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
A86166	Clarastella together with poems occasional, elegies, epigrams, satyrs. / By Robert Heath, Esquire.	Heath, Robert, fl. 1636-1659.	1650 (1650)	Wing H1340A; Thomason E1364_1; ESTC R202387	74,802	191

store Send it oh send it to my Love Wing'd with the feathers of thy Mothers Dove Or head it with the same desire Thou didst my shaft enspire Or take thine arrow back from me 'T is crueltie Sometimes not to be cruel Oh! Or smite both hearts or els unbend thy bow To a Lady wearing a Looking-glass at her girdle GAze not on that fair Mirrour where you see Nought but the shadow of your frailtie lie VVhere beautie staies no longer then you look On the gilt outside of that rotten look Your self where all 's but dust without and such Foul leaves within why then admir'd so much Since nothing can be lov'd but what hath been Known to the sence or to the eie bin seen VVhy should you doat upon that face which you Never yet saw nor have the pow'r to do VVhose very shape when you have often pri'd And re-examin'd every part and spi'd VVith strictest eie each line and symmetrie Is clean forgot when you remove your eie Which usual instance may instruct you not To studie that which is so soon forgot Since you nor see your self nor look upon That form but thus by meer reflection How know you or why think you are fair Is it 'cause fond admirers say you are For want of judgement or some flattring Asse Or this a great deal more dissembling glasse Tels a fair storie to your cred'lous eie VVil you believe such Romance historie VVhen the spruce gallant courts your hand and vows Saluting it he nothing whiter knows Then gazing upward on that heav'nly sphere Swears you are Angel-like beyond compare Excelling all your sex can you conceive That to be true which he did least believe VVhen th' am'rous youth looks Babies in your eies And through Loves flatt'ring optick he espies At the wrong end a world of beautie there Blinded with passion thus 'twixt hope and fear VVhen he protests he thinks he sees in you Some God-like form can you believe it too VVhen knowing men dissemble truth alas VVil you then trust a dumb deceitful glass Embrace your selfe and like Narcissus pore Upon that Christal til you start a flow'r VVhich fades as soon as blown admiring more That part your selfe then others all the store Then quit that coz'ning beam nor imitate The Mermaid to be onely upwards neat VVith comb and glass in hand when we all know You'ar either fish or what is worse below The blanched Swan with whitest plumes arrai'd Til by her own black skin and legs betraid Did think her self the fairest bird do you But look about you you 'l appear so too VVhat boots a comly presence graceful eie If all be foul except the Phisnomie Wise men admire not beauty birth or blood How rich or fair they ask not but how good First dresse your soul see that be fair and clear And then you 'l truly beautiful appear To Clarastella 'T Is not your beautie I admire Nor the bright star-light of each eie Nor do I from their beams take fire My loves torch to enlighten I No 't is a Glorie more divine Kindles my tapour at your shrine Your comly presence takes not me Nor your much more inviting meen Nor your sweet looks the Graces be Fair Creature in your picture seen No 't is your soul to which I bow 'T is none of these I love but you How blind is that Philosophie Doth onely nat'ral bodies know That views each Orb o' th' glorious skie But sees not him that made it so I love thy informing part i' th' whol And every part thy all thy soul The Farewel to Clarastella PAssion o' me why melt I thus with griefe For her whose frozen heart denies reliefe Find out some other way to punish me Yee Gods and let me not the Author be Of mine own death make me forget that e'r I lov'd at least that e'r I loved her Yet I must love her stil O cruel Fate That dost true love so il requite with hate Why e'r I saw her didst not make me blind Then had she as before continued kind Without pow'r to displease her Charitie Warm as my Love and I had stil been I But now alas my distant bliss I see Which like my courted shadow flieth mee As fast as I pursue ay mee she 's gone And with her all my winged hopes are flown But oh if you one drop of mercy have Let me request you shed it at my grave When y'hear I died for you Oh let there be One tear at least shed from your pious eies In mem'ry that I fel your sacrifice Where though I cannot yet my marble wil Gainst these soft show'rs for me some tears distil Fairest farewel and by my living love Maist thou to me when dead thus loving prove Shed from your eies perhaps one faithful tear May make my ashes quick again how e'r My shipwrackt love in these drops bath'd at last May drowning grasp what 's next and hold thee fast Which whilst I liv'd it could not thus I wil Alive and dead my Stella love thee stil On the Report of Clarastella's death SHee dead forgive me Heav'n I' ad almost swore That she 'bout her had nothing mortal wore Her soul 's immortal and her body too Since 't knew no actual sin must needs be so Our sins do drag us to our graves but she Had no such harbingers her Pietie Made her a Monarch in Divinitie And taught her how to live eternally It is not likely guilty death shou'd take Such Innocence away from us or make Immortal Virtue die old Adam sure Had liv'd til now could he have liv'd as pure And free from either act or thought of vice Hee had surviv'd this age in Paradice Our sins are our diseases onely they Invoke pale death whom we all must obey When he arrests us for these debts we know Life 's the cheap ransome for the sums we owe VVhich she ne'r forfeited 'cause no disease Upon her body or her soul could seize She was so sound and perfect why should I Believe that Clarastella then could die If wantonnesse durst steal into her mind 'Midst her sweet dreams leaving a touch behind Of phansied pleasure yet she wakt a maid And blushing that she should be thus betrai'd By her own guiltlesse thoughts she feard to tel Ev'n what her visions were nor knew she wel What was their pleasant meaning or if shee Did but by chance two Lovers kissing see Shee thought they did but imitate the Dove Thus to affect with chast Platonick love Her salutations deckt with modestie Did like her smiles expresse humilitie Thus was she perfect Virgin whilst her love Knew n'other object but the Gods above How then durst death tow'rds her his dart advance Whose onely sin was harmless ignorance Why should I fondly drooping let mine eies Yeild at the news a liquid sacrifice Or let her dying rumour wound my years Whose virtue did deserve a Nestors years I 'l not believe then she is dead since I Know she hath merited

found So easie passage thence to sallie out And leave her so lov'd seat to range about Th' Elesian groves My souls best part adieu I 'l bathe thy wound in tears though wounded too Drie eies forbear this urn oh come not neer To read this Epitaph without a tear Spirit of Wit and Valour here doth lie Doubly entomb'd i' th' Readers heart and eie Upon the lingring death of the Virtuous Mrs L. H. DEath I not blame thy subtiltie In cutting off this Happy Shee Ne'r didst thou yet in thy black list enroul So fair a soul Thy Envie snatcht her hence lest wee By her example taught should be Immortaliz'd by virtue and live stil Against thy wil For hadst thou spar'd her yet awhile And not prevented by this wile Our grand design thou'adst lost thy sting and wee Not feared thee Coward thou didst by slow degrees Upon her Vital spirits ceaze Els had shee summon'd pow'r enough to stand Thy armed hand Subtile and envious Coward thus Thou 'ast spoiled Nature robbed us Yet I not blame thee thou'adst no other way To get thy prey Upon the Death of the truly valiant Sir Bevil Grenvil slain SEE where in Western clouds our Sun is set Whilst those thick groves of Pikes of him beset To guard his Valour trembled all and shoke With Aspen fear soon as this stately Oke Was cleft with fatal thunder every head Droops like pearl'd Violets now Grenvil's dead Wee need no Gods of Egypt to exhale Salt rivers from our eies and force us waile His sorrowed absence no sowre peele or Rue To damp our looks to Pharisaick hue From Grenvil's Herse each cheek is watered And scorns to wear a smile now he is dead Did I not view Heav'ns great unarmed bow I might suspect Deucalion would o'r-flow The drenched world again and in his name Erect a new eternal Ark of Fame What sudden inundation else could thus As in a second deluge bury us Alive and waft us by a quick return To shades what fire but that of his bright urne Could melt each Muse to liquified verse And thus dissolve in Elegiack tears What Ocean but his Virtues could have drunk So many flouds from weeping eies or sunk So many drowning hearts at whose sad fall A deep groan'd Diapason drowneth all And blends at once our Harmonie Oh I could curse that Planet that did reign At thy first birth and e'r since smiling shine Til this unluckie hour it frown'd on thee Prompting our Stars to bode us miserie For if our hopeful cause should gasping lie I 'de swear it languisht since she saw thee die Upon the unfortunate death of the truly gallant and noble Gent. Ed. Sackvil Esquire THy pow'r pale envious death I now defie Thy rage is spent in this one Tragedie Thou 'ast purloin'd our chief wealth and in one hour Rob'd Honours Garland of its choisest flow'r Now do thy worst thy life-depriving dart Can no more Conquest bring nor deeper smart Oft his tri'd Valour in the open field Dar'd thee where since thou couldst not make him yield Now by a weak and clandestine surprize Thou smit'st him unawares by cowardize Yet went he arm'd against that fatal blow Which sin did print upon his flesh not you Then be not proud of this thy spoil since he Did wish to more then you could make him die For now he lives fam'd to posteritie Both for his Virtues and his Loyaltie The gallant spirit of whose youthful heat Doth with his urnes clear oyle perpetuate VVe weep not then because he dy'd but thus The strange chance doth strange wonder claim in us Hee that but newly chang'd his mortal life In sacred wedlock with a happy VVife Is forc'd by th' ignorant malice of worse men To change it for a happ'er once agen Hee whose rich Virtues gain'd each man his friend That knew them both to his untimely end Thus brought by foes if any he could have Hath with his precious corps enricht the grave Hee Hee is gone and nought but sorrow left To mind us of the good we are bereft For 't is not onely Hee we all are dead As when the Sun sets flow'rs seem withered Nor doth his Fam'ly onely lose a stem The Kingdome suffers in the losse of him More I should say but sullen griefe denies I 'l sigh and vent the rest with weeping eies Elegie Upon the death of that thrice valiant Lord the Lord Bernard Stewart slain in the fight neer VVest-Chester BOast not proud death of this thy Victorie In killing him who thus resolv'd to die Hadst thou a life to lose I would on thee Revenge his too too early Destinie But Coward thou nor spirit hast nor heat Els thou wouldst neer ha' smit so brave so great A Person that on thy dread Tragick stage Fought on thy side and in that bloodie rage To thy black shades so many breathlesse sent Perhaps thou feardst his highborn furie meant With fierce assault thy conqu'ring selfe disarm Sans fear of death he fought so at which alar'm Lest he thy territories should invade And so usurp thy pow'r thou wast afraid So ' 'caus thy jealous fear would admit none A Rival in thy Empire thou so soon Didst cut him off Happy unhappy he Right noble born and dying here doth lie Whose single Death-despising Valour made His greatest enemie Death it selfe afraid On the Death of that most famous Musician Mr VV. Lawes slain in this unhappy Civil Warr SUch is the strange Antipathie between The Wolfe and sheep that a Drum with Wolves skin Headed and beat the partchment bottome breaks And soundless to the stick no answer makes So the Wolfe 's by the * Lambstrings break so * dumb Is th'other when you sound a Wolves-skin'd Drum By Wolves our Orpheus thus oppos'd was slain His Lyres offended strings thus crackt in twain At their harsh foes approach and rang his knell Such untun'd souls who discord lov'd too well Knew not the Heav'n of Musicks harmonie And who not love't dull or il-natur'd be But more enraged grew Else like those Wild beasts Amphion tam'd they wou'd ha' rose Inspir'd with love and kist those hands whose aires Ravisht the birds and taught the heav'nly Spheres To move in pleasing consort But e'r sin ' Our Lawes expir'd this Common-wealth hath bin Quite out of tune Could his surviving laies Yet ' swage our Genius as Pythagoras VVith his soft accents and sweet streins subdu'd And well appeas'd a mad-brain'd multitude I 'de swear they were Divine whose pow'rful breath Could Eccho his rare concords after death And in Loves Symphonie unite each part This had been done by Lawes his hand and Art Had he but liv'd e'r now Melpomene Mourn then for earth hath lost her harmonie EPIGRAMS The first Book By Robert Heath Esquire Quam nihil hoc aliud vel malé praestat agam. LONDON Printed for HUMPHRY MOSELEY and are to be sold at his Sho at the signe of the Princes Arms in S. Pauls Church-yard 1650. To