Selected quad for the lemma: death_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
death_n	dead_a	know_v	life_n	5,867	5	4.6294	4	false

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A29774	A description of Mr. D-n's funeral a poem.	Brown, Thomas, 1663-1704.	1700 (1700)	Wing B5058; ESTC R12476	5,424	13

A DESCRIPTION OF Mr. D n's FUNERAL A Poem The Third Edition with Additions LONDON Printed for A. Baldwin in VVarwicklane M.DCC. Price 6 d. A DESCRIPTION c. OF Kings Renown'd and Mighty Bards I write Some slain by Whores and others kill'd in Fight Some starving liv'd whilst others were prefer'd But all when dead are in one place inter'd A Fabrick stands by Antient Heroes built Design'd for Holy Use t' atone their Guilt Here sacred Urns of Majesty they keep Here Kings and Poets most profoundly sleep Heer Choristers in Hymns their Voices raise And charm the dreadful Goblins from the Place Tho throng'd with Tombs no Specter here is found They sing the very Devil off the Ground No Night-Mare dances 'mongst the antient Tombs Nor sulphurous Incubus dispenses Fumes Nor let no subterranean Hag afright My Muse whilst of the Funeral I write A Bard there was who whilome did command And held the Lawrel in his potent Hand He o'er Parnassus bore Imperial Sway Him all the little Tribes of Bards obey But Bards and Kings how e'er approv'd and great Must stoop at last to the Decrees of Fate Fate bid him for the stroke of Death prepare And then remov'd him to the Lord knows where If to the Living we such Tributes owe We on the Dead must pious Rites bestow To our Assistance all the Wits must call To grace the Glory of the Funeral Who is the first appears unto our View But haughty proud imperious M Who cocks his Chin and scarce affords a VVord But looks as big as any Belgick Lord In the best Dairies fed grown sleek and fat The creeping Mouse is turn'd into a Rat Of others brows he licks the toilsom Sweat And by our Sins grows impudently great As chief of VVits he does himself prefer And with our Gold bribes ev'ry Flatterer But Men of Sense and Honour does despise And crushes such as would by Virtue rise VVhilst each lewd Rakehel of the nauseous Town He fills with Coin and does with Honours crown The Nation 's VVealth he most profusely spends But not on such as are the Nation 's Friends But such as wrote our Country to inslave His Kindness follows even to the Grave He the great Bard at his own Charge Inters And dying Vice to living VVorth prefers Some others too in the Affair are join'd Alike in Morals and alike in Mind But these my Muse must here forbear to name Scarce worthy Honour or deserving Fame The Day is come and all the VVits must meet From Covent-Garden down to Watling-street They all repair to the Physicians Dome There lies the Corps and there the Eagles come No Corps an Entrance has within this Gate None are admitted here to lie in State But such as Fate a noted Death has carv'd A Cutpurse hang'd or a poor Poet starv'd One is anatomiz'd when he is dead The other in his Life for want of Bread A Troop of Stationers at first appear'd And Iacob T n Captain of the Guard Iacob the Muses Midwife who well knows To ease a lab'ring Muse of Pangs and Throws He oft has kept the Infant-Poet warm Oft lick'd th' unweildy Monster into Form Oft do they in high Flights and Raptures swell Drunk with the Waters of our Iacob's Well Next these the Play-house Sparks do take their Turn With such as under Mercury are born As Poets Fidlers Cut-purses and Whores Draps of the Playhouse and of Common-shores Pimps Panders Bullies and Eternal Beaux Fam'd for short VVits loug VVigs and gaudy Clothes All Sons of Meter tune the Voice in praise From lofty Strains to humble Ekes and Ays The Singing-men and Clarks who charm the Soul And all the Traders in fa la fa sol All these the Funeral Obsequies do aid As younger Brothers of the Rhyming Trade The tuneful Rabble now together come They fill with dolesome Sighs the sable Room Some groan'd some sob'd and some I think there wept And some got drunk loll'd down and snoar'd and slept Around the Corps in State they wildly press In Notes unequal like Pindarick Verse Each one does his sad Sentiments express The Player says My Friends we are undone See here the Muses best and darling Son Is from us to the blest Elizium gone What other Poet for us will engage To be the Prop of the declining Stage All other Poets are not worth a Louse There fell the Prop of our once glorious House But now from us by Fate untimely torn Leaves the dull Stage a Desart and forlorn A dismal Sadness in each Face appears And such as could not speak burst out in Tears His Death alas affected ev'ry Body And fetcht deep Sighs and Tears from ev'ry Noddy It much affected every tuneful Ringer But most of all the jolly Ballad-singer Who now at a Street's Corner must no more A Play-house Song in equal Numbers roar Nay I am told when he his last Gasp groan'd The Bel-rope trembl'd and the Organ ton'd And as great things affect a little thing This was the Death of many a Fiddle-string No Chronicles I read of do relate Such a sad Hurricane in Church and State The charming Songsters at our great S. Paul's Cou'd scarce sing Pray'rs to save their very Souls The Boys were dumb the Singingmen were wounded All the whole Choir disabl'd and confounded And when the Prayers were ended alas then The Clark could hardly sob out an Amen Not a Crowdero at a Bawdy-house Who us'd in racy Liquors to carouse But with sad haste unto the Burial ran Forgets his Tipple and neglects his Can. With Tag-Rag Bob-Tail was the Room full fill'd You 'd think another Babel to be built Not more Confusion at St. Batt's fam'd Fair Or at Guild-Hall for choice of a Lord Mayor But stay my Muse the learned G th appears He sighing comes and is half drown'd in Tears The famous G th whom learned Poets call Knight of the Order of the Urinal He of Apollo learnt his wondrous Skill He taught him how to sing and how to kill For all he sends unto the darksom Grave He honours also with an Epitaph He entertain'd the Audience with Oration Tho very new yet something out of fashion But 'cause the Hearers were with Learning blest He said it in the Language of the Beast But so pronounc'd the Sound and Sense agrees A Country Mouse talks better in a Cheese Or Iack-at-a pinch when reeling he repairs To neighb'ring Church to mumble o'er his Pray'rs The Sense and Wit they say was very good Tho neither seen felt heard nor understood Thus we must all as common Rumour saith Believe the Doctor by implicit Faith Next him the Sons of Musick pass along And murder Horace in confounded Song VVhose Monument more durable than Brass Is now defac'd by every chanting Ass. No Man at Tyburn doom'd to take a swinging VVould stay to hear such miserable Singing Where all the Beasts of Musick try their Throats And different Species use their different Notes Here the Ox