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Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
death_n	good_a	life_n	time_n	10,018	5	3.6095	3	true

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ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A10264	The historie of Samson: written by Fra: Quarles	Quarles, Francis, 1592-1644.	1631 (1631)	STC 20549; ESTC S115482	46,107	126

THE HISTORIE OF SAMSON Written By FRA QVARLES LONDON Printed by M. F. for IOHN MARRIOTT in S. Dunstans Church-yard in Fleetstreet 1631. for the time but quickly leaves us to our former darknesse The overtaken Lanthorne is the true Friend which though it promise but a faint light yet it goes along with us as farre as it can towards our Journies end The offered Linke is the mercenary Friend which though it be ready enough to doe us service yet that service hath a servile relation to our bountie Sir in the middle ranke I finde you hating the first and scorning the last to whom in the height of my undissembled assection and unfained thankfulnes I commend my selfe and this booke to receive an equall censure from your uncorrupted judgement In the Bud it was yours it blossomd yours and now your favour able acceptance confirmes the fruit yours All I crave is that you would be pleased to interpret these my intentions to proceed from an ardent desire that hath long beene in labour to expresse the true affections of him That holds it an honor to honor you FRA QVARLES TO THE READER THE tyranny of my Affaires was never yet so imperious but I could steale some howers to my private Meditations the fruits of which stolne time I here present thee with in the History of Samson Wherein if thy extreme severity checke at any thing which thou conceivest may not stand with the majesty of this sacred Subject know that my intention was not to offend my brother The wisest of Kings inspired by the King of Wisedome thought it no detraction from the gravity of his Holy Proverbs to describe a Harlot like a Harlot Her whorish Attire her immodest Gesture her bold Countenance her flattring Tongue her lascivious Embraces her unchast Kisses her impudent Invitations If my descriptions in the like kinde offend I make no question but the validitie of my Warrant will give a reasonable satisfaction Hee that lifts not his feet high enough may easily stumble But on the contrary If any be whose worse then Sacrilegious mindes shall prophane our harmelesse intentions with wanton conceits to such I heartily wish a Procul ite Let none such looke farther then this Epistle at their owne perils If they doe let them put off their shooes for this is holy Ground Foule hands will muddle the clearest waters and base mindes will corrupt the purest Text If any offence be taken it is by way of stealth for there is none willingly given I write to Bees and not to Spiders They will suck pleasing hony from such flowers These may burst with their owne poyson But you whose well-seasond hearts are not distempered with either of these extremities but have the better rellish of a Sacred understanding draw neere and reade I Sing th' illustrious and renowned story Of mighty Samson The eternall glory Of his Heroicke acts His life His death Quicken my Muse with thy diviner breath Great God of Muses that my prosp'rous rimes May live and last to everlasting times That they unborne may in this sacred story Admire thy goodnes and advance thy glory THE HISTORIE OF SAMSON SECT 1. ARGVMENT A holy Angell doth salute The wife of Manoah and inlarge Her barren wombe with promis'd fruit Of both their loynes The Angels charge WIthin the Tents of Zorah dwelt a man Of Iacobs seed and of the Tribe of Dan Knowne by the name of Manoah to whom Heaven had deni'd the treasure of the wombe His Wife was barren And her prayres could not Remove that great reproach or clense that blot Which on her fruitless name appear'd so foule Not to encrease the Tribe of Dan one soule Long had she doubtles stroven with heaven by prayres Made strong with teares and sighes Hopes and despaires No doubt had often tortur'd her desire Vpon a Rock compos'd of frost and fire But Heaven was pleas'd to turne His deafned eares Against those prayres made strong with sighes and teares She often praid but prayres could not obtaine Alas she pray'd she wept she sigh'd in vaine She pray'd no doubt but prayres could finde no roome They proov'd alas as barren as her wombe Vpon a time when her unanswer'd prayre Had now given just occasion of despaire Even when her bedrid faith was growne so fraile That very Hope grew heartlesse to prevaile Appear'dan Angel to her In his face Terrour and sweetnesse labour'd for the place Sometimes his Sun-bright eyes would shine so fierce As if their pointed beames would even pierce Her soule and strike th' amaz'd beholder dead Sometimes their glory would dispeirce and spread More easie flames and like the Starre that stood O're Bethlem promise and portend some good Mixt was his bright aspect as if his breath Had equall errands both of life and death Glory and Mildnesse seemed to contend In his fayre eyes so long till in the end In glorious mildnesse and in milder glory He thus salutes her with this pleasing story Woman Heaven greets thee well Rise up and feare not Forbeare thy faithlesse tremblings I appeare not Clad in the vestments of consuming fire Cheare up I have no warrant to enquire Into thy sinnes I have no Vyals here Nor dreadfull Thunderbolts to make thee feare I have no plagues t' inflict nor is my breath Charg'd with destruction or my hand with death No no cheare up I come not to destroy I come to bring thee tydings of great joy Rowze up thy dull beliefe for I appeare To exercise thy Faith and not thy Feare The Guide and great Creator of all things Chiefe Lord of Lords and supreame King of Kings To whom an Host of men are but a swarme Of murmring Gnats whose high prevayling arme Can crush ten thousand worlds and at one blow Can strike the earth to nothing and ore-throw The Losts of Heaven he that hath the keyes Of wombes to shut and ope them when he please He that can all things that he will this day Is pleas'd to take thy long reproach away Behold thy wombe's inlarg'd and thy desires Shall finde successe Before long time expires Thou shalt conceive Eretwise five months be runne Be thou the joyfull mother ef a sonne But see thy wary palate doe forbeare The juyce of the bewitching Grape Beware Lest thy desires tempt thy lips to wine Which must be faithfull strangers to the Vine Strong drinke thou must not tast and all such meate The Law proclaimes uncleane refraine to eate And when the fruit of thy restored wombe Shall see the light take heed no Rasor come Vpon his fruitfull head For from his birth Soone as the wombe entrusts him on the earth The child shall be a Nazarite to God By whose appointment he shall prove a Rod To scourge the proud Philistians and recall Poore suffring Israel from their slavish thrall MEDITAT 1. HOw impudent is Nature to account Those acts her owne that doe so farre surmount Her easie reach How purblind are those eyes Of stupid mortalls that

chain'd To this sad Object with a full delight To see this flesh-and-blood-relenting sight With that the pris'ner turnd himselfe and prai'd So soft that none but heaven could heare and said My God my God Although my sinnes doe cry For greater vengeance yet thy gratious eye Is full of mercy O remember now The gentle promise and that sacred vow Thou mad'st to faithfull Abram and his seed O heare my wounded soule that has lesse need Of life then mercy Let thy tender eare Make good thy plentious promise now and heare See how thy cursed enemies prevaile Above my strength Behold how poore and fraile My native power is and wanting thee What is there Oh what is there Lord in me Nor is it I that suffer My desart May challenge greater vengeance if thou wert Extreme to punish Lord the wrong is thine The punishment is just and onely mine I am thy Champion Lord It is not me They strike at Through my sides they thrust at thee Against thy Glory 't is their Malice lies They aym'd at that when they put out these eyes Alas their blood bedabbl'd hands would flie On thee wert thou but cloth'd in flesh as I Revenge thy wrongs great God O let thy hand Redeeme thy suffring honour and this land Lend me thy power Renew my wasted strength That I may fight thy battells and at length Rescue thy Glory that my hands may doe That faithfull service they were borne unto Lend me thy power that I may restore Thy losse and I will never urge thee more Thus having ended both his armes he laid Vpon the pillours of the Hall and said Thus with the Philistines I resigne my breath Andlet my God finde Glory in my death And having spoke his yeelding body strain'd Vpon those Marble pillour that sustain'd The pondrous Roofe They crackt and with their fall Downe fell the Battlements and Roofe and all And with their ruines slaughter'd at a blow The whole Assembly They that were below Receiv'd their sudden deaths from those that fell From off the top whilst none was loft to tell The horrid shreekes that filld the spatious Hall Whose ruines were impartiall and slew all They fell and with an unexpected blow Gave every one his death and Buriall too Thus died our Samson whose brave death has won More honour then his honourd life had done Thus died our Conquerour whose latest breath Was crown'd with Conquest triumph'd over death Thus died our Samson whose last drop of blood Redeem'd heavens glory and his Kingdom 's good Thus died heavens Champion the earths bright Glory The heavenly subject of this sacred story And thus th' impartiall hand of death that gathers All to the Grave repos'd him with his fathers Whose name shall flourish and be still in prime In spight of ruine or the teeth of Time Whose fame shall last till heaven shall please to free This Earth from Sinne and Time shall cease to be MEDITAT 23. VVAges of sinne is death The day must come Wherein the equall hand of death must summe The severall Items of mans fading glory Into the easie Totall of one Story The browes that sweat for kingdomes and renowne To gloryfie their Temples with a Crowne At length grow cold and leave their honour'd name To flourish in th' uncertaine blast of fame This is the height that glorious mortalls can Attaine This is the highest pitch of Man The quilted Quarters of the Earths great Ball Whose unconfined limits were too small For his extreme Ambition to deserve Six foote of length and three of bredth must serve This is the highest pitch that Man can flie And after all his Triumph he must die Lives he in Wealth Does well deserved store Limit his wish that he can wish no more And does the fairest bounty of encrease Crowne him with plenty and his dayes with peace It is a right hand blessing But supplie Of wealth cannot secure him He must die Lives he in Pleasure Dóes perpetuall mirth Lend him a little Heaven upon his earth Meets he no sullen care no sudden losse To coole his joyes Breathes he without a crosse Wants he no pleasure that his want on eye Can crave or hope from fortune He must dye Lives he in Honour Hath his faire desart Obtain'd the freedome of his Princes heart Or may his more familiar hands disburse His liberall favours from the royall purse Alas his Honour cannot soare too high For palefac'd death to follow He must dye Lives he a Conqu'rour And doth heaven blesse His heart with spirit that spirit with successe Successe with Glory Glory with a name To live with the Eternity of Fame The progresse of his lasting fame may vye With time But yet the Conquerour must dye Great and good God Thou Lord of life and death In whom the Creature hath his being breath Teach me to under prize this life and I Shall finde my losse the easier when I dye So raise my feeble thoughts and dull desire That when these vaine and weary dayes expire I may discard my flesh with joy and quit My better part of this false earth and it Of some more sinne and for this Transitory And teadious life enjoy a life of Glory The end