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	sin_n	15,745	5	5.5153	4	true

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A12040	The rape of Lucrece. By Mr. William Shakespeare	Shakespeare, William, 1564-1616.	1616 (1616)	STC 22350; ESTC S106350	31,110	64

sounds weake arbitrators Busie your selues in skil-contending schooles Debate where leasure serues with dul debators To trembling Clyents be you mediators For me I force not argument a straw Since that my case is past the help of law In vaine I raile at Opportunity At Time at Tarquin and vnsearchfull night In vaine I cauill with mine infamy In vaine I spurne at my confirm'd despight This helplesse smoke of words doth me no right The remedy indeed to do me good Is to let foorth my foule defiled blood Poore hand why quiuerest thou at this decree Honor thy selfe to rid me of this shame For if I die my Honor liues in thee But if I liue thou liu'st in my defame Since thou couldst not defend thy loyall Dame And wast affeard to scratch her wicked Foe Kill both thy selfe and her for yeelding so This said from her betumbled couch she starts To finde some desperate instrument of death But this no slaughterhouse no toole imparts To make more vent for passage of her breath Which thrunging through her lips so vanisheth As smoake from Aetna that in aire consumes Or that which from discharged Canon fumes In vaine quoth she I liue and seeke in vaine Some happy meane to end a haplesse life I fear'd by Tarquins Fauchion to be slaine Yet for the selfe-same purpose seeke a knife But when I feard I was a loyall wife So am I now O no that cannot be Of that true type hath Tarquin rifled me O that is gone for which I sought to liue And therefore now I need not feare to die To cleare this spot by death at least I giue A badge of Fame to slaunders liuery A dying life to liuing infamy Poore helplesse helpe the treasure stolne away To burne the guiltlesse casket where it lay Well well deare Colatine thou shalt not know The stained tast of violated troth I will not wrong thy true affection so To flatter thee with an infringed oath This bastard grasse shall neuer come to growth He shall not boast who did thy stocke pollute That thou art doting father of his fruit Nor shall he smile at thee in secret thought Nor laugh with his companions at thy state But thou shalt know thy interest was not bought Basely with gold but stolne from forth thy gate For me I am the mistresse of my fate And with my trespasse neuerwill dispence Till life to death acquit my forst offence I will not poison thee with my attaint Nor fold my fault in cleanly coyn'd excuses My sable ground of sinne I will not paint To hide the truth of this false nights abules My tongue shall vtter all mine eyes like sluces As from a mountaine spring that feeds a dale Shall gush pure streames to purge my impure tale By this lamenting Philomele had ended The well-tun'd warble ofher nightly sorrow And solemne night with slow sad gate descended To ougly Hell when loe the blushing morrow Lends light to all faire eyes that light would borrow But clowdy Lucrece shames her selfe to see And therefore still in night would cloistred be Reuealing day through euery cranny spies And seems to point her out where she sits weeping To whom she sobbing speakes O eye of eyes Why pry'st thou through my window leaue thy peeping Mock with thy tickling beames eyes that are sleeping Brand not my forehead with thy piercing light For day hath nought to do what 's done by night Thus cauils she with euery thing she sees True griefe is fond and testie as a childe Who way-ward once his mood with nought agrees Old woes not infant sorrowes beare them milde Continuance tames the one the other wilde Like an vnpractiz'd swimmer plunging stil With too much labour drowns for want of skill So she deepe drenched in a Sea of care Holds disputation with each thing she viewes And to her selfe all sorrow doth compare No obiect but her passions strength renewes And as one shifts another straight insewes Sometimes her griefe is dumbe and hath no words Sometime t is mad and too much talke affoords The little birds that tune their mornings ioy Make her mones mad with their sweet melodie For mirth doth search the bottome of annoy Sad soules are slaine in merry company Griefe best is pleased with griefes societie True sorrow then is feelingly suffiz'd When with like semblance it is simpathiz'd T is double death to drowne in ken of shore He ten times pines that pines beholding food To see the salue doth make the wound ake more Great griefe grieues most at that would do it good Deepe woes roule forward like a gentle floud Who being stopt the bounding banks oreflowes Griefe dallied with nor law nor limit knowes You mocking Birds quoth she your tunes intombe Within your hollow swelling feathred breasts And in my hearing be you euer dumbe My restlesse discord loues no stops nor rests A wofull hostesse brooks not merry guests Relish your nimble notes to pleasing eares Distresse likes dumps when time is kept with teares Come Philomele that singst of rauishment Make thy sad groue in my disheueld heare As the danke earth weepes at thy languishment So I at each sad straine will straine a teare And with deepe groanes the Diapason beare For burthen-wise I le hum on Tarquin still While thou on Tereus descants better skill And whiles against a thorne thou bearst thy part To keepe thy sharpe woes waking wretched I To imitate thee well against my heart Will sixe a sharpe knife to affright mine eye Who if it winke shall thereon fall and die These meanes as frets vpon an instrument Shall tune our heart-strings to true languishment And for poore bird thou sing'st not in the day As shaming any eye should thee behold Some darke deepe desart seated from the way That knowes nor parching heat nor freezing cold Will we finde out and there we will vnfold To creatures stern sad tunes to change their kinds Since men proue beasts let beasts beare gentle minds As the poore frighted Deere that stands at gaze Wildly determining which way to fly Or one incompast with a winding maze That cannot tread the way out readily So with her selfe is she in mutinie To liue or die which of the twaine were better When life is sham'd and death reproches detter To kill my selfe quoth she alacke what were it But with my body my poore soules pollution They that loose halfe with greater patience beare it Then they whose whole is swallowed in confusion That mother tries a mercilesse conclusion Who hauing two sweet babes when death takes one Will slay the other and be nurse to none My body or my soule which was the dearer When the one pure the other made diuine Whose loue of either to my selfe was nearer When both were kept for Heauen and Colatine Ay me the barke pild from the lofty Pine His leaues will wither and his sap decay So must my soule her barke being pild away Her house is sackt her quiet interrupted Her mansion battered by

the enemy Her sacred Temple spotted spoild corrupted Grosly ingirt with daring infamy Then let it not be cald impiety If in this blemisht for t I make some hole Through which I may conuey this troubled soule Yet die I will not till my Colatine Haue heard the cause of my vntimely death That he may vow in that sad houre of mine Reuenge on him that made me stop my breath My stained bloud to Tarquin I le bequeath VVhich by him tainted shall for him be spent And as his due writ in my Testament My honor I le bequeath vnto the knife That wounds my body so dishonored T is Honor to depriue dishonored life The one will liue the other being dead So of shames ashes shall my Fame be bred For in my death I murther shamefull scorne My shame so dead my honor is new borne Deare Lord of that deare Iewell I haue lost What legacy shall I bequeath to thee My resolution loue shall be thy bost By whose example thou reueng'd maist be How Tarquin must be vs'd read it in me My selfe thy friend will kill my selfe thy foe And for my sake serue thou false Tarquin so This briefe abridgement of my will I make My soule and body to the skies and ground My resolution Husband doe you take Mine honor be the knifes that make my wound My shame be his that did my fame confound And all my fame that liues disbursed be To those that liue and thinke no shame of me Then Colatine shall ouersee this will How was I ouerseene that thou shalt see it My bloud shall wash the slander of mine ill My life 's foule deed my lifes faire end shall free it Faint not faint heart but stoutly say so be it Yeeld to my hand my hand shall conquer thee Thou dead both die and both shall victors be This plot of death when sadly she had laid And wipt the brinish pearle from her bright eyes With vntun'd tongue she hoarsely calld her maid Whose swift obedience to her mistresse hies For fleet-wingd duty with thoughts feathers flies Poore Lucrece cheekes vnto her maid seeme so As winter meads when Sunne doth melt their snow Her mistresse she doth giue demure good morrow With soft slow tongue true markes of modesty And sorts a sad looke to her Ladies sorrow For why her face wore sorrowes liuery But durst not aske of her audaciously Why her two suns were clowd-eclipsed so Nor why her faire cheeks ouer washt with woe But as the earth doth weepe the Sun being set Each flower moystned like a melting eye Euen so the maid with swelling drops gan wet Her circkled eyne enforc'd by sympathie Of those faire Suns set in her mistresse skie Who in a salt-wau'd Ocean quench their light Which makes the maid weepe like the dewy night A prettie while these pretty creatures stand Like iuory conduits corall cesierues filling One iustly weepes the other takes in hand No cause but company of her drops spilling Their gentle sex to weepe are often willing Grieuing themselues to gesse at other smarts And then they drowne their eies or breake their harts For men haue marble women waxen minds And therefore are they form'd as marble will The weake opprest th' impression of strange kinds Is form'd in them by force by fraud or skill Then call them not the Authors of their ill No more then waxe shall be accounted euill Wherein is stampt the semblance of a diuell Their smothnesse like a champaine plaine Layes open all the little wormes that creepe In men as in a rough growne groue remaine Caue-keeping euils that obscurely sleepe Through chrystall walles ech little mote will peepe Though men can couer crimes with bold stern looks Poore womans faces are their owne faults bookes No man inueighs against the withered flowre But chide rough winter that the flowre hath kild Not that deuourd but that which doth deuoure Is worthy blame ô let it not be held Poore womens faults that they are so fulfild With mens abuses those proud Lords to blame Make weake-made women tenants to their shame The president whereof in Lucrece view Assail'd by night with circumstances strong Of present death and shame that mightinsue By that her death to do her husband wrong Such danger to resistance did belong The dying feare through all her body spread And who cannot abuse a body dead By this milde patience bid faire Lucrece speake To the poore counterfeit of her complayning My girle quoth she on what occasion breake Those teares from thee that downe thy cheeks are raining If thou dost weepe for griefe of my sustaining Know gentle wench it small auailes my moode If teares could helpe mine owne would do me good But tell me girle when went and there she staid Til after a deepe grone Tarquin from hence Madam ere I was vp repli'd the maid The more to blame my sluggard negligence Yet with the fault I thus farre can dispence My selfe was stirring ere the breake of day And ere I rose was Tarquin gone away But Lady if your maid may be so bold She would request to know your heauinesse O peace quoth Lucrece if it should be told The repetition cannot make it lesse For more it is then I can well expresse And that deep torture may be cald a Hell When more is felt then one hath power to tell Goe get me hither paper inke and pen Yet saue that labour for I haue them heare What should I say one of my husbands men Bid thou be ready by and by to beare A Letter to my Lord my loue my deare Bid him with speed prepare to carry it The cause craues hast and it will soone be writ Her maide is gone and she prepares to write First houering ore the paper with her quill Conceipt and griefe an eager combat fight What Wit sets downe is blotted still with Will This is too curious good this blunt and ill Much like a prease of people at a dore Throng her inuentions which shall goe before At last she thus begins Thou worthy Lord Of that vnworthy wife that greeteth thee Health to thy person next vouchsafet ' afford If euer loue thy LVCRECE thou wilt see Some present speed to come and visit me So I commend me from our house in griefe My woes are tedious though my words are briefe Here folds she vp the tenor of her woe Her certain sorrow writ vncertainly By this short sedule Colatine may know Her griefe but not her griefes true quality She dares not thereof make discouery Least he should hold it her owne grosse abuse Ere she with blood had staind her staind excuse Besides the life and feeling of her passien She hoords to spend when he is by to heare her VVhen sighes and grones and teares may grace the fashion Of her disgrace the better so to cleare her From that suspition which the world might beare her To shun this blot she would not blot the letter With words till action might become