Selected quad for the lemma: death_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
death_n	bring_v	good_a	sin_n	4,483	5	4.6815	4	false

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A29640	Lachrymæ musarum The tears of the muses : exprest in elegies / written by divers persons of nobility and worth upon the death of the most hopefull, Henry Lord Hastings ... ; collected and set forth by R.B.	Brome, Richard, d. 1652?; Dryden, John, 1631-1700.	1649 (1649)	Wing B4876; ESTC R2243	29,474	101

Strafford Falkland and brave Capel were Whose pregnant Brain spake a descent from Iove And Shape Celestial from the Queen of Love So that to charm the World he match'd the grace Of Nestors Wisdom with Adonis Face The Nurse Minerva boasts how this her son Suck'd dry the Poets and their Helicon With what a nimble pace he posted ore The fields of Phant'sie rifled all her Store Cropt ev'ry Flow'r and Tulip which did grow To make a Garland for his own fair Brow That young Apollo never wan more Praise When he pursu'd his Love and catcht the Bays This but the Bud these but the Blossoms were The Fruit grew ripe in Studies more severe Where he seem'd born to master and control Both the Cecropian and the Roman School Big with designe t' usurp the Chair of Wit From Tully and depose the Stagirit Adde next to these the Grace which did belong T' unlock those Treasures with a Golden tongue A Tongue so rarely furnisht as might boast It self of kin to those at Pentecost And in their proper Languages begun To court the Rising and the Setting Sun Fit to reform our own degen'rous Sprites And plant the world with Loyal Proselytes Thus ripen'd see this rare Example stood No less ennobled in Desert then Blood Whilst others swoln high with an empty Name Leave nothing but their Lusts and Sins to Fame But if you 'll Noble be indeed your yeers Improve like him strive to become his Peers How joy'd think you the Noble Huntingdon To be thus copi'd in so brave a Son How did he bless admire and smile to see This young Ascanius of his Family As did Aeneas that his onely Joy The precious Relique of confounded Troy What Fruits he reckon'd would the Harvest bring After so sweet and so serene a Spring How fair an Issue should the Boy beget Good as their Sire and as their Grandsires Great Whose Vertues claim this Title to their Line Of all the British Heroes most Divine No marvel then the famous Mayern strove To place his Childe where he had fixt his Love Melting the Indies to unite in one His Onely Daughter with this onely Son That so his longing Soul might once behold This Jewel set within his Ring of Gold The old man woo'd as if he meant to prove An earnest Rival in his daughters love Gave Hymen speedy Orders to prepare The Triumphs due unto this harmless War Invited all the gods of Mirth and Wine That as Themselves the Feast might be Divine Venus her Trinkets sent without delay To dress ten thousand Cupids for the day The Duellists with plighted hands did greet And promis'd quick within the Lists to meet The lustre of whose mutual Smiles and Rays Foretold a Sunshine of auspicious days But Oh! the Scene is alter'd some cross Star Darts down Infection th'row the Hemisphear Those eyes which Hymen hop'd should light his Torch Aethereal flames of Fevers now do scorch And envious Pimples too dig Graves apace To bury all the Glories of his face The Boy-god sighing soon unbends his Bowe And with his Mother lies extinct belowe In vain expecting Succour while the Race Of Stygian Monsters seize upon the place Where they their Revels keep mocking the skill Of best Physitians and then rage their fill Till ugly Death his dire Magnetick Dart Shot th'row the Veins to hit his tender Heart Ruined the Fort and then snatch'd the Prize Due to the conquest of his Ladies eyes The onely Legacies he left us are Grief to his Friends and to the World Despair So when fair Phoebus 'gins to gild the Morn Some sullen Cloud within a moment born Sends Hell and Darkness th'row the air to flie And all with Mourning hangs the lofty Skie M. N. De honoratissimo Juvene Dom. HENRICO HASTINGS Linguis Artibus Virtutibus excultissimo Comitis HUNTINGDONIAE Filio Unico qui undevicesimum Aetatis suae annum agens diem obiit magno cum Literarum juxtà Literatorum detrimento PEgasus excussit fontem unum e Vertice montis Laxat at hìc fontes singula Musa duos Semper ut è teneris lacrymae Labuntur ocellis Sic LACRYMAE Musis Musica semper erit Apostrophe ad defunctum Qui Musas omnes in Te complexus es uno Musa Tibi non est quae fleat una satis {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} IOANNES HARMARVS Oxoniensis {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} C. W. M. moerens posuit Upon the death of the Lord HASTINGS MUst Noble Hastings Immaturely die The Honour of his ancient Family Beauty and Learning thus together meet To bring a Winding for a Wedding-sheet Must Vertue prove Death's Harbinger Must She With him expiring feel Mortality Is Death Sin 's wages Grace's now shall Art Make us more Learned onely to depart If Merit be Disease if Vertue Death To be Good Not to be who 'd then bequeath Himself to Discipline who 'd not esteem Labour a Crime Study Self-murther deem Our Noble Youth now have pretence to be Dunces securely Ign'rant healthfully Rare Linguist whose Worth speaks it self whose Praise Though not his Own all Tongues Besides do raise Then Whom Great Alexander may seem Less Who conquer'd Men but not their Languages In his mouth Nations speak his Tongue might be Interpreter to Greece France Italy His native Soyl was the Four parts o' th' Earth All Europe was too narrow for his Birth A young Apostle and with rev'rence may I speak ' it inspir'd with gift of Tongues as They Nature gave him a Childe what Men in vain Oft strive by Art though further'd to obtain His Body was an Orb his sublime Soul Did move on Vertue 's and on Learning's Pole Whose Reg'lar Motions better to our view Then Archimedes Sphere the Heavens did shew Graces and Vertues Languages and Arts Beauty and Learning fill'd up all the parts Heav'ns Gifts which do like falling Stars appear Scatter'd in Others all as in their Sphear Were fix'd and conglobate in 's Soul and thence Shone th'row his Body with sweet Influence Letting their Glories so on each Limb fall The whole Frame render'd was Celestial Come learned Ptolomy and trial make If thou this Hero's Altitude canst take But that transcends thy skill thrice happie all Could we but prove thus Astronomical Liv'd Tycho now struck with this Ray which shone More bright i' th' Morn then others beam at Noon He 'd take his Astrolabe and seek out here What new Star 't was did gild our Hemisphere Replenish'd then with such rare Gifts as these Where was room left for such a Foul Disease

Upon it any doleful Epitaph No good man's tongue that office will decline Whilst yeers succeeding reach the end of Time ASTON COKAINE Upon the Death of HENRY Lord HASTINGS SInce that young Hastings bove our Hemisphear Is snatch'd away O let some Angels Wing Lend me a Quill his Noble Fame to rear Up to that Quire which Hallelujah sing Sure Heaven it self for us thought him too good And took him hence just in his strength and prime When Vertue 'gan to make him understood Beyond the Peers and Nobles of his time Wherefore 't will ask more then a Mortal Pen To speak his worth unto Posterity Whose judgment shin'd 'mongst grave and learned men With true Devotion and integrity For which in heaven the Joys of lasting Bliss He reaps whilst we sowe Tears for him we miss But I no praise for Poesie affect Nor Flatteries hoped meed doth me incite Such base-born thoughts as servile I reject Sorrow doth dictate what my Zeal doth write Sorrow for that rich Treasure we have lost Zeal to the Memory of what we had And that is all they can that can say most So sings my Muse in Zeal and Sorrow clad So sang Achilles to his silver Harp When foul affront had ' reft his fair delight So sings sweet Philomel against the Sharp So sings the Swan when life is taking flight So sings my Muse the notes which Sorrow weeps Which Antheme sung my Muse for ever sleeps ARTHUR GORGES EPIGRAM Upon the death of the most hopeful Henry Lord Hastings Eldest son of the Right Honorable FERDINANDO Earl of Huntingdon Heir general of the high-born Prince GEORGE Duke of Clarence Brother to King Edward 4. 'T Is a Mistake Lord Hastings did not die But 't was our Hopes and his great Parents Joy That did depart Is he said to decease That raigns in Glory now and lives in Peace Yet may we gently mourn not that he 's gone But left us till the Resurrection Our Joy ought to be more since he doth get A Heavenly Crown for an Earths Coronet Then let us cease our Tears for if we grieve Too much too little surely we believe ROB. MILLWARD Upon the death of my Lord Hastings THese are thy Triumphs Death who prid'st to give Their lives an end who best deserve to live Dull useless men whom Nature makes in vain Or but to fill her Number and her Train Men by the world remembred but till Death Whose empty story endeth with their breath Stay till Old-age consume them when the Good The Noble and the Wise are kill'd i' th' bud Such was the Subject of our Grief in whom All that times past can boast or times to come Can hope is lost whose Blood although its Springs Stream from the Royal loyns of Englands Kings His Vertue hath exalted and refin'd For his high Birth was lower then his Minde But that the Fates inexorably bent To mischief Man and ruine his Content Would have this Sacrifice the Sisters might Have been affected with so sweet a sight And thought their hastie Cruelty a Crime To tear him from his Friends before his Time THOMAS HIGGONS An Elegie upon the Lord HASTINGS AMongst the Mourners that attend his Herse With flowing eyes and wish each Tear a Verse T' embalm his Fame and his dear Merit save Uninjur'd from th' oblivion of the Grave A Sacrificer I am come to be Of this poor Offring to his Memory O could our pious Meditations thrive So well to keep his better part alive So that in stead of Him we could but finde Those fair Examples of his Letter'd Minde Vertuous Emulation then might be Our hopes of Good men though not such as He. But in his hopeful progress since he 's crost Pale Vertue droops now her best Pattern 's lost 'T was hard neither Divine nor Humane Parts The strength of Goodness Learning and of Arts Full crowds of Friends nor all the Pray'rs of them Nor that he was the Pillar of his Stem Affection's Mark secure of all mens Hate Could rescue him from the sad stroke of Fate Why was not th' Air drest in Prodigions forms To groan in Thunder and to weep in Storms And as at some mens Fall why did not His In Nature work a Metamorphosis No he was gentle and his soul was sent A silent Victim to the Firmament Weep Ladies weep lament great Hastings Fall His House is bury'd in his Funeral Bathe him in Tears till there appear no trace Of those sad Blushes in his lovely face Let there be in 't of Guilt no seeming sence Nor other Colour then of Innocence For he was wise and good though he was young Well suited to the Stock from whence he sprung And what in Youth is Ignorance and Vice In him prov'd Piety of an excellent price Farewel dear Lord and since thy body must In time return to its first matter Dust Rest in thy melancholy Tomb in peace for who Would longer live that could but now die so CHA. COTTON For the Right Honourable LVCIE Countess of HUNTINGDON 1649. From her Honours humblest Servant T. P. Her Soliloquie or her Meditation 'T Is mystick Union Man and Wife Yet scarce distinct from Single life Till like the Sun a Son arise And set them Both before their eyes No sweeter braver fairer sight Then thus to stand in our own Light And such a Son I joy'd Ay me Was ever such a Son as he And felt what fervent spirits of Love Orbs of Maternal Bowels move I wou'd not shun those outward snares Of Shape of shining eyes and hairs Which still the more they catch or wound More pleasing still their power I found And it is lawful godly too To love what Gods own fingers do Whose Angels still are sweetly fac'd Himself with perfect Beauty grac'd But eager Vertue from the Clay In words and actions making way To Sense in All that heard or saw Became a fierce almighty Law And stoop'd all hearts that were not stone Or drown'd in Malice or in Moan Like mine So overgone with Wo My very Reason bids it go Nor lies it in the power of Wit By Reason to recover it The Rational Reply By Reason to recover it Sans forlorn Hope or wings of Wit Who serves you his main Battel brings Heark how the feather'd Tempest sings Your clouds of Grief transpiercing quite Or hurrying to disordered Flight Then Sorrow vanquisht on his Herse Rears Trophies of victorious Verse First let us ask Impatience why At gentle Death's approach we cry Sweet Favourite of heaven that flies With Cupids face but Hermes eyes Whose Rods and Snakes and seeming harms Our souls in slumber wisely charms For that poor Spark call'd Life the brand The Rush we carry in our hand Which dropping and defiling spends Death gives Delight that never ends O mad mistake Sea-tost a Calm And wounded we reject a Balm Rabide for want of Rest we keep A bawling and refuse to sleep Dead-weary tir'd yet scorn to stay And Cripple hurl our Crutch away