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	fire_n	soul_n	4,333	5	5.0921	4	false

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A12633	Mœoniæ. Or, Certaine excellent poems and spirituall hymnes: omitted in the last impression of Peters complaint being needefull thereunto to be annexed, as being both diuine and wittie. All composed by R.S.	Southwell, Robert, Saint, 1561?-1595.	1595 (1595)	STC 22955.5; ESTC S117673	10,446	38

Praise thy Captaine and thy Pastour With hymnes and solemne harmony What power affords performe indeede His works all praises farre exceede No praise can reach his dignity A speciall theame of praise is read A liuing and a life giuing bread Is on this day exhibited Within the supper of our Lord To twelue disciples at his bord As doubtlesse twas deliuered Let our praise be lou'd and free Full of ioy and decent glee With mindes and voices melody For now solemnize we that day Which doth with ioy to vs display The priuy vse of this mistery At this borde of our new ruler Of new Law new pascall order The ancient rite abolisheth Old decrees by new annild Shadowes are in trueth fulfilld Day former darkenes finisheth That at supper Christ performed To be done he straightly charged For his eternall memory Guided by his sacred orders Bread and wine vpon our altars To sauing host we sanctifie Christians are by faith assured That to flesh the bread is changed The wine to blood most precious That no wit nor sence conceiueth Firme and grounded faith belieueth In strange affects not curious Vnder kindes two in appearance Two in shew bnt one in substance Be things beyond comparison Flesh is meat blood drinke most heauenly Yet is Christ in each kinde wholy Most free from al diuision None that eateth him doth chew him None that takes him doth denie him Receiued he whole perseuereth Be there one or thousands housoled One as much as all receiued He by no eating perisheth Both the good and bad receiue him But effects are diuers in them True life or true destruction Life to the good death to the wicked Marke how both alike receiued With farre vnlike conclusion When the priest the hoast deuideth Know that each part abideth All that the whole hoast couered Forme of bread not Christ is broken Not of Christ but of his token Is state or stature altered Angels bread made Pilgrimes feeding Truely bread for childrens eating To dogs not to be offered Signd by Isacke on the alter By the Lambe and paschall supper And in the manna figured Iesu food and feeder of vs Here with mercie feede and friend vs Then grant in heauen felicitie Lord of all whom here thou feedest Fellow heires guests with thy dearest Make vs in heauenly company S. Peters afflicted minde IF that the sicke may grone Or Orphane mourne his losse If wounded wretch may rue his harmes Or caitife shew his crosse If heart consumde with care May vtter signes of paine Then may my brest be sorrowes home And tongue with cause complaine My maladie is sinne And langour of the minde My body but a lazars couch Wherein my soule is pinde The care of heauenly kinde Is death to my reliefe Forlorne and left like Orphan child With sighs I feede my griefe My wounds with mortall smart My dying soule torment And prisoner to mine owne mishaps My follies I repent My heart is but the haunt Where all dislikes do keepe And who can blame so lost a wretch Though teares of blood he weepe S. Peters remorse REmorse vpbraids my faults Selfe blaming conscience cries Sinne claimes the hoast of humbled thoughts And streames of weeping eies Let penance Lord preuaile Let sorrow sue release Let loue be vmpier in my cause And passe the doome of peace If doome go by desert My least desert is death That robs from soule immortall ioies From body mortall breath But in so high a God So base a wormes annoy Can adde no praise vnto thy power No blisse vnto thy ioy Well may I frie in flames Due fuell to hell fire But on a wretch to wreake thy wrath Can not be worth thine ire Yet sith so vile a woorme Hath wrought his greatest spight Of highest treason well thou maist In rigor him endite But mercy may relent And temper iustice rod For mercy doth as much belong As iustice to a God If former time or place More right to mercy winne Thou first wert author of my selfe The vmpier of my sinne Did mercie spin the thread To weaue in Iustice loome Wert thou a father to conclude With dreadfull Iudges doome It is a small reliefe To say I was thy child If as an ill deseruing foe From grace I am exilde I was I had I could All words importing want They are but dust of dead supplies Where needefull helpes are scant Once to haue beene in blisse That hardly can returne Doth but bewray from whence I fell And wherefore now I mourne All thoughts of passed hopes Encrease my present crosse Like ruines of decaied ioies They still vpbraide my losse O milde and mightie Lord Amend that is amisse My sinne my soare thy loue my salue Thy cure my comfort is Comfirme thy former deedes Reforme that is defilde I was I am I will remaine Thy charge thy choice thy childe Man to the wound in Christs side O Pleasant port O place of rest O royall rist O worthy wound Come harbour me a wearie guest That in the world no case haue found I lie lamenting at thy gate Yet dare I not aduenture in I beare with me a troublous mate And cumbred am with heape of sinne Discharge me of this heauie load That easier passage I may finde Within this bowre to make aboade And in this glorious tombe be shrin'd Here must I liue here must I die Here would I vtter all my griefe Heere would I all those paines discrie Which heere did meete for my releefe Here would I view the bloudy sore Which dint of spitefull speare did breed The bloody wounds laid there in store Would force a stony heart to bleede Heere is the spring of trickling teares The mirror of all mourning wights With dolefull tunes for dumpish cares And solemne shewes for sorrowed sights O happie soule that flies so hie As to attaine this sacred caue Lord send me wings that I may flie And in this harbour quiet haue Vpon the Image of death BEfore my face the picture hangs That daily should put me in mind Of those cold names and bitter pangs That shortly I am like to finde But yet alas full little I Do thinke hereon that I must die I often looke vpon a face Most vgly grisly bare and thinne I often view the hollow place Where eies and nose haue sometimes bin I see the bones acrosse that lie Yet little thinke that I must die I reade the Labell vnderneath That telleth me whereto I must I see the sentence eake that saith Remember man that thou art dust But yet alas but seldome I Do thinke indeede that I must die Continually at my beds head A hearse doth hang which doth me tel That I yer morning may be dead Though now I feele my selfe full well But now alas for all this I Haue little mind that I must die The gowne which I do vse to weare The knife wherewith I cut my meate And eke that old and ancient chaire Which is my onely vsuall seate All those do