Selected quad for the lemma: death_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
death_n	die_v	father_n	son_n	10,076	5	5.1245	4	true

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A03017	The funerals of the high and mighty Prince Henry, Prince of Wales, Duke of Cornewaile and Rothsay, Count Palatine of Chester, Earle of Carick, and late Knight of the most noble Order of the Garter VVhich noble Prince deceased at St. Iames, the sixt day of Nouember, 1612. and was most princely interred the seuenth day of December following, within the Abbey of Westminster, in the eighteenth yeere of his age.		1613 (1613)	STC 13157; ESTC S103976	16,990	50

King To whome he said O Author of my Breath Soule to my life and essence to my Soule Why grieue you so that should al griefe cōtroule Death's sweet to me that you are stil lifes creature I now haue finisht the great worke of Nature I see you pay a perfect Fathers debt And in a feastfull Peace your Empire kept If your true Sonnes last words haue any right In your most righteous Bosome doe not fright your hearkning kingdoms to your cariage now All yours in mee I here resigne to you My youth I pray to God with my last powres Substract from me may adde to you and yours Thus vanisht he thus swift thus instantly Ah now I see euen heauenly powres must dye The sorrowes and bemones of the King Queene Prince and his most Princely Sister for the Princes death Now shift the King and Queene from court to court but no way can shift off their cares resort That which we hate the more vve flie pursues that which we loue the more we seek eschewes Now weepes his Princely Brother Novv alas His Cynthian Sister our sole earthly Grace Like Hebes fount still ouerflowes her bounds And in her colde lips stick astonisht sounds Sh'oppresseth her sweet kinde In her soft brest Care can no vent finde it is so comprest And see hovv the Promethean Liuer growes The funerall described As vulture Griefe deuoures it see fresh showes Reuiue woes sence and multiply her soule And worthely for vvho would teares controle On such a springing ground T is dearely fit To pay all tribute Thought can poure on it For vvhy vvere Funerals first vs'd but for these Presag'd and cast in their Natiuities The streames were checkt a while so Torrents staid Enrage the more but are left free allaid Now our grim waues march altogether Now Our blacke seas runne so high they ouerflow the clouds they nourish now the gloomy herse Puts out the Sunne Reuiue reuiue dead vierse death hath slain death there ther the person lies VVhose death should buy out all mortalities But let the world be now a heape of death Lifes ioy lyes dead in him and challengeth No lesse a reason If all motion stoode Benumb'd and stupified with his frozen blood And like a Tombe-stone fixt lay all the seas There were fit pillers for our Hercules To bound the world with Men had better dye Then out-liue free times slaues to Policie On on sad Traine as from a crannid rocke Bee-swarmes rob'd of their honey ceasles flock Mourne mourne dissected now his cold lims lie Ah knit so late vvith flame and Maiestie where 's now his gracious smile his sparkling eie His Iudgement Valour Magnanimitie O God what doth not one short hour snatch vp Of all m●ns ●losse still ouer-flowes the cup Of his burst cares put with no nerues together And lighter then the shadow of a feather On make earth pomp as frequent as ye c●● 'T will still leaue black the fairest ●●ower of man Yee vvell may lay all cost on miserie T is all can boast the proud'st humanitie If yong Marcellus had to grace his fall Sixe hundred Herses at his Funerall Sylla sixe thousand l●t Prince Henry haue Sixe Millions bring him to his greedy graue And now the States of earth thus mourn below Behold in Heauen Loue with his broken Bow his quiuer downwards turn'd his brands put out Hanging his wings with sighes all black about Nor lesse our losse his Mothers heart infests Her melting palmes beating her snowy brests As much confus'd as when the Calidon Bore The thigh of her diuine Adonis tore Her vowes all vaine resol●'d to blesse his yeeres VVith Issue Royall and exempt from freres Who now dyed fruitlesse and preuented then The blest of women of the best of men Mourne all ye Arts ye are not of the earth Fall fall with him rise with his second birth FINIS

all present State Nor dreams what Fortune is or future Fate At whome with fingers and with fixed eyes All Kingdomes Point and Looke and Sacrifice Could be content to giue him Templ●s rayse To his Expectance and Vnbounded Praise His Now-rip S●irits and Valor doth de●pise Sicknesse and Sword that giue our Godheads Prise His worth contracts the worlds in his sole Hope Religion Vertue Conquest haue no scope But his Indowments At him at him flie More swift and timelesse more the Deitie His Sommer Winter with the jellid flakes His pure Life poyson sting out with thy Snakes This is a worke will Fame thy Maidenhead R●am durst nolōger indure her beeing stirred into furie With this her speach and she together fledde Nor durst she more endure her dreadfull eyes Who stung with goads her roaring Lyons thyes And brandisht round about her Snak-curld head blew With her left hand the Torch it managed The starry Euening describ'd by V●lcans setting to worke at that time The Night being ever chie●esly cou●ecrate to the Works of the Gods and out of this Deities fires the Starres are supposd to flye as sparkles of them And now Heavens Smith kindl'd his Forge And through the round Pole thick the sparkls flew When great Prince Henrie the delight of fame Darkn'd the Pallace of his Fathers Name And hid his white lyms in his downie Bed Then Heaven wept falling Stars that summoned With soft and silent Motion sleepe to breath On his bright Temples th' Ominous forme of death Which now the cruel Goddes did permit That she might enter so her Mayden fit When the good Angell his kind Guardian Her withet'd foot saw neare this spring of Man He shrik't and said what what are thy rude ends The good Angell of the Pr●uce to the Fever as shee approach● Cannot in him alone all vertues friends Melted into his all-vpholding Nerus For whose Assistance euery Deity serues Mooue thee to proue thy Godhead bles●ing him With long long life whose light extinckt wil dim All heavenly graces all this moou'd her nought But on in his all our rujnes wrought She toucht the Thresholds and the thresholds shooke The dore-posts Palenes pierst with her faint look The dores brake open and the fatall Bed Rudely sh'aproacht thus her fell mouth said Henrie why tak'st thou thus thy rest secure Feuer to the prince who is thougght by ● friend of mine to speake too mildly not being satis compos m●tis P●rtu● in this Her counsell or perswasiō shewing onlie how the Prince was perswaded resolu'd in his deadlyest sufferāce of her which shee is made to speake in spight of her selfe since he at her worst was so sacredly resolu●e Nought doubting what Fortune fates assure Thou neuer yet felt'st my red right hands maims That I co thee and fate to me proclaimes Thy fa●e stands jdle spinns no more thy thread Die thou must great Prince sigh not beare thy head In all things free even with necessity If sweet it be to liue t is sweet to dye This said shee shooke at him her Torch and cast A fire in him that all his breast embrac't Then darting through his heart a deadly cold And as much venome as his vaines could holdj Death Death O Death inserting thrusting in Shut his faire eyes and op't our vglie sinne This seene resolu'd on by her selfe and fate Was there a sight so pale and desperate Euer before seene in a thrust-through State The poore Verginian miserable say●e Descriptiō of the tempest ●●at cast Sir ●●b Ca●es on the B●●muda the st●te of his Ship and Men to this Kingdomes Plight applyed in the Princes death A long-long-Night-turnd-Day that liu'd in Hell Neuer so portrayd where the Billowes stroue Blackt like so many Devils which should proue The damned Victor all their furies heighting Their Drum the thunder their Colours lightning Both souldiers in the battel one contēding To drown the waues in Noyse the other spēding His Hel-hot sulphurous flames to drink thē dry When heaven was lost when not a teare wrackt eye Could tell in all that dead time if they were Sincking or sayling till a quickning cleere Gaue light to saue them by the ruth of Rocks At the Bermudas where the tearing shocks And all the Miseries before more felt Then here halfe told All All this did not melt Those desperate few still dying more in teares Then this Death all men to the Marrow weares All that are Men the rest those drudging Beasts That onely beare of Men the Coates and Crests And for their Slaue sick that can earne thē pence More mourne O Monsters thē for such a Prince Whose soules do ebbe flow still with their gain Whō nothing moues but pe●f their own pain Let such great Heauen be onely borne to beare All that can follow this meere Massacre Lost is our poore Prince all his sad jndure●s The busie Art of those that should be Curers The sacred vowes made by the zealous King His God-like Syre his often visiting Nor thy graue prayers and presence holy Man The Archbishop of C●● 〈◊〉 passing pyous in care of the Princ● S. E de P●●l l●ps Master of the Rols and the Princes Chancelo● a chiese sorrower for h●m This Realme thrice Reverend Metropolitan That was the worthy Father to his soule Th'jnsulting Feuer could one fit controule Nor let me here forget on farre and neare And in his lifes loue Passing deepe and deare That doth his sacred Memorie adore Virtues true favtor his graue Chancellor Whose worth in all workes should a Place enioie Where his fit Fame ●er Trumpet shall jmploie Whose Cares and Prayers were euer vsde to ease His feu●rous Warre send him health full peace Yet sicke our Prince is still who though the steps Of bitter Death he saw bring in by heaps Clouds to his Luster and poore rest of light And felt his last Day suffering lasting Night His true-bred-braue soule shrunck yet at no part Downe kept he all sighs with his powers al-Hart The prince heroical his bearing his sicknes at the Kings comming to see him careful not to discomfort him The Twelfth day after 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 to ●ee ●●cke his sicknes was held 〈◊〉 Cler'd euen his dying browes and in an Eye Manly dissembling hid his Misery And all to spare the Royall heat so spent In his sad Father fearefull of th' event And now did Phoebus with his Twelfth Lampe show The world his haples light and in his Brow A Torch of Pitch stuck lighting halfe t'half skies When life 's last error prest the broken eyes Of this heart-breaking Prince his forc't look fled Fled was all Colour from his cheekes yet fed His spirit his sight with dying now he cast On his kind King and Father on whome fast He fixt his fading beames and with his view A little did their empty Orbs renew His Mind saw him come frō the deeps of Death The prince dying to ●he

Caesarean Commentares More then can now be thought in fact t'enroule And make blacke Faction blush away her soule That as a Temple built when Pietie Simil. Did to diuine ends offer specially What men enjoy'd that wondrous state exprest Strange Art strange cost yet who had interest In all the frame of it and saw those dayes Admir'd but little and as little praise Gaue to the goodly Fabricke but when men That liue whole Ages after view it then They gaze and wonder and the longer time It stands the more it glorifies his prime Growes fresh in honor and the age doth shame That in such Monuments neglect such fame So had thy sacred Frame beene rais'd to height Forme fulnesse ornament the more the light Had giuen it view the more had Men admir'd And tho men now are scarce to warmnesse fir'd VVith loue of thee but rather colde and dead To all sense of the grace they forfeited In thy neglect and losse yet after-ages VVould be inflam'd and put on holy rages with thy inspiring vertues cursing those VVhose breaths dare blast thus in the bud the Rose But thou woe's me art blown vp before blowne And as the ruines of some famous Towne Show here a Temple stood a Pallace here A Cytadell an Amphitheater Of which ahlas some broken Arches still Pillars or Columnsrac't which Art did fill VVith all her riches and Diuinitie Retaine their great and vvorthy memory So of our Princes state I nought rehearse But show his ruines bleeding in my verse What poison'd Ast'risme may his death accuse Tell thy astonisht Prophet deathles Muse And make my starres therein the more aduerse The more aduance vvith sacred rage my Verse And so adorne my dearest Fautors Herse That all the wits prophane of these bold times May feare to spend the spawne of their rancke rymes On any touch of him that shold be sung To eares diuine and aske an Angels tongue VVith this it thundred and a lightning show'd VVhere she sate writing in a sable cloud A Penne so hard and sharpe exprest her plight It bit through Flint and did in Diamant write Her vvords she sung and laid out such a brest As melted Heauen and vext the very blest In which she cal'd all worlds to her complaints Muse lachrim● And how our losse grew thus vvith teares shee paints The cause and man●● 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Hear earth heauen you that haue no eares Hell and the hearts of tyrants heare my teares Thus Brittaine Henry tooke his timelesse end VVhen his great Father did so far transcend All other Kings and that he had a Sonne In all his Fathers gifts so farre begunne As added to Fames Pynions double wings And as braue riuers broken from their springs The further off grow greater and disdaine To spread a narrower current then the Maine Had drawne in all deserts such ample Spheares As Hope yet neuer turn'd about his yeeres All other Princes with his parts comparing Like all Heauens pettie Luminaries faring To radiant Lucifer the dayes first borne It hurld a fire red as a threatning Morne Rha●●sia Goddesse of reuenge and taken for Fortune in enuy of our Prince excited Feuer against him On fiery Rhamnusias sere and sulphurous spight who turn'd the sterne orbs of her ghastly sight About each corner of her vaste Command And in the turning of her bloudy hand Sought how to ruine endlesly our Hope And set to all mishap all entries ope The Feuer the Prince died on by Pros●pop●●a d●scribed by her effects circumstances And see how ready meanes to mischiefe are She saw fast by the bloud-affecting Feuer Euen when th'Autumnal-starre began t' expire Gathering in vapours thinne Ethereall fire Of which her venomde finger did jmpart To our braue Princes fount of heat the heart A praeternaturall heat which through the vaines And Arteries by 'th blood and spirits meanes Diffus'd about the body and jnflam'd Begat a Feuor to be neuer nam'd And now this loather of the louely Light Begot of Erebus and vglie Night Mounted in hast her new and noysefull Carre Whose wheeles had beam-spokes frō th'Hungarian star And all the other frame and freight from thence The Fever the Prince dyed off is observ'd by our Moderne Phisitions to bee begun in Hunga●e Deriu'd their rude and ruthlesse jnfluence Vp to her left side lept jnfernall Death His head hid in a cloud of sensuall breath By ●er sat furious Anguish Pale Despight Murmure and Sorrow and possest Affright Yellow Corruption Marow-eating Care Languor chill Trembling fits Irregulare Inconstant Collor feeble voyc't Complaint Relentles Rigor and Confusion faint Frantick Distemper Hare-eyd vnrest Out of the property of the Ha●e that never shuts her ●yes sleeping And short-breath'd Thirst with th'euer-burning breast A wreath of Adders bound her trenched Browes Where Tormēt Ambusht lay with all her throws Marmarian Lyons frindg'd with flaming Manes Marmar●cae Leone of Marmar●a a Re●ion in 〈◊〉 where the 〈◊〉 Lyons are bred with which Feuer is supposd to bee drawn for their excesse of he●t violence part of the effects of this Feuer The properties of the Feuer in these effects Drew this grym furie and her brood of Banes Their hearts of glowing Coles murmurd ror'd To beare her crook't yokes and her Banes abhord To their deare Prince that bore them in his Armes And should not suffer for his Good their Harmes Then from Hels burning whirlepit vp she hallde The horrid Monster fierce Echidna calde That from her Stigian Iawes doth vomit ever Quitture and Venome yet is empty neuer Then burnt her bloudshot eyes her Temples yet Were cold as Ice her Necke all drownd in sw●t Palenes spred all her breast her lifes heat stung The Minds Interpreter her scorched tongue Flowd with blew poison frō her yawning Mouth Rhumes fell like spouts fild frō the stormy South Which being corrupt the hewe of Saffron tooke A feruent Vapor all her body shooke From whence her Vexed Spirits a noysome smell Expyr'd in fumes that lookt as blacke as Hell A ceaseles Torrent did her Nosthrils steepe Her witherd Entrailes tooke no rest No sleepe Her swoln throte ratl'd warmd with lifes last spark And in her salt jaw●s painfull Cought did barke Herteeth were staind with Rust her sluttish hand Shee held out reeking like a New-quencht Brand Arm'd with crook'd Tallons like the horned Moone All Cheere all Ease all Hope with her was gone In her left hand a quenchles fire did glow And in her Right Palme freez'd Sithonian Snow The ancient Romanes did a Temple build To her as whome a Deitie they held So hyd and farre from cure of Man shee flyes In whose Life 's Power she mater the Deities When fell Rhamnusia saw this Monster nere Her steele Heart sharpning thus she spake to her Rhamnus●● excitat●ō of fe●e● Seest thou this Prince great Maid seed of Night Whose ●rows cast beams about thē like the Light Who joyes securely in