Selected quad for the lemma: death_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
death_n	admire_v	fame_n	great_a	48	3	2.1033	3	false

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A66559	Cheerfull ayres or ballads first composed for one single voice, and since set for three voices / by John Wilson ...; Cheerfull ayres or ballads	Wilson, John, 1595-1674.; Johnson, Robert, ca. 1583-1633.; Lanier, Nicholas, 1588-1666.	1660 (1660)	Wing W2908; ESTC R207813	17,468	156

fill Could he but revel't in thy Ayre One houre he 'd sweare thy soul is there Thou 'lt tempt take but thy Lute in hand Euridice againe to Land Who Ravisht with one carelesse glance May safely venture t'other dance On fatall Serpents lul'd in th' armes Of thy soft notes they 'l need no charmes Labour but on thy strings they 'l throng Themselves into a Swans last song Where every note will ring the knell Of some dead baffled Philomel E. D. ex AE de Christi On that incomparable Master of Musick Dr WILSON SIR such in sounds your skill 's that while you 're here Oxfords not only Englands eye but Eare So at a shake of yours our passions flow As if you reacht our Heartstrings with your Bow Touch your Theorboe and round all our souls Like Unisons the restlesse Quaver rouls Your * Schoole did never so deserve its name As since your ravishing Rhetorick thither came No lofty style like Ela can command No Figures like the postures of your Hand How have I seen souls melting through the Eyes Ears chaind tongues silent at your Melodies Like Orpheus Rivers Beasts Stones Birds you move When Tears wrath Fiercenesse and Winged Love Follow your Tunes such Majesty attends Your strokes that Law comes from your Fingers ends The Spartans Musick made them fight die Your's would have made them to graspe Victorie No wonder then if Poets find their Feet When with such all Commanding notes they meet Praise is an Echo to good deeds then fit It is good Musick should have most of it A. C. To his honoured Friend Dr JOHN WILSON upon his most excellent Book of Ayres LEnd my Muse wings and with them I will dare To soare aloft in your much clearer Ayre Where your harmonious sphere is known to move With sweeter Accents then those doe above Did now Promethius live hee 'd find a way Not only for to animate meere Clay Hee d aske for pure Ayre not for Jove's fire That he might some harmonious soules inspire Musick 's compleatest parts you here have set Only that wee might find them more compleat Toth' envy of our Nation here you shew Musicks perfection perfected by you To the great Master of Musick Dr J. WILSON upon his most excellent Book of Ayres THe soul 's a Symphony Th' harmonious blast The perfect Ayre of the great Protoplast No wonder then if thy Diviner Note Betrày my soul make mine invention dote Stir'd by thy Musick from each melting string Didst thou not Cheat me of my soule I 'de sing I 'de Praise thy Vertues but thy sweetest Quire Bids me give audience only and Admire Each stroake speaks WILSON and whoever plays Sings a new Anthem to his lasting praise 'T is WILSON speakes each neatly warbled straine Is but the Echo of th' inventors braine Not Death nor Time can e're eclipse thy Fame While each string from thy Book thus sounds thy Name Ne're feare Oblivion then Thy Glory shall Know none but what 's the worlds great Funerall N. M. To my honoured Friend JOHN WILSON Doctor of Musick on his excellent Book of Ayres AS Friends do meet whom nobler love hath joyn'd And made though sev'rall bodies yet one mind Who count themselves to live not 'cause they move And have a being but because they love Who when they view think all their soules i' th' eye Or if they touch think it i' th' hand to lye So doe I meet your Ayres they have the art Of drawing all my soule into that part Which they affect and if I chance to heare Them strook am forc'd to wish my selfe all eare I doe not wonder that the King did * call WILSON ther 's more words let 's heare them all Such was your skill that what the rest o' th' Court Perhaps thought long Judicious eares thought short Excellent Artist whose sweet straines devoure Time swift as they and make dayes seem an houre But what need more since 't is enough to tell But this King Charles hath heard and lik'd them well J. H. O. C. To that Excellent Musitian the AUTHOR 'T IS well the Musick of the rowling Sphaeres Doth not arive to prepossesse our eares That they may entertaine thy Nobler Layes Which might embody'd Angels charme and raise Woods into Trances Let none that at least Hath not a Siren Templ'd in his breast Pollute thy songs And in whose every note A Quire of Muses playes about his throat That may call out the soule and make it run In a Triumphant Chariot 'bove the Sun Could others but discerne that Golden vaine Of Art those Graces that breath in each straine Of thy composures then they might know what In part to judge o th' Learned travaile that Teaches thy notes to command Raptures so But by that selfe-concealing art we know Thine eyes are priviledg'd in thy frames to spye Those silken strings that fine Embrodery To my worthy Friend that incomparable Musitian Dr JOHN WILSON on his Book of Songs of three Parts WHy should I loade with barren praise A head so often wreath'd with Bayes Or make the greedy Reader looke For something good besides the Book These dirty lines the rest will soyle And hardly serve to be their foyle Yet since the Author will impart Unto the gaping world his Art I 'le let it know what it ne're thought What can't be learned may be bought Least men inestimable call It still and so not buy 't at all Thus o're faire Structures of 't we set A Bill this House is to be Let Some too perhaps who yet ne're knew Great WILSON what we owe to you When they shall on the Title page See Ballads first come on the Stage Will thinke because the word so grosse is These songs are fit for Market Crosses I 'le tell 'um they 're authentick grown And Rimers now put Poets downe And yet I will the Muses call Apollo and the Poets all And bid them tell me if they e're Had better Offrings then are here Call any Nobler if they durst Since they frequented Hibla first Some humane More divine the odds Is this men made some More the Gods Thus in a day serene and cleare Some sullen clouds fixt here and there Make angry Pheb●s mend his ray And add more luster to the day Thus in fayre nights the Heavens are Not set with one continued starre But here and there a patch of night Doth recompence the rest with light Now could the trembling aire convey These sounds where Troys foundations lay Each scatterd stone would shew his head Though long in ruines buryed And being ravisht leap to take The station which it did forsake And thou Brave WILSON with thy hand Amphion like shouldst charming stand So should each higher note have powre For to erect a lofty Towre And when a deeper tone should sound To sinck a Cellar vnder ground Then might I question which would tell Lowder thy Fame Quart pot or Bell. I 've done 't is time the