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	live_v	soul_n	15,929	5	5.3820	4	true

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A80983	The ordinary a comedy / written by William Cartvvright ...	Cartwright, William, 1611-1643.	1651 (1651)	Wing C714; ESTC R42371	44,485	97

THE ORDINARY A Comedy Written by WILLIAM CARTVVRIGHT M. A. Ch. Ch. Oxon. LONDON Printed for Humphrey Moseley and are to be sold at his shop at the Sign of the Princes Armes in St PAVLS Churchyard 1651. The PROLOGUE 'T Would wrong our Author to bespeake your Eares Your Persons he adores but Judgement feares For where you please but to dislike he shall Be Atheist thought that worships not his Fall Next to not marking 't is his hope that you Who can so ably judge can pardon too His Conversation will not yet supply Follies enough to make a Comedy He cannot write by th' Poll nor Act we here Scenes which perhaps you should see liv'd elsewhere No guilty line traduceth any all We now present is but conjecturall 'T is a meere ghesse Those then will be too blame Who make that Person which he meant but Name That web of Manners which the Stage requires That masse of Humors which Poetique Fires Take in and boyle and purge and try and then With sublimated follies cheat those men That first did vent them are not yet his Art But as drown'd Islands or the World's fifth Part Lye undiscover'd and he only knows Enough to make himselfe ridiculous Think then if here you find nought can delight He hath not yet seen Vice enough to Write Dramatis Personae Complices in the Ordinary Heare-say An Intelligencer Slicer A Lieutenant Meanewell Littleworth disguiz'd a decay'd Knights Son Shape A Cheater Sir Tho. Bitefigg A covetous Knight Simon Credulous A Citizen Andrew his Son Suter to Mrs Jane Robert Moth An Antiquary Gamesters Caster Have-at-all Clubbers at the Ordinary Rimewell A Poet Bag-shot A decay'd Clerke Sir Christopher A Curate Vicar Catchmey A Cathedrall Singing-man Mrs Jane Daughter to Sir Thomas Priscilla Her Maid Joane Pot-lucke A Vintners Widow Shopkeeper Chirurgeon Officers Servants The Scene LONDON ACT. I. SCEN. I. Hearesay Slicer Shape Meanewell Hear WE 're made my Boys we 're made me thinks I am Growing into a thing that will be worship'd Slic. I shall sleep one day in my Chaine and Skarlet At Spittle-Sermon Shap Were not my wit such I 'd put out monies of being Maior But O this braine of mine that 's it that will Barre me the City Honour Hear We 're cry'd up O' th' sudden for the sole Tutors of the Age Shap Esteem'd discreet sage trainers up of youth Hear Our house becomes a place of Visit now Slic. In my poore judgement 't is as good my Lady Should venture to commit her eldest sonne To us as to the Inns of Court hee 'l be Undone here only with lesse Ceremony Hear Speak for our credit my brave man of War What Meane-well why so lumpish Mean Pray y' be quiet Hear Thou look'st as if thou plott'st the calling in O' th' Declaration or th' Abolishing O' th' Common-Prayers cheare up say something for us Mean Pray vexe me not Slic. These foolish puling sighs Are good for nothing but to endanger Buttons Take heart of grace man Mean Fie y' are troublesome Hear Nay fare you well then Sir Ex. Hea. Sli Sha. Mean My Father still Runs in my mind meets all my thoughts and doth Mingle himselfe in all my Cogitations Thus to see eager villaines drag along Him unto whom they crouch'd to see him hal'd That ne'r knew what compulsion was but when His vertues did incite him to good deeds And keep my sword dry O unequall Nature Why was I made so patient as to view And not so strong as to redeeme why should I Dare to behold and yet not dare to rescue Had I been destitute of weapons yet Arm'd with the only name of Son I might Have outdone wonder Naked Piety Dares more than Fury well-appointed Bloud Being never better sacrific'd than when It flowes to him that gave it But alas The envy of my Fortune did allow That only which she could not take away Compassion that which was not in those savage And knowing Beasts those Engines of the Law The even kill as uncontroul'd as that How doe I grieve when I consider from What hands he suffer'd hands that doe excuse Th' indulgent Prison shackles being here A kind of Rescue Young man t is not well To see thy aged Father thus confin'd Good good old man alas thou 'rt dead to me Dead to the world and only living to That which is more than death thy misery The Grave could be a comfort And shall I O would this Soule of mine But Death's the wish Of him that feares hee 's lazie that would dye I 'le live and see that thing of wealth that worme Bred out of splendid mucke that Citizen Like his owne sully'd Wares throwne by into Some unregarded corner and my Piety Shall be as famous as his Avarice His Son whom we have in our Tuition Shall be the Subject of my good Revenge I 'le count my selfe no child till I have done Something that 's worth that name my Braine shall be Busie in his undoing and I will Plot ruine with Religion his disgrace Shall be my Zeales contrivement and when this Shall stile me Son againe I hope 't will be Counted not wrong but Duty When that time Shall give my Actions growth I will cast off This brood of Vipers and will shew that I Doe hate the Poyson which I meanet ' apply Exit ACT. I. SCEN. II. Mrs Potlucke Pot. NOw help good Heaven 't is such an uncouth thing To be a widow out of Term-time I Doe feele such aguish Qualmes and dumps and fits And shakings still an end I lately was A wife I do confesse but yet I had No husband he alas was dead to me Even when he liv'd unto the world I was A widdow whiles he breath'd his death did only Make others know so much But yet Enter Hear Hear How now So melancholy sweet Pot. How could I choose Being thou wert not here the time is come Thou 'lt be as good unto me as thy word Hear Nay hang me if I er'e recant You 'l take me Both wind and limb at th' venture will you not Pot. Ay good Chuck every inch of thee she were No true woman that would not Hear I must tell you One thing and yet I 'm loth Pot. I am thy Rib Thou must keep nothing from thy Rib good Chuck Thy yoak-fellow must know all thy secrets Hear Why then I 'l tell you sweet He whispers her Pot. Heaven defend Hear 'T is true Pot. Now God forbid and would you offer T' undoe a widdow-woman so I had As leive the old Vintner were alive againe Hear I was not born with it I confesse but lying In Turky for Intelligence the great Turk Somewhat suspicious of me lest I might Entice some o' th' Seraglio did command I should be forthwith cut Pot. A heathen deed It was none but an Infidel could have The heart to do it Hear Now you know the worst That you must trust to come le ts to the Church Pot. Good Mr Hear-say Nature