Selected quad for the lemma: death_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
death_n	great_a	henry_n	king_n	6,493	5	4.0484	3	false

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A78187	Pocula Castalia· The authors motto. Fortunes tennis-ball. Eliza. Poems. Epigrams, &c. By R.B. Gen.	Baron, Robert, b. 1630.; Marshall, William, fl. 1617-1650, engraver.	1650 (1650)	Wing B893; Thomason E1221_1; ESTC R208859	49,241	161

fifth of November YOu that derive your far-fetch'd Pedigree From mighty Brute from th' Son of Saturne He Sing Io Io and fill the sportfull skies With songs for joy you tore them not with cries This is the Day meant for your Day of Doom In which to Babell rather than to Rome Your Commons Peers your Prince your Queen and King Were all intended a burnt-offering The Pyle was built the sulphurous train was laid Which had but one Squib of a Nation made Had the least spark but lent it breath 't had driven In bright Elijahs Chariot to Heaven Princes and Prophets tattred limbs had fill'd The air where bloud had in red showers distill'd Quick Death had given no time to fear his spight The active flame had seiz'd ere had the fright The coward Dame had cut threads unprepar'd And wounded men ere they could wake to ward Who ere were those unfortunate male contents That of this dire Treason were Instruments The Author was that subterranean Fiend The common Enemy of Man his end A scandall and an odium to bring Upon those People whom their peacefull King So strongly guards from all his other harms And to cast dirt he meant by traytrous charmes On their Religion that she might here As foule as she doth fair in heaven appear The Powder Plot a Mouster Hell did hatch Was such for which no story has a Match FINIS EPIGRAMS c. FIRST BOOKE The Author R. B. Gent. MARTIAL Queritur laesus Carmine nemo meo LONDON Printed by W. H. for Tho Dring 1650. I. To my Lady E. R. Commending his Muse Madam IF weight or light in my weak lines you spie Weight from your mouth they take Light from your eye II. To the same On War VVAr that black word compos'd of thousand ills Ladies ne'r speak nor think but ' gainst their wils The Lute sounds pleasant harshly stern alarm's They love not Armed Men but Men in Arms. III. On the Picture of LOVYS the fourteenth King of France THis this is Hee that turn'd the storme to calme And fenc'd his Lillies with triumphant Palme And by his actions so far greater then His Age proves Kings are never childeren IV. Antithesis to the conclusion of Sannazarius his Epigram on the City of Venice which when he has compared to Rome he saies Illam homines dices hanc posuisse Deos. Those men you 'l say These stones the Gods did lay IN silence be the worlds Seven wonders lost Thy stately Hills Proud Rome no longer boast See here men dwell with Fish a City stands I' th' water and the God thereof commands Neptunes great Realm's invaded thus and tam'd Not Men you say but Gods this Wonder fram'd That makes the wonder lesse t is Venice's praise That mortall Men not Gods such Piles could raise V. To a Cadet VVHat though thy Creditors call Pay ne'r fret A Pound of care can't pay an ounce of Debt VI. An Epitaph Vpon Henry the eighth King of England Translated out of Spanish O Henry more than this cold cover Of stone thy worth do hide and smother The Love of Luscious Venery And stubbornnesse in Heresie How with thy greatnesse I demand Poor Cosen'd Briton could it stand To let a Woman on thee tread And yet to be the Churches Head VII Another on Queen Elizabeth TThis Urne doth Iesabels dust comprise Here the new Athalia lies O' th' Western ore the Harpye The cruell firebrand of the Sea Here lies a wit of Fame the most Worthy that ever Earth could boast If to arrive at that blest Bay Of Heaven she had not miss'd her way VII To Sim the Letcher I Told Sim if he breath'd his last at Rome His dust with Courtizans should mingled lie For Whores and Heretiques there find one Tomb. He answer'd that 's a happy turne for why Alive but one at one time I enjoy'd But dead in that Elizian grave shall I With thousands lie at once and not be cloy'd VIII To Momus MOmus my Poems I have sent Abroad ere the Carnavall is spent Cause I would have Carpes cheap in Lent IX On the same MY Book like Persius ' gainst the wall he hurries Saying Dicitque tibi tua Pagina fur●es And t is more crime Synesius did suppose To steale a dead mans labours than his cloathes What Author in the Vatican is left If this be true unblemished with theft I must confesse I 'm guilty as the rest And am like them contented to be Prest X. To Will Ad. upon his Marriage NOw thou hadst need be very mild and still Seeing thy Kate is wedded to her WILL. XI On Wittoll VVIttell said he hop'd his Love Would a pretty Fortune prove As so she has indeed for she Is famous for Inconstancy XII On Hornes VVHen as the Wife deserveth them Why should the Man hornes weare Because he is his Wifes head and No Beast weares Hornes but there XIII Epitaph On Henry the fourth surnam'd the Great King of France STay Traveller see Honours fraile decay Then passe and wash with teares thy further way Seek not in Sols whole round a nobler Tombe A Greater King ne'r laid in lesser Roome No Death ere drew more Rivers from swoln eyes No Funerall broke the aire with sadder cries Pallas was so shar'd in him 't were a bold word To say which sharpest was his wit or sword These drops o'● all the blubber'd marble spread Are Pearl like Teares Griefs gems to crown him dead Weep too lest thou be'st harder than these stones Then passing say in broken sounds and grones Although a Bruter hand rob'd him of Breath France own'd a Caesar in brave Deeds and Death XIV On Sir Iohn Suckling THe Rose the Splendor of Flora's Treasurie Smells sweeter when t is pluckt than on the Tree So odorous Suckling when he liv'd a Flower Able alone to make the Nine a Bower Is held since he by Times Sith mow'd has been The Sweetest Plant in the Pierian green Nor envious Fate nor Northern blasts together Though he was nipt i' th bud can make him wither XV. On Spend-all SPend-all to Court to learn some manners went But there in revelling all his Manors spent XVI To Leigh the Linguist I Oft have heard thee spend much of thy lunges Praising the copious French Greek Latine Tongues English thou saist is poor and much doth want Emphatick Phrases words significant T' expresse the Ideas that the mind affords T is easly helpt Marry you I want no words XVII To Mr Robert Brownrigg PRophetick Delius to whom is seen What is and what shall be and what ere hath been From whose instructive Genius Meeter springs And how to touch the well-concording strings Being banish'd Delphos where he us'd to shew Inquisitive Mortalls what should ensue To Abions Woollie Isle he came to find A Monastry where he might sit enshrin'd Upon thy Head he happily hath hit Where he raignes mounted on a Throne of wit And by Prerogative has given to thee Th' manor of Tempe t'

Brasse or wield A speare againe i th blood-bedabled Field Unlesse my PRINCE Honor and Virtues cause Call to assert their Rights and equall laws But should I as young Lyons new taught to prey Invade the Herds flow like a violent sea On hostile Troops or arm'd with wroth and heate Plough up whole Armies and wall'd Townes subvert Or enter breaches like a winter floud Till the resisting Cities swam in blood The fame o' th' deed with th' next Gazzet would burne And with the rac'd Forts ashes find its urne Actions though ne'r so arduous and high Have no more life than one mans memory Unlesse some hallowed Pen in Castaly's Sweet Nectar dipt give them eternity Romes glory for whom Fame flew greater then For other men his acts had sullied been With Dust of Time had not his wiser skill Againe done o'r and brusht them with his quill Halfe's Tenure in his Booke not all in 's Sword Lay Ex utroque CESAR was the word Letters boast longer life than Porphyry Or Marble onely these can never die The Chapell sacred to great MARO'S name May sinke under Times weight but not his fame That shall new burgeon in his high-rear'd straine And in his Verse his Bay shall sprout againe Though others wither onely this chast Tree From stormes from blasting and from bolts is free Not NASO'S face ingraven in Rings of Gold And worne by Princes made his fame so old But his sweet MVSE that soar'd so even yet high This this 't was tooke from him the power to die Trophies and Crownes i' th Field are but halfe given I' th Study halfe Deeds glorious as Heaven Till Poesie send them 'bout the World to run On even measur'd feet are but halfe done They are not fledg'd till imp'd with th' Poets Quil The chiefest feather in Fames wing his skill Reads men and Deeds their doomes his breath like Fate Can what he please make or annihihalate He gilds o'r Princes Crownes his numbers can Make Ease tast bitter sweet Affliction Was not neat OVID a poore exil'd thing More honour'd than Assyria's wanton King Melting to lust at home Conquer'd Troys Son and conquering Latium's Sire Lost not so much blisse by the Midwifes ire As by that golden Trumpet of his Deeds VIRGIL hee gain'd 't was he rais'd up his Head To Heaven with Statues though the hot youths Flame Wasted the Towne 't was He preserv'd the name Thou not immortall art great THETIS son For being dipt in Stix but Helicon By the blind Bard He left not out thy heele Deaths dart thou nor thy name no more shalt feele Great He the Muses high Priest travelling To lift unto the Starres the Ithacan King A Monument eternall hath brought forth Which shall from eating Age preserve them both Of Princes this of Poets that the Glory HOMER by ULYSSES live he by his story PALLAS strong arm there heaves them both so high That Kings for such a Tombe would wish to die These Tombes shall live and will admirers have Although MAVSOLUS his prove its own grave And needs a MUSE that memory to afford T'its selfe that it should doe unto his Lord. Since their names longest last whom their owne terse Or others pens embalme with sacred Verse By this I le strive to be no sluggard knowne And to make every Age to come mine owne I le court the Sister Quire with praises meet To teach my words to run on measur'd feet At PHOEBVS Shrine my vowes I 'l make and pay And on his Altar Sacrifices lay And pil'd-up Hecatombes His Harths I 'l feast With odors fragrant as the Phaenix neast Sweet gummes shall smoak in curles and in his fire Spice crackling yeeld sounds pleasant as his lyre In his wise eare Thither my sweet-breath'd prayer Shall up in clouds of Incense climbe the aire My Hymnes shall lull Heap'd perfumes pious light With flames full cleer and as his own raies bright Shall gild his Fane till he unsealed hath The holy Eount there will I drench and bath My braines till they from earth and thicknesse are Refin'd and pure as are those streames I 'l there With crown'd bowles swell me till my fancy flies Neer Heaven entranc'd and fill'd with extasies Then sing notes worthy his owne Harpe and prove The Acts o' th' Theban and EVRYDICE'S Love No truthlesse tales for duller things my Layes Shall nimblier move and stranger structures raise I 'l scrue the spheres up higher and lend agen The Harmony of their round race to men I le fix th' Almighty Poets Pen upon The Zodiacke a Constellation If MOMVS snarles in drumming tunes my wrath Shall rime the Dog like Irish Rats to death In keen Iambick's I le untrusse the Elve Till he runs mad or wisely hangs himselfe LYCAMBES like I le squirt his eyes with Inke Shall ●ot the wretch his Libels Leth ' shall drinke Or plac'd above his reach his rage I le scorne And laugh to see his shafts on 's owne pate turne I le make each friend a Star and fill the skies Unfurnish'd roomes with them and give more eyes To Heaven to see those Hero's I will seat Borne up by Statues on a Pyramede Of Glory in my Poems I shall be Eterniz'd thus by them and they by me Then if no Issue of my Loynes convay My Spirit downe unto Posterity That of my braine will my lov'd Poetry My Son my History and TOMBE shall be R. B. MARTIAL Carminibus nec Fata nocent ac saecula prosunt Solaque non n●runt hac MONUMENTA mori FORTVNES TENNIS-BALL A MORAL FABLE The Author R. B. Gent. JUVEN Si FORTVNA volet fies de Rhetore Consul LONDON Printed by W. H. for Tho Dring 1650. TO The Choicest of my Noble Friends JOHN WROTH Esquire I 'M big with love How shall I gentle WROTH Set it and th' cause of it thy merit forth I 'm no rare Herald to fetch far thy name Or patch together coates to cloath thy Fame Yet I doe more than that when call thee Good For Vertue 's higher noblenesse than blood I 'm no grave Antiquary to present Old Medals or some dusty Monument Of some great Ancestor by Reliques foes Envy and Time rob'd of an Eare or Nose For WORTH I will not rake their sleeping Vrnes That which but glow'd in them in thee bright burnes Thee who had old Rome in her Glory seen Thou ' mongst her hundred Statues plac'd had'st been But safe in them thy Name could not have stood From Times sharp teeth even them he makes his food The Memphian wonders that so long did boast Their neighbourhood and kin to Heaven are forc't To bow their proud tops and begin a new Acquaintance with low Earth where first they grew Rhodes haughty Colosse that bestrid the Floud Is now but Aier wherein once it stood And needs the evcrlasting MUSE to tell The World it once had such a Miracle The MUSE 't was furnish'd Heaven with Deities Fames Roll with Hero's and with Stars the Skies Her

th' Forest trembles when the Lions roar As Schoole-Boyes when his rod their Master shakes Such Palsie seiz'd the Court And horror more Than curiosity made all long to know Since the dread arm was up whose should be th'blow 223. But these are safe in their best sute of Male Their Innocence the Queen and hers are meant So meannesse oft times is the low shrubs baile When Cyclops sweat the lofty Cedars rent Now overhasty Prince who would not be Rather a Groom than Wife or Childe to thee 224. The King no sooner thought it than he sent To th'Ile a Confident a man whose will He knew was melted into his and bent To feast all 's humors were they good or ill He in Commission strong and 's trusty Band Soon left his own and gain'd th' Aeolian strand 225. What time the pale Moon peeping through a cloud The secrets of the sullen night behold He and his train through the Queens guard did croud With the Black Rod in 's hand which her he told The King had sent in token she must go With him the cause and end she soon should know 226. The patient Queen with humble grace repli'd And wills the King I soon my end should know I thank his Grace by making me his Bride He heav'd me to the high'st ●eat Earth can show And still he 's good since then this Earth hath none More rich in giving me a Heavenly Throne 227. To th' Princesse Lodgings next this Messenger Of Death made way where he did vertue see With valour sporting she with her brave Dear She the sweet burthen of the Gallants knee So Turtles bill so Kids upon the Plaine Their snowie limbes doe wantonly enchain 228. One of her hands that compact of firm snow And softer Ivory he glew'd to 's Lip Her other play'd with 's jetty Locks Doves so From twig to twig as her quick fingers trip From curl to curl do hasten but as they Are th' Fowlers so must these be Fortunes prey 229. Now blasts their ears the cruel Message sent From th' angry King now they O harshest Death From eithers sweet embracements must be rent This melts the Princesse's eyes th' affright her breath Stopt and she fainting catcht fast at her Dear As drowning men at any bough that 's near 230. Upon his Arm she her declining head Did rest whilst death in gliding sleeps disguize Crept softly o'r her silence fear bespred Her silver Lids as curtaines 'fore her eyes Wherein the Sun was set that her losse might Not give her fresh wounds by the bitter sight 231. Those Corrall twins her Lips which late I guest Bloud hardned into blushing stone turn'd clay Her Breath retired to perfume her Breast Her Roses and her Lillies droopinglay Her late swift Pulses slept and did constraine Their wanton dances in her Saphire veine 232. Th' uncivill Pursivant arm'd with the wreath Of his dread Master falleth foule upon The noble Youth nought threats he lesse than Death Than which the vigorous Law more harsh had none So Falstaffe triumph'd o'r Hotspur's stiffe clay But what cannot resist is Asses prey 233. The Gallant youth who in just ragee'r while Would such unmannerly soules kick from their slime Now seems no sense of injury to feel Because the Mans high trust secur'd his crime From privat chastisement words poiz'd should be Not by their own weight but the tongues degree 234. The Ladies that their due attendance paid To the sweet Princesse in the fright all shear Distracted thus few to their Mistris laid Their helping hands which they employ to tear Their hair now skar'd on end all their tongues thus Secure thy selfe by flight Lord ULORVS 235. As the last Trump shall at that great Assiise That Day of raising bones and quickning clay Rallie our scatter'd attomes and we'rise From out the mouldie Beds wherein we lay So at that Loved name ROSELLA broke The bars of drowzie Death and gently woke FINIS ELIZA The Author R. B. Gent. OVID. Huic labrr est placidam exorare Puellam LONDON Printed by W. H. for Tho Dringo 1650. Vpon the first sight of ELIZA Masked WHen her saint Metaphore Heavens radiant eye Puts his black Velvet Mask of darknesse by And freely shines those Statues of live Jet I' th' Eastern shores half pickled up in sweat Adore his Lustre but they never bow Whilst Clouds case up and night-cap his fair Brow So when mine eyes first reacht her she alas Was Mask'd and Ignorant I by did passe Without adoring when such Shrines as hers May make Saints croud to be Idolaters When Lady-like Loadstones in boxes cas'd I 've sometimes seen neer Iron wedges plac't The am'rous metall wav'd and still crept neer As if it knew its Love were shrined there I felt this sympathy and in my breast Like a stray Bird now fluttering near his Neast Or like the Needle my warm'd Heart did hover As who would say the North I do discover The Center cease then ' mongst the Rocks to steer Thy course but fix with presporous Omens here Now with devouter eyes I lookt agen But her black veil not drawn thus thought I then Thus Angels Pictures in the Sacred Quire Are veild to raise our adoration higher Still fair one for the common good thus shroud Your beames in waving curl or silken cloud Or you 'l scorch more than Phaeton with one Ray Whose shine might send the Cime'rans a Day Each Heart an Aetna evry man must turn A Salamander and even living burn Blind as wag Cupid your refulgency As it did his will strike each daring eye Myriads on each side as you walk must fall As spurious Eaglets 'fore your Emblem Sol. Thus you 'd with looks Philosophy controul And Fate and leave the world without a Soul Or prove which I confesse since I was hit This all hath but one soul and you are it On ELIZAVnmasked VVHen her bright eyes those ruling Starres which now Must guide my Fortune and mine Actions too Boasting a power 'bove Fate pleas'd to dispell Those silken mists and clouds which trembling fell Fore them as bowing to those Rayes Divine And whilst they did ecclipse adore their shrine Now darted she her beames through Beauties skies And kindled willing me her Sacrifice So Heaven its holy fier once did fling On its Elijab's piled offering Like it in pure and Turtle flames I burne Ne'r to be quencht till th' Pyle shall ashes turne Then like a coal in dust of Juniper Mine Heart shall glow a Martyr still to her Since then i 'm turn'd all heat had she not best Consult with coldnesse so to slake my breast No Fondling no then as the deeper well Makes fuell of the Ice my flame will swell Thou then the twang of whose Bow all commands Turn thy plum'd shafts to sacred fierbrands And make her Breast the Vestall Harth that she May sweetly burn in equall flames with me So Love's 'bove Nature this fire that sh'ant smother But both vie Ardour and maintaine each