Selected quad for the lemma: death_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
death_n	body_n	dead_a	live_v	7,751	5	5.7544	4	false

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
B08155	A funerall elegie, in memory of the rare, famous, and admired poet, Mr. Beniamin Ionson deceased. VVho dyed the sixteenth day of August last, 1637, and lyeth inter'd in the Cathedral Church of Saint Peter at Westminster..	Taylor, John, 1580-1653.	1637 (1637)	STC 23759; ESTC S95482	4,915	28

A FUNERALL ELEGIE In Memory of the Rare Famous and Admired Poet Mr. BENIAMIN IONSON deceased VVho dyed the sixteenth day of August last 1637 and lyeth inter'd in the Cathedrall Church of Saint Peter at Westminster SPES ADDIT ALAS London Printed by E. P. for Henry Gosson and are to be sold at his Shop on London-Bridge 1637. TO THE RIGHT HONOVRABLE VVORSHIPFVLL AND Others that are understanding Readers and Impartiall Censurers RIght Honour'd Worshipfull and knowing men I doe not here confine my Dedication To any one man but my toyling pen Writes to great Brittaine and the Irish Nation Know that the subject of My verse is Ben And what he was his workes doe make relation Alive his lines abroad by Fame were spread For which he is belov'd now he is dead Dead no he lives he will and shall survive For Death hath taken but his shell or Rhyn'de His better parts are still with us alive His Pith or Kernell he hath left behinde The Epistle Dedicatory As Ovid saith Sword fire cannot deprive Age Death or Time can put him out of mind He was belov'd and for his love I crave His Elegie may your acceptance have You that are men of worth I speake to you Not to the partial and prejudicate Nor to the ribble rabble sencelesse crue The Hydra monster inconsiderate Who scarce know P from G or blacke from blew I neither doe respect their love or hate For him deceas'd and for your loves I pend it And to your good protections I commend it To my Friend JOHN TAYLOR the Author of this following Elegie IOhn though in verse I doe but seldome write Yet love provokes me that I must requite Thy honest gratitude thou hast exprest Although in Ben I had no interest He was to me nor I of him scarce knowne Yet for the love kind Friend thou here hast showne This Paradox of IONSON may be read Hee is not living nor he is not dead EDVVARD BRIAN O living dead man if man may be so Death could but take thy body thy workes show What slender wounds the Fates to vertue give When they conspire her death alas shee 'l live Beyond the reach of Fate Ben Ionson's dead Yet lives with him by whom his workes are read How many would desire thy Fate to have If they might live as thou dost in the grave I that durst never Poetize before Dare write these of thee though I write no more WILLIAM YEO A Funerall Elegie BEn is deceas'd and by his losse I feare A dearth wil follow good wit wil be dear What is the Muses treasurie exhausted Is Tempe's well or Aganippe wasted Or hath the Thespian springs no liquor left Is Helicon of moisture quite bereft Hath Phoebus this hot Summer drawn all dry Is it so low an ebbe in poetry That all the wit that is profest by men Vnfit to beare the Inkhorne after Ben Are Barren now now are their muses dumb Or what stupidity doth them benumb That no one hath the wit the Art the Skill The opportunity or the good will To write his Elegie who once was such That of his worth they cannot write too much But sure ther 's many wits of high account That able are but have no mind to mount So high a pitch as his high worth requires Whose lofty straines were of immortall fires Their good wits may ill under-doe his fame Their best wits cannot over-do the same Then since the Muses and Thessalian mountaines Are barren and the poore Pegasean fountaines Are drye yet noble Thames so farre excels Those Mounts and Founts and rare supposed Wels That I her Poet am emboldned here To be Ben Ionsons artlesse Chauntecleere But as the purest gold unto the eye Shines brightest when course metall standeth nigh So he by me that am his foyle or shade Is more illustrated and brighter made Miner vae's statue did most faire appeare When fowle Medusaes Image did stand neere He was our Homer Maro and our Naso Our Persius Lucan Petrarch and our Tasso He was to us for state or recreation As those or any Poet to his nation His playes were labours of Herculean perill Which every wit applauded but the Sterill His workes were playes to please a learned eare And intricate to understand and Beare His Masques exprest his Iudgement was not weake In making Hils rocks stones and rivers speake And like old Orpheus risen from his trance He oftentimes made Trees and Beasts to dance His workes were Art his art was Sence and braine His braine was his revenue and his gaine Was as a Poets should be words and wind Some good some bad as Censure was inclin'd Many have read him prais'd him and disprais'd him And in their humours cast him downe or rais'd him When some that in their Iudgements were too hot Although they read him understood him not And sure t was more than he was bound to doe To find them wit and understanding too Yet was he not selfe-will'd opinionate Nor did he wisemens censures under-rate But alwayes with discretion would submit To better Iudgements but when Monsieur Wit Shallow in Braine more shallow in conceit Arts Zany and a Poets counterfeit When such as those did screw their Iawes awry And mangle his inventions Scurvily His scorne and slight contempt was all their shares Disdaining still to set his wit to theirs Esteeming Sottish ignorance and pride Not worth his anger he would such deride Indeed his writings were so farre exceeding That they were not for every common reading Yet he wrote English but 't was farre refind Beyond the apprehension of each Hinde He could not be by ignorance discern'd For whoso read Ben Ionson must be learn'd His Cynthia's Revels and his Poetaster Pieces of Art declares him his Arts Master His Romane Catilines conspiracie Describes much Learning Wit and Industry Romes great Sejanus shews the pompe and Port Of Rome the Senate and Tiberius Court His Fox his Alchymist his Silent-Woman Are things uncapeable to wit that 's common His plaies of mens strange humours out and in Approved good applaudity did win His Beggars bush was written so acute It angred envy and strook Malice mute These in despight of mischievous detraction Were his and bravely were explain'd in action By such experienc'd practis'd knowing men Whose parallels will never act agen For action is the body of good wit And good invention is the Soule of it His play of Barthol Faire gave much delight To all but such as understood not right His Loadstone or Magnetique Lady fail'd him For which detraction round about assayl'd him Forgetting all he had wrote well before Spreading abroad his errors much the more Had each one in his owne particular Knowne themselves men and to be apt to erre They in their wits possession or reversion Had never cast on him a bad Aspersion But such mens muses have the Laske I think And must be casting Gall or squirting Inke Till Woodcocks have no Bills nor Gudgeons gils These hot