Selected quad for the lemma: cause_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
cause_n	great_a	let_v	lord_n	2,934	5	3.6705	3	true

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A42738	Thrēnodē, or Englands passing-bell	Gilbert, Thomas, 1613-1694.; Sherburne, Edward, Sir, 1618-1702.; Wild, Robert, 1609-1679.	1679 (1679)	Wing G723; ESTC R30410	15,121	27

woful Relicts of thy Sacrifice Would God say they our dearest blood had run In those dear veins from which our blood begun Then had we been as happy as the dead And ne're have pin'd for lack of daily bread Ah me methink with grief and shame I see The hostile rage of the proud enemy Insulting on our shores who durst not peep Had they not found us in so dead a sleep Then might Philistims with advantage come When Sampson's shorn and lull'd with Opium Oh! then who could but rent his heart to see Our Glory led into captivity Those floating Eulwarks and of Royal race The envy of the world that ne're gave place To a superiour nor could e're be mated By those of whom they were both fear'd and hated That like a thunder brake the thickest clouds Of bold assaults and scatter'd all the crouds Of martial force that could command their way And dash their foes like pots of glass or clay With what reproach and ignominious boasts Led they their captive prey to foreign coasts Then farewell Royal Charles yet this shall be Our joy and triumph still that here is He By whose great name th' rt call'd let Shadows go The substance being come sith't must be so Might here my sorrows end I 'd ne're lament As one undone but ah my Fate is bent To rack my guilty bones and to devise New methods that her fury may comprize All the sad stories of the Ages past As though this scene were to us both the last From Plague and Sword my mournful eyes I roul On that amazing mirrour which my soul So trembles to behold my Strength my Crown My Hope my Magazeen which now was grown From Troy novant to Troy le grand is now My Troy l'extinct thus must the mighty bow When God will humble them and lick the dust When once he smites for sure this God is just But Oh! th' unhappy day that dawn'd in Flames Flames that contemned all the floods of Thames What! could no Engins art nor power prevail Were Samson's Foxes turned tayl to tayl 'T was some strange God no doubt that should require So chargeable an Offering made by fire London and Sodom may sit down together And now condole the Ashes of each other For sin they perisht both and both by Fire But here 's the odds Efficients did conspire In different methods that from Heaven came This from beneath a black and hellish flame A spark of Faux's Cell infernal coals Matur'd for service in some Stygian holes How did the hungry flames devour their prey And lick up stones like straw and force their way Through all obstructions Nature Art or Might Had rais'd to check their desolating flight With what stupendious terrour did they roul From street to street disdaining all controul As though the lungs of wide-mouth'd Aeolus Had been in sacred Oath to drive them thus What horrour think you what distractions then Seiz'd on the heart of our poor Citizen What bitter cries complaints and lamentations While some bewail their own loss some the Nations Some die for very grief and others curse The late indulgence of a faithful Nurse Alas no tongue nor pen can e're express The Hurries Hazards and the sad distress Was ever grief like mine Deeps call to Deeps And what one Judgment spares the second sweeps This Scald I doubt I shall bear in my face Unto my grave with grief and sore disgrace And now if Plague and Sword and Fire wont do To melt the heart and let the captive go I dread the thoughts of some impendent scourge More like to be a Poyson than a Purge Good God! avert whatever it may be Avenge not on us our Iniquitie Sin has gone big but ah we knew it not She 's now in Travel and her reckonings out The fore springs come which threatens what may be The Birth if God permit Deliverie Lord strangle thou the Monster in the womb And let the Mothers bowels be its Tomb. But if my wandring Muse should chance to fly Within the compass of that Royal eye Whose very Aspect gives her life or death And for whose sake this Die she ventureth She will confess 't is bold to soar so high To trip on Crowns the beams of Majesty May shine too hot for such Icarian wings And melt the Copper of her feeble strings She has no wanton nor prestigious Lyricks To fawn on Kings with flattering Panegyricks But her true loyal heart she 'l ne're betray Though she can't vent it in the Courtiers way Nor will she e're bethink her sworn Allegiance Or boggle at her duty of obedience Although the Persians have contriv'd their snare And made it criminal if found at Prayer Pardon dread Sov'raign if some rambling fit Transport her honest zeal and so commit A sin Poetical Her Pegasus Is Saddle-gall'd and therefore hobbles thus She gads eccentrick hence it is she hovers On every Pinacle that hope discovers Under these gracious wings my Dove may find Protection if propitiously inclin'd I hate those Tongues whose morsels make them loyal To serve their Int'rest on the Favour Royal. I only wish their Lips may never shew Those bloody Teeth that just within them grow Nor that those Hooded Moths may ever sit So near the Crown as to dishonour it I 'le ever pray the King may know his Friends And fully understand his Flatterers ends The Kingdom groans although her King be come Why what 's the matter sure he 's welcome home Alas she 's sick and of some strange disease Which neither Kings nor Parliaments can ease Until that God whom th' Athiest doth contemn Do purge the Blood of our Ierusalem I 'le say no more here but God save the King From whom or whatsoe're may mischief bring And what if I let loose my scribling Fancy To give a piece of her poor Chronomancie Unto her Honourable Senate who If God incline their hearts great things may do O Sirs ye are our wise Physicians and Ye have the sickest Nation now in hand That e're had men The first step to a cure Is to know the cause of what we do endure The cause is complicated both in Civil And Spiritual respects a twisted evil Deep Labyrinths we 're in our strong foundations Do shake and tremble dismal Desolations Seem to attend us Lord avert this cup And let thy bloody En'mies drink it up Ye 're our Physicians Sirs Oh! cast the state Of your sick Patient and prevent that Fate Her Enemies threaten and her fears suggest And all Posterities shall call you blest O cast abroad your wise and prudent eyes And pity pity England's miseries Let not the Canaanite reproach and laugh To see us breaking of that Golden staff On our own Shoulders which might else have been Our Rod to rule and reins to hold them in Our costly Pills indeed have purg'd the Purse But our disease is growing worse and worse Poor England's hour is come a Trinitie Of wrestling Int'rests in her bowels