Selected quad for the lemma: death_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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A33398
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The songs of Moses and Deborah paraphras'd with poems on several occasions : never before publish'd : to which is added, a Pindarick on Mr. L'Estrange.
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Cleeve, Charles, b. 1661.
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1685
(1685)
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Wing C4625; ESTC R12342
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42,192
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162
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The Midian Dames at mention of thy Name shall fly And with it still their Children when they cry Oh blessed be that Hand that made the Whole Oh blessed be the Heart that did the Hand controul XXIII Gloriously smear'd with sordid Dust and Sweat As to a kind Retreat Into her Tent the wretched Sisera prest The new-drawn Blood lay reeking on his Helmets Crest Her Board with choicest Country-Viands spread With pleasant Looks her Face she beg'd him feed And all to cloak the Pious Cheat And from suspicion skreen his black impending Fate But now to Rest inclin'd Sleep to its Temples did its Leaden Plummets bind Through his distracted Brain strange Images did rove A thousand gliding Phantoms move He saw the Field with Armed Troops o'erspred His Men like Leaves in Autumn faln and scattered The Battle was again fought over in his Head Thus whirl'd in Fancy's Airy Coach He pass'd by various Things and various Fates Downfal of Men and States Something at last there did approach In an imperfect Vision 's gloomy Scene It look'd as if his own ill Fate 't had been With this ill-boding Sight unruly grown Away his drowzy Chain he wou'd have thrown But Sleep lay heavy on him as afore For Fate had said Sisera shall wake no more XXIV Into her willing Hands Strait she commands The little Instrument of Fate But Fear our Sexes Curse her Courage did rebate How shall I such a bold Act essay Against the World's great Captain Sisera What if my trembling Hand shou'd miss the Stroke And his unruly Soul the Fetters loose In which dull Sleep the Hero does enclose What Plagues and Furies must I needs provoke His Troops perhaps do this way fly May reach my Tent before the Tragedy Then tho' the wild Attempt be solely mine Revenge will light on every Branch of Heber's Line By this one Stroke All Hospitable Laws are broke Came he not hither as a Friend Cannot that Thought some Pity lend Begone Relentings which as Mists arise And fain wou'd cloud this Glorious Enterprize Shall I a League with that curs'd Man commence Who to Heaven's King owes no Allegiance Jael be great in Act as thou hast been in Thought That Heart will aid which first the Motion brought Our Sex to Pity is inclin'd 'T was Heaven the Project first design'd From thence from thence it came Such a bold Thought wou'd shake and stagger Woman's Fame The groaning Widows Cries methinks I hear The Shrieks of ravish'd Virgins strike my Ear Our Sex the Tyrant ne're wou'd spare T 's but one Man a mighty Man that 's lost What 's that to all our Blood and Cost To all the Lives this Monster 's Sword can boast XXV Bare and expos'd he lay a tempting Sight That a less daring Hand might e'ne invite She look'd around her lest some straggling Page shou'd come And change the Fatal Doom Forbear said she hard-hearted Jael do These bloody Acts befit not you With that the Instrument of Death away she threw But noble manly Anger soon Bid her pursue what she had once begun The Blood by Midian spilt her staggering Courage fir'd And the Black Scene of all her Country's Woes appear'd Shamgar and Ehud to her Thoughts repair The Instance pleas'd with that she smooth'd aside his Hair Thus having quell'd the doubtful Strife The fatal Hammer hovering o're his Head The Imperial Seat of Life Great God of Israel guide my Hand she said Betwixt his Temples pierc'd the willing Tool And at the little Vent came out his mighty Soul XXVI There lie thou bloodless Remnant of great Sisera To ravenous Beasts and Fowls a Prey As greedy once of Blood as they Cheated by Fate trepann'd deceiv'd Of Life's last Stake by a Woman's Hand bereav'd Unhappy too in this Thou ne're must know The feeble Hand that gave the Blow How small a thing well manag'd by our Fate Can open thro' Life's Golden Gate And all our vast Designs defeat Where be the fawning Peers that cring'd and bow'd Where be the thronging Troops that hemm'd thee round Where be the Chariots which so many Death once bore That a destroying Angel scarce has more Ill-natur'd Fate that can't afford So much as one poor Page t' attend his dying Lord To the cold Ground he lean'd his bending Head As if his list'ning Body wou'd Full fain have understood Which way the Soul his dearest Mate was fled XXVII Surrounded with her beauteous Maiden Train Which thither did resort To see and make the Glories of the Midian Court Sate his proud Mother rack't with pressing Pain A Civil War her labouring Breast maintain'd And Joy and Fear by turns the Empire gain'd As when two adverse Winds upon the Sea Dispute for Victory The Wat'ry Plains are harass'd with their Shocks All curse these Stormy Foes Ships Seas and Rocks Oft from her Palace Top she cast an eager Look Over the Plains till the arched Heaven took Her bounded Sight but yet her Fancy stray'd Her anxious Thoughts a farther Journey made Why stays my Son where is his loytering Host This Victory perhaps much Blood and Sweat has cost Despair has arm'd these rebel Hebrews sure That they durst more than just his Army's sight endure No His clogg'd Chariots the vast Prey does load 'T is that retards him on the Road. They slowly move with a Triumphant Grace And come but just a Conqueror's pace Hazor throw ope thy enlarged Gates prepare To meet the God of War Hung round with Spoils hither his Troops does bend Those old Aegyptian Tenants to vile Slavery born In Crowds the Solemn Pomp adorn Hazor prepare to share the mighty Dividend Now Jewish Virgins sentenc'd are To sigh whole Years away in Foreign Air. And the rich Births of all their Hebrew Looms To Us unbought unpurchas'd come For Us like painful Bees they work and toil We have the Crop whoe're manur'd the stubborn Soil XXVIII Thus thus let all Unpitied fall And such be still the Doom and worse Of those whose impious Threats are driven Against the invulnerable Clouds of Heaven Who dare pull down the Eternal Vengeance of its Curse Who fights with Heaven and wou'd Associate His Fellow-Creatures ' gainst the Eternal Mind of Fate Shoots up an Arrow in the Air and strives Upon their Fountains Streams to drive The Dart descends the Stream slows back again And mocks the vain Projector 's fruitless Toil and â—ain And thus it needs must be When weak Mortality When wretched Dust and Ashes poor contending Man Wou'd the great Mover's Counsels contradict and scan The lowest Class of Insects in some Sense may vie With the Coelestial Hierarchy The vilest Worm may call the Angel Brother Their Pedigree deriv'd does stand From the same great Artist's Hand He that made One of Earth with Light dress'd up the Other Thus these Extreams of the Creation Meet in a single Point and join And thus admit of some Comparison Thus thus let all Unpitied fall And such be still the Doom and
Patron call And what before was Legend Fable Lye Shall pass for Current and Authentick History To the Memory of the Learned Dr. J. N. who died of a Consumption 1683. I. PITY it is all our Poetick rage Must waste in Libel against Death each blubber'd Page Must weep in Verse each faint and piteous strain Of Saints departed must complain Death has of late with utmost rage and cruelty Harass'd the Muse's Family And made her free-born Subjects wear the Chain With which Plebeian Souls he aws I wonder'd at the spiteful Cause And thus 'twixt grief and rage did strait complain II. Sure the pale Monarch of Eternal Night Mistakes his Creet whilst here with Tyrant's spight He sports and laughs to see so many Victims fall Creet where stood his hallowed Stall Creet where the Caitiff still had store Glutting himself with humane Gore When yearly with the reeking bloud Of seven young Boys He gorg'd his Jaws Till high-born Theseus stopt the sacred Floud III. I know the secret cause it must be it Why Death does wage immortal War with Wit Learning and Wit a Lease of Life can give And make our Names in after-ages bud and thrive These to the Tyrant are no Friends But baulk his curst ignoble Ends So these Lights must go out that he again In Night and darkness uncontroul'd may reign Like some bold Villain who the Archives burns And all the blest Remains to Ashes turns That there no Proof in future times may be Of his low Birth and Dunghil Pedigree IV. Death's cold embrace what Mortal e'er can fly Since Phoebus's dearest Son does breathless lye Lov'd by the God upon a double score He Physick added to Arts general store If a Disease had stroke a wounded Soul He wou'd the sawcy Malady controul With choicest Simples and Herbs Sovereign Juice Which seldom did his just Commands refuse But if weak Nature in her part did fail And the Destroyer o'er his Druggs prevail He straight cou'd with his Pen Fetch him to life again Embalm the Memory of the Just And make it flourish in the Dust Death here with witty malice doth repay All favours and civilities past And let those Devils he once cast Out of our Bodies on himself now prey That Death which for a punishment was meant Shou'd fly on those that are most innocent V. Nature had cast him in her largest Mould This well-built Frame a Mind as large controul'd I saw it happy Saint and said go on Thou surely wilt compleat the wretched Span. Life's longest Stage thy threescore years and ten Fond man deceiv'd and gull'd by outward shew What cou'd his Soul with such a Partner do His Mind and Body were ill-pair'd by Fate To act things vastly good Divinely great His eager Soul with Learning's thirst was fir'd His Body lagg'd and in the Journey tir'd Like generous Wine his Soul for ease complain'd Broke the frail Cask that its vast Spirits contain'd Whatever Vertue Druggs and Herbs can boast Unhappy Friend were on thee lost So that the Artist's skill we must adore And rather say the Art it self was poor But one faint Spark of Life was left I doubt With pious care he blew and chanc'd to put it out VI. To our Forefather's Death and kinder Fate Gave longer Truce in Life's sweet Bower they sate Five times as long when to the hundredth Year They'd climb'd the pleasing Task did still appear Renew'd and still with haste the rowling Year Came back again Their hopes did with their lengthen'd Ages thrive And now by Custom they might plead to live Death in his winged Chariot might have flown To the wide Ocean or the swarthy Zone And there have trifled many a Year and fed His pamper'd Steeds with steam of Indian bloud Then have return'd While we alas who ' have more to do than they A World of Art as well as Nature to survey Just know what 't is to live then straight are snatcht away VII His winged Shaft with wondrous Art A thousand ways the Tyrant does impart Burns in a Feaver in a Dropsie drowns And Man the lesser World with slimy Rheume confounds Plucking up all the Sluces in its Rounds With more than Syren's Art he flatters still In a Consumption when he means to kill Here like the sleep of Infants Death Lays by his Leaden hand and gently takes our breath With all the Graces the stern Monarch wears Allays our fears and sweetly stills our cares Thus He to thee appear'd dear Saint the kindest Dart In all Death's Quiver struck thee to the heart So the fam'd Seneca expir'd Feeling his trickling Blood retir'd His heart unman'd defenceless quite In a soft Dream his Soul took flight And hasted to the Shades of Night Death long had laid her Siege to thee That like Ostend thou needs must be Nothing but Ruines at Delivery On the Famous PAINTER Mr. J. E. Pindarick Odes I. THE blustring Hero struts in slow-pac'd lines In humble Elegy the Lover whines In keen Iambicks others scold and rail The Lyrick Verse has many a pretty Tale These old starch'd ways and I can ne'er agree For Poets well as Painters too If the observing World says true Are still for bold Pindarick Liberty Dull measure will my fancy sink not raise When I design intemperately to praise I sing a wondrous man and wondrous things What need of gouty Feet my Muse has got her wings II. But stay my Muse wilt thou no God invoke Is no kind Deity bespoke To guide thee through the vast mysterious maze Of his unbounded praise Great Phoebus daign for once to lend an ear To an humble Poet's Prayer With open Arms so may thy Thetis run To meet thy Teem and setting Sun So may thy glorious Head for ever be From sooty Earthly Vapours free With undisturbed Rays may shine Till the last Flames shall the whole World refine When thou must too expire As in thy Beams now Culinary Fire III. But why shou'd I with so much passion ask That which thou count'st thy daily Task Poets and Painters too To thee their fair designments owe In vain the feeble Poets write Unless the God of Wit indite In vain they paint and show their Art Unless thou play thy Part Shoud'st thou but once deny their Pieces light Their best-wrought Draughts must lye in endless Night For at the Call of thy approaching Sun The hidden Colours all do run The green the blue the yellow and the red And all the Regiment make Head When in a Morn thou risest first from sleep Each colour to its well-known feature creepe What is that thing I fain wou'd know With which thou' rt wont to gild the watry Bow What are those all-enlivening Beams With which thou paint'st the murmuring Streams With which thou trickest up the Air and Skies Which on the Plants in gaudy colours lies With that same Pencil let me stand And all the Lines and Strokes command With measure and due Art to march along Into my well-proportion'd Song That