Selected quad for the lemma: death_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
death_n	alive_a	dead_a	life_n	5,787	5	5.0987	4	false

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A12045	Venus and Adonis	Shakespeare, William, 1564-1616.	1593 (1593)	STC 22354; ESTC S102412	19,633	54

the boare for murther A thousand spleenes beare her a thousand wayes She treads the path that she vntreads againe Her more then hast is mated with delayes Like the proceedings of a drunken braine Full of respects yet naught at all respecting In hand with all things naught at all effecting Here kenneld in a brake she finds a hound And askes the wearie caitiffe for his maister And there another licking of his wound Gainst venimd sores the onely soueraigne plaister And here she meets another sadly skowling To whom she speaks he replies with howling VVhen he hath ceast his ill resounding noise Another flapmouthd mourner blacke and grim Against the welkin volies out his voyce Another and another answer him Clapping their proud tailes to the ground below Shaking their scratcht-eares bleeding as they go Looke how the worlds poore people are amazed At apparitions signes and prodigies VVhereon with feareful eyes they long haue gazed Infusing them with dreadfull prophecies So she at these sad signes drawes vp her breath And sighing it againe exclaimes on death Hard fauourd tyrant ougly meagre leane Hatefull diuorce of loue thus chides she death Grim-grinning ghost earths-worme what dost thou meane To stifle beautie and to steale his breath VVho when he liu'd his breath and beautie set Glosse on the rose smell to the violet If he be dead ô no it cannot be Seeing his beautie thou shouldst strike at it Oh yes it may thou hast no eyes to see But hatefully at randon doest thou hit Thy marke is feeble age but thy false dart Mistakes that aime and cleaues an infants hart Hadst thou but bid beware then he had spoke And hearing him thy power had lost his power The destinies will curse thee for this stroke They bid thee crop a weed thou pluckst a flower Loues golden arrow at him should haue fled And not deaths ebon dart to strike him dead Dost thou drink tears that thou prouok'st such weeping VVhat may a heauie grone aduantage thee VVhy hast thou cast into eternall sleeping Those eyes that taught all other eyes to see Now nature cares not for thy mortall vigour Since her best worke is ruin'd with thy rigour Here ouercome as one full of dispaire She vaild her eye-lids who like sluces stopt The christall tide that from her two cheeks faire In the sweet channell of her bosome dropt But through the floud gates breaks the siluer rain And with his strong course opens them againe O how her eyes and teares did lend and borrow Her eye seene in the teares teares in her eye Both christals where they viewd ech others sorrow Sorrow that friendly sighs sought still to drye But like a stormie day now wind now raine Sighs drie her cheeks tears make thē wet againe Variable passions throng her constant wo As striuing who should best become her griefe All entertaind ech passion labours so That euerie present sorrow seemeth chiefe But none is best then ioyne they all together Like many clouds consulting for foule weather By this farre off she heares some huntsman hallow A nourses song nere pleasd her babe so well The dyre imagination she did follow This sound of hope doth labour to expell For now reuiuing ioy bids her reioyce And flatters her it is Adonis voyce VVhereat her teares began to turne their tide Being prisond in her eye like pearles in glasse Yet sometimes fals an orient drop beside VVhich her cheeke melts as scorning it should passe To wash the foule face of the sluttish ground VVho is but dronken when she seemeth drownd O hard beleeuing loue how strange it seemes Not to beleeue and yet too credulous Thy weale and wo are both of them extreames Despaire and hope makes thee ridiculous The one doth flatter thee in thoughts vnlikely In likely thoughts the other kils thee quickly Now she vnweaues the web that she hath wrought Adonis liues and death is not to blame It was not she that cald him all to nought Now she ads honours to his hatefull name She clepes him king of graues graue for kings Imperious supreme of all mortall things No no quoth she sweet death I did but iest Yet pardon me I felt a kind of feare VVhen as I met the boare that bloodie beast VVhich knowes no pitie but is still seuere Then gentle shadow truth I must confesse I rayld on thee fearing my loues decesse T is not my fault the Bore prouok't my tong Be wreak't on him inuisible commaunder T' is he foule creature that hath done thee wrong I did but act he 's author of thy slaunder Greefe hath two tongues and neuer woman yet Could rule them both without ten womens wit Thus hoping that Adonis is aliue Her rash suspect she doth extenuate And that his beautie may the better thriue VVith death she humbly doth insinuate Tels him of trophies statues tombes and stories His victories his triumphs and his glories O loue quote she how much a foole was I To be of such a weake and sillie mind To waile his death who liues and must not die Till mutuall ouerthrow of mortall kind For he being dead with him is beautie slaine And beautie dead blacke Chaos comes againe Fy fy fond loue thou art as full of feare As one with treasure laden hem'd with theeues Trifles vnwitnessed with eye or eare Thy coward heart with false bethinking greeues Euen at this word she heares a merry horne VVhere at she leaps that was but late forlorne As Faulcons to the lure away she flies The grasse stoops not she treads on it so light And in her hast vnfortunately spies The foule boares conquest on her faire delight VVhich seene her eyes are murdred with the view Like stars asham'd of day themselues withdrew Or as the snaile whose tender hornes being hit Shrinks backward in his shellie caue with paine And there all smoothred vp in shade doth sit Long after fearing to creepe forth againe So at his bloodie view her eyes are fled Into the deep-darke cabbins of her head VVhere they resigne their office and their light To the disposing of her troubled braine VVho bids them still consort with ougly night And neuer wound the heart with lookes againe VVho like a king perplexed in his throne By their suggestion giues a deadly grone VVhereat ech tributarie subiect quakes As when the wind imprisond in the ground Struggling for passage earths foundation shakes which with cold terror doth mens minds confound This mutinie ech part doth so surprise That frō their dark beds once more leap her eies And being opend threw vnwilling light Vpon the wide wound that the boare had trencht In his soft flanke whose wonted lillie white VVith purple tears that his wound wept had drēcht No floure was nigh no grasse hearb leaf or weed But stole his blood and seemd with him to bleed This solemne sympathie poore Venus noteth Ouer one shoulder doth she hang her head Dumblie she passions frantikely she doteth She thinkes he could not die he is