Selected quad for the lemma: death_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
death_n	day_n	die_v	good_a	5,850	5	3.6926	3	false

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A91576	An elegie on the most reverend & learned James Vsher L. Archbishop of Armagh, and Primate of Ireland; who departed this life March 21. 1655. / Written by John Quarles.	Quarles, John, 1624-1665.	1656 (1656)	Wing Q126; Thomason E1643_2; ESTC R203344	2,441	14

AN ELEGIE ON THE Most Reverend Learned JAMES VSHER L. Archbishop of Armagh and Primate of Ireland Who departed this life March 21. 1655. Written by JOHN QUARLES Aprill 29 LONDON Printed by J. G. for John Stafford in the George-yard neer Fleet-bridge 1656. To the truely virtuous and Right Honourable The Countesse of Peterborough MADAM I Am sorry that the sadnesse of the occasion inforces mee to the boldness of presenting you with this elegious Poeme but though I am confident the lines cannot merit your respect yet I am certain the subject of them will procure your approbation Madam as you were favourably pleased to esteem him in his life so I am confident you will respect him in his death and I hope own the mean endeavours of Madam Your true honourer John Quarles To the READER Reader I Need not tell thee what a losse we have lately received for it is writ in legible Characters of grief in every eye but one thing I shall desire thee to take notice of which is that as he was one of an hundred so he was the last of a hundred Archbishops of Armagh and as he could not live in a worse age so he could not dye in a better time to whose memory I have consecrated these few lines desiring thee to reade seriously and judge favourably Farewell AN ELEGIE ON The most Reverend Learned JAMES VSHER L. Archbishop of Armagh Primate of Ireland who departed this life March 21. 1655. THen weep no more see how his peacefull brest Rock't by the hand of Death takes quiet rest Disturb him not but let him sweetly take A full repose he hath been long awake Tyr'd with the toyle of a most tedious day He sought refreshment seeking found the way The way to heaven and being merry-hearted Shook hands with flesh blood so departed Nobly resolv'd 't is absolutely knowne He left a Dunghill to imbrace a Throne Where now he sits cloath'd with celestial pride Reader 't is worse than death to say he dy'd He onely slumbred from himself and saw 'T was late but ah too soon and that the Law Of Nature urg'd he thought it too much wrong To his own good to stay on earth too long Time and the Grave make equall every thing Here lyes the Begger cloathed like the King But stay my Muse Is' t possible the Sun Can quit the firmament unmiss'd and run Beyond our sight If so Armagh may be Obliterated from posterity But is he fled Then let the Nylus of each swelling eye Ore flow our Aegypt stay rash quill but why Why should we wooe forth tears we had more need To weep in blood the Church begins to bleed And who can blame her we must all confesse She had few Heads before but now one lesse Alas poor Orphan how is she opprest To lose so dear a friend and see the rest Lye drawing on this sorrow sure will keep Her eye-lyds open let her let her weep Till Heav'n shall please to contradict her fate A weeping Church portends a bleeding State What are the Muses silent are they all Delug'd with teares shall their Moecenas fall Without regard I rather would believe They 're now complotting joyntly how to grieve With most advantage sorrow often swells In tears before it flowes in words and tells Her melancholly story they that know The course of grief will grant it to be so Silence is now a crime and I had rather Like Heraclitus weep and write together Than rest in silence for I have a debt Of gratitude to pay which will not let My fancy rest contented till I have Layd down my gratefull off'ring at his grave That little education I dare own I had I 'm proud to say from him alone His grave advice would oftentimes distill Into my eares and captivate my will Th' example of his life did every day Afford me Lectures I dare boldly say Nay and affirm it with a joyfull breath Saint like he liv'd in Heav'n although on earth I could believe that he had half forgot There was a world because he minded not Inferiour objects nay I dare say more He had quite forgot it onely for the poor Who whilst the fountain of his fortunes run Did dayly feel his charitable sun Refresh their wants but when injurious fate Had built a Crosse upon his whole estate Then he Heav'n-ravish'd soule took speedy care To wish their welfare and relief by pray'r I will not tyre my Reader to expresse His many troubles nor the great distresse He often knew but this I le say that he Was so acquainted with all misery That like th' out-daring rocke no storme could move His soule being fenc'd with heav'ns proof armour Love As for his Learning I must needs confesse 'T is better known than I can well expresse Yet this I le say his unexampled life Was a continuall study void of strife He was a living Library in whom A man might reade things past things to come What need we more 't is childish to repeat Each virtue when he had them in the great And they that wish to know him truly well Let them ask Rome for Rome can sadly tell Now Ireland weeps England laments but Rome Cryes out a Heretick deserves no tomb Ye Prodigies of Faction we can tell He 's gon to Heav'n with a miracle His soule 's above your pray'rs be this his glory He went to God but miss'd your Purgatory Then cease your smiles convert them into teares For your own follyes let your hearty pray'rs More Heav'n to pity that at last ye may Enjoy the comfort of a lasting day And so farewell Methinks I sadly heare The Muses groane forth Elegies and roare Their shrill-tun'd voices every high-bred straine Does seem if not a heart to break a veyne Oh blame them not for even thus they cry'd When their belov'd their great Moecenas dy'd Great losses cause great grief yet let us say Though God was pleas'd to take Armagh away That he was just because he did prolong His well-spent dayes and lend him us so long His mercy like the Phoenix never dyes One passes by to let the other rise Thus having payd the tribute of my heart I must although unwillingly depart Farewell blest soule farewell all I desire Is to shake soules not hands and so retire His Epitaph REader these narrow confines doe contain Romes envy Irelands loss Englands gain If true desert a just reward might have The largest Continent should be his Grave But he 's content Reader be this thy care Think on our losse depart but leave a teare The End Two Bookes lately printed for John Stafford in George-yard neer Fleet-bridge 1. A Collection of SERMONS 1. The best Employment 2. A Gift for God alone 3. The true Penitent 4. The best Act of Oblivion Together with NOTES upon JONAH By Thomas Fuller 2. DIVINE MEDITATIONS upon severall subjects c. Written by John Quarles