Selected quad for the lemma: death_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
death_n	crown_n	king_n	son_n	5,450	5	5.2450	4	false

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
B05082	An epistle to Mr. Dryden.	Rymer, Thomas, 1641-1713.	1688 (1688)	Wing R2424B; Interim Tract Supplement Guide C.20.f.2[323]	1,516	1

An Epistle to Mr. Dryden DRYDEN thy Wit has catterwauld too long Now Lero Lero is the only Song What Singing Dancing Interludes of late Stuff and set off our goodly Farce of State Not Abbevil can turn a deep intrigue Till first well warm'd with Bishop Talgol's Jigg Wem cannot sleep or if a Nap he takes His Dream some old Tressilian Ballad breaks But was e'er seen the like in Prose or Metre To this mad Play or work of Father P At Court no longer Punchionello takes Each Scene Part Cue mishapen to the Mac's Sucli Plot and the Catastrophe is such We must be either Irish all or Dutch. Our very Judges in Westminster-Hall Like their old Roof are Irish Timber all And bless us Irish Wolves are brought to keep The Nation grown now all such silly Sheep Such errant Asses errant Cattle made Or to be yoak'd or saddl'd fleec'd or flea'd O Martyrs Son thy destiny is shown Such props are for a Scaffold not a Throne So Iuno in her impotence of rage By Heaven deny'd did Hell's black Powers engage Yet sped the Heroe Iove and Fate were strong Religious care He took his Gods along But heark O heark the Belgick Lion roars And shakes afar the French and British Shoars One Brandy drinks one mad with Prophecies Lord what they tell us of some Prince from Frize Arms and the Man they sing no French finess But hearty Blows and Brandenburg Address Hence Vigor and our Figure come agen We rise and walk all true erected men The force of those Circaean Cups subdu'd And the wild Charms our new Armida brew'd The Witchcraft he our true Rinaldo broke And grubs the base pretenders to his stock But oh what Spirit of Deceit afar Possess'd our Pulpits and bewitch'd the Bar What Bane what Mischief on poor Mortals shed By Vermin from the Laws corruption bred Tho to their Irish Roof no Cobwebs cleave Below what strife and endless toyls they weave Wanting brave Strength to strangle men to death What Frauds they hide What Venom underneath And when some shorter course to Murder 's shown Cry O that luscious Point they gain'd the Crown Sons of the Pulpit the same measures keep And of that same stumm'd Cup have drunk as deep Agog for some odd transubstantiate thing Chimera reign and Metaphysick King Sublim'd to School Divinity texreams Their Brains would crow with Patriarchal Dreams So high from solid honest wisdom blown They'd have some Hippo-Centaur on the Throne Not Law-ordain'd but by some God appointed Not Lay-elected but be Priest-anointed Away this Goblin Witchcraft Priestcraft-Prince Give us a King Divine by Law and Sense Now Bar and Pulpit to Dragoons a sport Their Cause is carried to the last Resort Princes in more compendious method teach Force is their way let old Apostles preach What 's stablish'd Law where standing Armies come Or who'll talk Gospel to a Kettle Drum When God would hear where Giants did oppress The several Nations had their Hercules So were the Horns of grizly violence broke So People freed from triple Geryon's yoke The various Snake in Lerna Lough that bred That loll'd and hiss'd to death at every head Nemaean Lion Erymanthian Boar In Bogs that wallow and on Hills that roar All by his Godlike Prowess done away Their lawless rule and that Gigantick sway In vain whilst this high Virtue Nations sought The Nassau-House were never yet without Nor is confin'd to Provinces their care Their generous labour neighboring Kingdoms share Here the foul Herd flee from his lifted hand That long had made a Stable of the Land. The Monster of the Lough new Lerna-Plague But scarce in head the Bog-begotten Teague The ravenous kind the Harpyes sharp for prey With Birds obscene and uncouth to the day No Den no Ditch no rousting for 'em more Now now is come our Hercules ashore Vile Fraud dispell'd and superstitious Mists He from our Temple drives all knavish Priests Then warmer Wallop in due Scarlet shown To Coffee Dick bequeaths his rusty Gown Oh Dryden if this Hercules were thine How wou'd his Club and Atlas-shoulders shine How wou'dst thou all our Maids of Honor fright With naughty Tale of Fifty in a night Howe'er no more let Xavier mat thy Pen No Miracle to Forty thousand Men. When Law and bald Divinity begins Why then the marvel that a Poet sins Exeter Nov. 5. 1688. FINIS