardon give But was resolv'd that they should Dye or Live As Law requir'd as Justice did Command So may Great Charles for ever Rule the Land A little pause and then to all Men sound What punishment these base offenders found How the three Actors in this Tragedy Were doom'd to Death and by the Rope did dye As for the Principal he 's not thought clear Tho' some him quitted Sound this far and near What must thy next blast be Stay take some breath How doleful is' t to think of great Thynn's Death But sadder then still to hear the doleful sound The great Thynn's Corps is putting under ground However order keep Publish his Dath Thynn Thynn Thynn sound thrice and so take breath Thynn's Dead and to be buried Doleful story What 's now become of all this great Mans Glory His sad Fate tell 's us all is Transitory Next sound the Funeral Pomp sad Obsequies Badges as great of grief as Elegies The Streamers Scutch'ons and black Mourners throng With silence how profound all past along The Mournful Grandeure and the solemn State Wherein the Corps as was decreed by Fate Was carried to the Abbey Next resound How great Thynn's Corps they laid in Sacred Ground Then make one blast of the great Monument Which we do trust it is his Friends intent In Westminster soon to erect a shrine Fit to contain Thynn's Reliques most Divine While we do hope from Earth is fled his Soul His better part and far above the Pole Being mounted happy is and fully blest From Toyl Grief Trouble Eternally to rest Thus I direct thee for Thynn's Elegy To sound his just praise to Eternity Next I direct Thee Fame thy Voice to raise And Trumpet forth those English Worthies praise Whose Names so precious are in these our days Throughout their Lives may Honour them attend And their Immortal Glory know no end Mine is the wish thou Daughter of the Sphere Thine is the Part to sound them far and near Sum up their praises all in one long blast Ten Hundred Thousand Ages for to last And sound them forth while I Thynn's Mournful Herse The most that I can do deck with this Verse Here Lies Great Thynn Gentile in Birth no Lord Yet more by us than some such Names Ador'd His Country ask if you would know his Life If of his Death go ask his unkind Wife FINIS

's the Man-of Sense Who him preserv'd by his Intelligence Who dar'd to own tho' secretly his Cause For which he must by the Vsurper's Laws Assuredly have dy'd had it been known And for the Kings Life sav'd have lost his own But two Stones more this Pillar up to raise May serve a lasting Trophy to his praise By parts and Vertue from Gentility To be rais'd up unto Nobility Is not unusual or a thing so rare But that in Story Instances there are But for a Subject to have on him thrown From King and Country's Enemies and his own The utmost of their Spleen Wrath Malice Rage How rare scarce such an Instance in an Age. How great 's that Man whose very Enemies Would lavish for his Life so great a prize As Credit Honour Bodies Souls Estate So he might fall a Victim to their hate And why such hate to the Great Shaftsbury 'T is plain they are afraid our Liberty They shall not be inabled to destroy As long ' as Charles and He their Lives Enjoy One great Stone more can we but now procure 'T will be enough and if of Signature Royal so much the better still Come Fame Search thy Records turn unto Shaftsbury's Name Know'st not where ' t is Search one of th' highest Rooms Within thy Temple ' mongst the Great Mens dooms There there Turn o're the Leaves of that great Book And for the Name in Capital Letters look Hast found it Well! What stands there on Record What 's the report thou mad'st of the King's Word What did Great Charles say of this Noble Lord Speak boldly Shaftsbury Me out would bring When I am into Trouble brought What thing Can greater be than thus t' oblige a King Are these the very words I 'm sure the sence Is not mistook if true th' Intelligence Fly then ye Slanderers from Pulpit Court From Church from State thither no more resort Go to go to ye States-men that pretend The Government but Tinker-like to mend One hole to stop but two ten twenty make who 'l this for Policy Craft or Prudence take To praise your little selves some scribling Pen Gold Ore can hire and dispraise greater Men. Much of that Authors Rate who lately writ Of Absalom and Achitophel's great wit How easy 't is nor is' t a thing so rare For Poets to cry up when they compare A Pigmy Mushroom to a great Man's Name And that 's the Poet's not his Hero's Fame He who can bring Eclipses on the Stage His Muse can suit to this and the last Age Can his Play 's Epilogues so dext'rous make As for his Prologues some may them mistake And with more readiness his Prologues turn To Epilogues than for 's Religion burn How easily these Hero's of his Pen Of Mushrooms may he fancy into Men The sooner if by Sonnets he did more Than Pious Priests could ever do before And to Religion turn'd his own dear Whore So rare an Art perchance might fill his Mind With Thoughts unfitting much above his Kind And make him think 't was easie for his Verse Heroes to raise and whom he pleas'd depress He who out of the Quagmire of his Brain Could start up David's Harp to Charles's Wain With how great Ease even as the Maggot works He may Christians fancy Pagans Jews or Turks His Hackney-Muse for some great Dame might pass Would we but view her Face in the false Glass Of his own Fancy But since she rode Post Old Noll because Victorious to accost And still perhaps for Gold would court his Ghost What can we think her but a Prostitute Who doth to change her Self so often suit No wonder then that she doth represent Men from themselves and Truth quite different So in the Jaundice oft things Yellow shew And from false Opticks Species false do flow But when State-storms shall wipe these Colours off How mean she 'll look beneath each Foot-Boys Scoff Then Priest-craft might the Poet please again Instead of Rhiming Plays the Country-Swain Doctrine to teach and use with Application Enough to ravish the whole Rhiming Nation Then might the Bays become Canonical And Lawrel grow upon the Churches Wall How pretty would it be to see Apollo To hasten thither and his long Train follow Of Poets Poetasters and the Muses How would they hearken to the Poet 's Uses To see fair Chloris and the lovely Philis The Shepherd Damon the sweet Amaryllis With her Amintor come in hand and hand And to the preaching Poet listening stand How rare would this be Oh the blessed Time To hear the Bells Poetick Musick chime And then the Sermon too might be in Rhime To see the Garlands hanging and the VVreaths The Pulpit stuck with Bays from whence he breaths Soft gentle VVhispers on the Rhimers under And then the Cushion Thumps and so does thunder In sharp Reproofes Corrects their Poetry Shews where their mounting fancy soars too high And where their humble muse too low doth fly And then like Learned Preacher makes Digression With little wit less shame and no Discretion Our great Men's Lives to satyrize pretends And so with railing ' stead of Blessing ends How soon would then drink-Water Poets shun Parnassus and unto his Sermon Run How well this Priest would sute unto his Nun Should he take that time to preach up the Pope And Christen Bells but then beware the Rope For such bold prancks would hardly scape the Laws Nought then would serve to prop his tottering cause His Holy Water though drawn from the stream That gently flows from the fain'd Hipparene Would not the devil-a-Beadle keep away Nor thunder from the Lawrel nor from Bay The Lightning while the Amorous David lives And to Religions Laws full vigour gives Whilst Noble Shaftsbury stands Armour proof Let Weather rise or winds blow ne're so rough So solid is his Truth his Loyalty It needs no Art its worth to magnifie Muchless can Hackney-Pens it Vilify What think'st now Fame where some great Architect Shall we procure this Pillar to Erect The grand Materials thou seest ready there Where 's then the Master-Builder it to rear But now I think we need not so much care For Tools or Workmen the Stones ready are What matter is' t tho' they be roughly hewn The solid firmness will be better shewn The Work commends th' Artificer not the Stone That pleases most which is most natural These Stones then cast together as they fall So let them lye they cannot fall amiss That Truth is best which plain and artless is Who e're a lasting Trophy would erect Materials good and sound he doth expect Not Tinsel ware guilt o're when nought lies under But base vile trash this ne're will make a wonder Fam'd Artless Stonehenge on the Wiltshire-plains Is more admir'd among the Western Swains Than the carv'd Heads how'ere so natural Which they at Christmass see in Landlords Hall Unto the Learned likewise I appeal Whether of Nature this doth not reveal More and of wonder than