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	die_v	live_v	11,962	5	5.5900	4	true

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A15041	A remembraunce, of the woorthie and well imployed life, of the right honorable Sir Nicholas Bacon Knight, Lorde keper of the greate Seale of Englande, and one of the Queenes Maiesties most honorable Priuie Counsell, who deceased, the 20 daye of Februarie 1578 VVith an exhortation necessarie for euery estate. The woorke of George VVhetstones Gentleman.	Whetstone, George, 1544?-1587?	1579 (1579)	STC 25343; ESTC S111692	7,428	24

long a goe a worthie office had His counsell graue did euery creature glad He Speaker was long of the Parlament And as he saied the matter alwaies went. And good cause why he was in speache repos'de He still deuis'de before he did derecte He neuer with his Prince nor Countrie glos'de But euer did the common weale respecte He blamed faultes but sild the faultie checte He brideled wrathe and fauour bleard hym not VVhich rare good giftes a matcheles fame him got But whiche belonges moste to a Magistrate A Protestant he was in zeale as showe VVhiche heauenly grace graft on his speciall giftes VVithin his minde made worthy thoughts to growe And in the darke as men a Diamonde knowe So by his deedes the Queene foreknewe hym iust And in her realme plaste hym in chiefest trust Her Counceler and keper of the Seale She made hym bothe of honour either charge Yea pillers of our happie Common weale And as through trust she trusted hym at large So he with truthe his dutie did discharge His counsell was bothe sounde and quicke in neede Yea all chaunst well that his deuise decreede Besides his faithe whiche moste delightes his soule VVhich holds his fame vntill the worlde doth ende To foster wrong he tooke no priuie toule Neither letters lorde nor all that helpe coulde lende Against the truthe should make his consience bende The wronged man how poore so were his plight Against the riche he would restore to right His head was staied before his tounge did walke His eyes did searche the simple sutors harte He trusted teares farre more then filed talke For well he wist thei flow'de from poore mens smart And truthe needes not the aide of Retoricks art To heare complaintes one eare was still awake The other sleapt till the defendaunt spake He washt his handes from doyng any wrong He cloyd his harte with care for others ease He spoild his legges in sittyng ouer long Betweene parties foule discordes to appease For others helpe he did his healthe disease Not muche vnlike to good Licurgus course VVho liu'de exild to keepe his lawes in force One spetiall Grace he vsde with gracelesse men VVith bitter tauntes their hartes he hardned not But did his threates with sweete intretie blen By whiche faire meanes to mende he many got VVhere Plato saieth the Iudge whose wordes are whot From all men doeth regarde of dutie drawe And duetie gon feare kepeth fewe in awe To chearishe lawe whiche made hym first to rise In Grayes Inne he did builde a Librarie Frō filchers handes where lawe bookes chained lies The Lawe it self is free for euery eye One office eake he made for the Chauncerie VVith other good deedes learnyng to aduaunce The which besides my wortheles verse doe glaunce And yet my woordes which of his worth come short VVould gound wise clarkes into workes to trāslate VVhen he hymself as witnesseth report In daiely actes a farre more credite gate VVhat would you more he left but fewe his mate VVorthie therefore of Abraham his blis VVhiche swetely feele bothe of hymself and his He liued long and lacke did neuer taste His toile in youth brought honour to his age His wealth increast how so his healthe did waste Yet sicknesse failde his iudgement to asswage The Prouerbe goeth once olde againe a page But till he died his graue aduise did deale In woorkes of worthe vnto the common weale In wedlocke bound most vertuous was his wife A blessyng greate whiche many greate men mis By whom he had to ioye his aged life Of children store whom Grace so well did blis As men deuin'de his giftes did growe in his This hap he had this honour he obtainde And this good life his honest merite gainde But mislyng droppes in tyme doth marble pearce Foule Canker ruste in tyme doeth Iron freate Time bringes in time proude princes to their hearce Time youth strēgth pride glorious pōpe doth eate Tyme striketh doune euen with the lowe the greate This tyme that once gaue hym what he could craue In fine deuis'de to bryng hym to his graue But wisedome whiche triumpheth ouer tyme Foretolde hym ofte how brittell was his state How man on yearth was naught but durt and slime How like a theefe Death creepes within the gate To staie whose stroke how praiers come to late And therefore good this tyrant to defie He daiely liu'de as he would howrely dye The huge greate Oke breakes with a little blaste If that through age the roote be worne awaie The grose man so a qualme doeth ouercaste If yeres or greef in Nature woorke decaie VVhiche perill he did in hymself forewaie Eare sommons came who did his consience straight And for his Quietus est on Death did waight He built a house to lodge his breathlesse corse And gasde theron which fleshe doeth quake to heare VVhich proues his mynde did beare a Phenix force To burne her self who makes her self the fire Yet as her duste a Phenix newe doeth reare So well he wist whiche ioy doeth worldlyngs griue By Death his soule and bodie bothe should liue O happie man whom honours could not blinde Nor wealth holde backe from willyngnes to dye His consience cleare doeth proue his quiet minde That neuer shronke when Death was in his eye Naye when he one his fleshe his forse did trie For when that Death by sicknesse pearst his harte He seamde as freashe as if he fealt no smarte Of all my care see here an ende quoth he I counte it care whiche others comfort holde Bothe health and wealth from care are seldome free The cheefest ioyes that in the worlde are solde Sweete is the name but sowre the vse of golde From office and from honours troubles come Nemo beatus ante obitum O would that mā would waie his wretched state So long as he liues in this synfull mase A verie mase this wicked worlde I rate VVhiche doeth begile with many a wanton gase VVhose firmest ioye is like a fagots blase Yet for this ioye whiche fadeth as a flowre The Deuill by Death doeth many a Soule deuowre O foolishe man thy worldlie hauntes forget VVhose beaten trakes to hell the hye waies are The fairest glode brynges woodcockes to the net The muse betraies the Conie to the snare Euen so the worlde with pleasures euery where Traines on the fleshe to satisfie his thought Till soule and all in Sathans ginns be cought The Soule and fleshe impunges the other still The flesh desires what Death chaunce doeth wast The Soule couets what none of these can kill VVho foilyng fleshe in Paradise is plaste VVhose certaine ioye is neuer sowre in taste VVhat worser matche can any man then make Then incerta for certis thus to take These godlie woordes in greatest griefes he vsde VVhiche daiely he in vertuous woorkes did proue And in this mynde whose might but fewe abusde VVith euery man in charitie and loue VVhom deadly panges