Selected quad for the lemma: death_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
death_n	air_n	fall_n	great_a	33	3	2.1023	3	false

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A29976	Chorus poetarum, or, Poems on several occasions by the Duke of Buckingham, the late Lord Rochester, Sir John Denham, Sir Geo. Etheridge, Andrew Marvel, Esq., the famous Spencer, Madam Behn, and several other eminent poets of this age.	Buckingham, George Villiers, Duke of, 1628-1687.	1694 (1694)	Wing B5309; ESTC R3195	38,769	192

as the Sun withdraws I have met with too many Misfortunes and too few Friends to have Sedateness and Freedom of Mind enough to write as I cou'd wish without the Golden Bough there 's no Being Led thro' the Cumaean Cave To hearth ' impatient Maid divinely rave Yet notwithstanding this I have presumed to insert some of my own Verses in this Miscellany whose Fate I shall not be over-sollicitous for hoping I may hereafter be able to produce something my Enemies will not so easily condemn I shall leave the whole Sir without any farther Apology to your Candor and good Humour who can not only distinguish betwixt the Manners of the Authors you read and their Wit but also allow the Merit of the Performance where you and all honest Men must condemn the Subject 't is to this Candor and Generous Temper of yours Sir that with the Book I commit my self who am SIR Your Humble Servant CHARLES GILDON Advertisement TO THE READER AMongst my other Misfortunes I have lately met with an Adventure which for the time I confess troubl'd me more than any thing that ever befel me A dull Impertinent Abuse of several of those Gentlemen I had publicly declar'd my self an admirer of being thrust into the Epistle Dedicatory of the second Volume of the Ladies Letters Some were pleas'd very unjustly to lay it at my Door I 'm too sensible of my own defects to be so Mortify'd at the despicable Opinion those Gentlemen had of my sense who believ'd it but I confess I was sensibly touch'd with the Scandalous Judgment they made of my Morals which I do without Arrogance pretend to be as Orthodox as any Mans how Heterodox soever my other Opinions may be thought by some I speak this so publicly to satisfie those whose Friendship I value and whose Merit I have ever allow'd and cannot be brib'd by the justest Resentment to deny or lessen I wish the Opiniated Author of the Epistle would be as just in the owning his Brat as he was unjust in its Production POEMS ON Several Occasions ON His Majesty's Conquests IN IRELAND Made immediately after the Victory at Sea 1692. HOW great a Transport is a brave Man in When echoing Trumpets bid the Fight begin With Joy the list'ning Warrier hears them sound And rears himself all ravish'd from the Ground He grasps his Sword and lifts his pond'rous Shield And big with Joy flies to the fatal Field The God of War his heated Breast inspires And his glad Soul swells to receive the Fires Already he descrys the distant Plain Already seems to view the horrid Scene Hear clashing Spears and Groans of dying Men. Such was our Monarchs transport at the Boyne There Nassau all the Work was Heaven's and thine Thy self the foremost like the leading God Thy Soldiers gladly follow'd thro' the Flood Bending the Waves beneath them with their Tread They rais'd a Tempest tho' the Winds were laid Each Army like a well-appointed Fleet Cut thro' the rapid Streams and mid way met Whilst from both Shores the thund'ring Ordnance speaks In louder Sounds than those of Brazen Beaks All Elements Fire Water Earth and Air Joyn in the fight and mingle in the War Clouds of black Smoak the face of Heav'n obscure The Earth is shook and the dash'd Waters roar Hundreds are swallowed up the furious Tide With a strong Current rowls away the Dead Already they have shot the Gulph of Death And need no Wastage over Lakes beneath Fate stretch'd himself and both the Banks bestride Fixing a deadly foot on either side Whilst underneath his Arch the River flow'd Whose Waters rose up to him swell'd with Blood By thousand differing ways a thousand fall See Death in all its forms and dire in all The Stately Youth that stood erect but now Struck by the mortal Dart are levelled low Whole Heads and Arms are lopt the shivering Spear Strikes its sharp Splinters thro' the wounded Air All instruments of Death the Fates employ Whom the Swords spare the Waters do destroy From dying Chiefs the River gains a Fame But Sconberg gives it an immortal Name Bred up in Camps inur'd to horrid Wars Loaden with Fame and Honour as with Years Brave as he liv'd the good old General fell And his great Master did revenge him well O! had thy mighty shade been by t' have seen What Troops of Ghosts he sent to wait on thine Thy thankful Genius would his steps attend The best of Masters and the bravest Friend To him thy Art of Conquering would bequeath VVho fought to make thee famous in thy Death For whilst the Waters of the Boyne shall flow Succeeding Ages shall remember you Soldiers and Chiefs without distinction drop Only the King stood as Immortal up Around thy Head a thousand Deaths did fly Spent in the Air the boldest destiny Durst only touch thee in its passage by Thy stronger Genius did the stroke decline Fate had the power of ev'ry Life but thine Heroes on either side rush dauntless on The day is vanish'd e're the Battle 's done Groans of faln Soldiers mount up to the Skies Compassionate Eccho's answer to their Cries Whole Heav'ns concern'd as 't were it self in fight And diseased Nature sickens at the sight Nought stops the merc'less Victor in his course Strongly he urges on th' Impetuous Horse And bears down all with a resistless force So swiftly does he drive the flying Steed That Victory can scarce keep equal speed Heaven lookswith pity on the mighty Dead And griev'd to see so many thousands bleed Spreads the thick Veil of Night to keep themhid The Sun went down with an unwonted red Bloody he lookt as if himself had bled He seem'd to fall in the same famous Stream Our Nassau fought and seem'd to fall by him Those very waters where the God lay Drown'd Our greater Heroe past and went beyond The Heavens withdraw their Lustre and their Fires And day it self the last of all expires Night Horror and Confusion fill the Plain Darkness and Death shut in the gloomy Scene Winds waft the dreadfull Tidings round their Coast Aloud they tell them how their Isle is lost Bid them take Wings and fly in haste away The Conqerour comes on as Swift as they Fierce and Resistless through the Land he past His Fame and he seem'd to make equal hast At his approach th' affrighted Realm is shook The chiefest Cities yield without a Stroke To the proud Walls of Lmrick Siege he lays Which nought but Winter had the power to raise The gathering Clouds do warn him to be gone And timely shew the Tempetst drawing on His Orders for a brave Retreat are given The Pious Heroe only yields to Heaven So Tyre stopt Alexander's eager haste Withstood him for a while tho' won at last Now-he returns from the half vanquished Isle And seeks in Foreign Camps for nobler Toyl He leaves his Army to his General 's Care And shews the ways they must pursue the War With the vast help of

Fortune's shocks the Soul disturb With their impetuous Force Swell'd by its Pow'r the Passions rage No bounds the soaring Will can curb Presumptuous Minds dare Heav'n engage But crowding Years push on and forwards drive Till hurried on vain Men arrive On Death's inevitable Coast Where all dissolv'd to dust in Nature's Mass are lost The FLEA out of Ovid. THou little Insect canst thou prove So great an Enemy to Love Thus to molest the beauteous She Whose Frame was spotless but for Thee I 've trac'd the Footsteps of thy Wrong And now pursue thee with my Song Base Vermin that delight'st in Blood And juicy Virgins are thy Food Those Spots the Trophies thou hast won Now seem to blush for what is done And when thy Gorge is fill'd with Gore Her Veins contain the richest Store Thou Maudlin shed'st repenting Tears Black as thy self their Stain appears Thou dost invade her slumb'ring Hours And robb'st her Rest as she does ours 'T is then thou wand'rest o'er the Plain Where we employ our Thoughts in vain Her Lips Breasts Knees Thighs all is free As free as open Air to thee It grieves me when I think that Bliss Without Fruition should be less While on her Couch th'extended Dame Wishing a Partner of her Flame Just as she dies when none is nigh Thou boldly dost attack here Thigh Nay impudently dar'st t' invade The sweet Recess for others made Improvidently without Gust Thou' rt made a Denizon of Lust. Now let me perish but my Foe Is much the happiest thing I know Thy shape tho' strange must be the Dress To which Orinda gives access Thus mask'd I shall discover more Than all my Courtship did before If Nature wou'd transform my Shape And suffer me to be thy Ape But on condition to restore The Features which I had before I 'd try if Magic Charms could move Such wonderful Effects of Love If Med'cines be as strong as they I 'll presently commence a Flea And what Medea's Charms have done Or Circe's Druggs is fully known Suppose the Change this Pilgrim dress Conveys me to the Goal of Bliss Upon th'extremities I stand And thence survey the Promis'd Land With silence and with haste I strove To shade me in the sacred Grove Where unperceiv'd and acting nought Of Harm save what was in my Thought I break the Chains of my Disguise And Manhood Shoots between her Thighs Perchance the Dame with Fear opprest Will call me Monster Villain Beast Threatning to call aloud for Aid When squeamish Honour is betray'd Then if Intreaties fail must I Dwindle into a Pensive Fly When that is o'er another Scene Presents me in the Lists agen Then I invoke the Cyprian Dame To be propitious to my Flame And all the Heav'nly Pow'rs t' express Their Care of Lovers in Distress Sighs Pray'rs and gentle Force combine To make the coy Orinda mine She to my Wishes yields her Charms And hugs the Turn-coat in her Arms. To SYLVIA An Excuse for having lov'd another in her Absence By Mr. Dennis I Never was inclin'd to range Till you from Love and me did fly Your cruel Absence made me change And for a meaner Beauty die Me an inferiour Beauty fir'd Her Eyes supply'd your absent Eyes So when the radiant Sun retir'd Earth's short-liv'd Fire the God supplies But when his everlasting Rays Again shine forth divinely bright Strait Elemental Fire decays Half quencht by Golden Streams of Light To Phoebus then we turn and gaze And the descending God admire And let to bask in his bright Blaze Our glimmering sickly Flames expire Abroad to meet his Beams we run Beams that revive us as they burn Alternate Breaths suck in the Sun Alternate Breaths his Praise return Whoe'er too much that Pow'r can praise By which he lives by which he sings Hail thou that dost inspire my Lays Thou brightest of refulgent things Thou warm'st my Heart and chear'st my Eye With Godlike Hints thou fir'st my Soul When thou art absent still I die Thy Motions all my Life controul These two last Stanza's says my Friend Meant of the Sun are hardly true But nothing juster e'er was penn'd If Sylvia they were meant of you No true Love between Man and Woman NO no 't is not Love You may talk till Dooms day If you tell me 't is more than meer Satisfaction I 'll never believe a Title you say Tho' Baxter and Oates were the Heads of your Faction The Poets therefore were a number of Owls To make such a stir with a Baby-face God While they set poor Priapus to scare the wild Fowls That rules with a far more Scepter-like Rod. 'T is true he may sometimes be blindly put to 't But the Bow and the Arrows are surely his due For when that his Arrows are ready to shoot They make the more pleasing wound of the two 'T was he was the Father of all the Graces For he 's the beginning and end of our wooing Your Smiles and your Ogles and alluring Grimaces They all do but end in Feeling and Doing When a Man to a Woman comes creeping and his cringing And spends his high Raptures on her Nose and her Eyes 'T is Priapus inspires the Talkative Engine And all for the sake of her lilly white Thighs Your Vows and Protests your Oaths all and some Ask Solon Lycurgus both Learned and Smart They 'll tell you the place from whence they all come Is half a Yard almost below the Heart There 's nothing but Vertue the Object of Love Nor Beauty nor Colour Love minds in the least They 're only the Idols of Pleasure by Jove Where th'Altar's Desire Priapus High Priest Your Lips and your Eyes with their Diamonds and Coral Are only like Capers and Samphire in Pickle For talk what you please 't is her Men adore all That has the best Fiddle Priapus to tickle Now if she be rich 't is the Portion he 'd have Or a Coach and fine Cloaths that her Love do encourage But alass if either do either deceive Love presently cools like a Mess of Beef Porridge Then if this be your Love the Devil take Love Where Self-Satisfaction is all the design But let me have that which all Men approve An Angel in Purse and a Glass of good Wine A Satyr against Poetry In a Letter to the Lord D. LET my Endeavours as my Hopes depend On you the Orphan's Trust the Muse's Friend The Great good Man whose kind Resolves declare Vertue and Verse the Object of your Care When hungry Poets now abdicate their Rhimes For some more darling Folly of the Times S l and I here forbear to name Condemn'd to Lawrel tho' unknown to Fame Recanting S tle brings the tuneful Ware Which wiser Smithfield damn'd to Sturbridge-Fair Protests his Tragedies and Libels fail To yield him Paper Penny-Loaves and Ale And bids our Youth by his Example fly The Love of Politicks and Poetry And all Retreats except New-hall refuse To shelter tuneful D 's Jockey Muse. Is there a