Selected quad for the lemma: death_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
death_n	heart_n	life_n	soul_n	7,115	5	4.6445	4	false

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A54950	An epistolary poem to John Dryden, Esq. occasion'd by the much lamented death of the Right Honourable James, Earl of Abingdon / by William Pittis ...	Pittis, William, 1674-1724.	1699 (1699)	Wing P2319; ESTC R2510	10,123	24

Isis's Sons and Isis's Sons have lays Deserving Fame and which Desert can praise Silent they stand and with their Harps unstrung Adore that Worth which should ador'd be sung Grief pow'rful Grief prevailing on their Sense Permits them not to sing the Fate 's Offence But Thou Great Bard whose hoary Merits claim The Laureat's Place without the Laureat's Name Whose Learned Brows encircled by the Bays Bespeak their Owner's and their Giver's Praise Thou Dryden should'st our Loss alone relate And Heroes mourn who Heroes canst create Amidst thy Verse the Wife already shines And owes her Vertues what she owes thy Lines Down from above the Saint our Sorrows views And feels a second Heaven in thy Muse Whose Verse as lasting as her Fame shall be While thou shalt live by Her and she by Thee Oh! let the same immortal numbers tell How just the Husband liv'd and how he fell What Vows when living for his Life were made What Floods of Tears at his Decease were paid And since their deathless Vertues were the same Equal in Worth alike should be their Fame But thou withdrawn from us and publick Cares Flatter'st thy Age and feed'st thy growing Years Supine unmov'd regardless of our Crys Thou mind'st not where Thy Noble Patron lies Wrapt in Death's Icy Arms within his Urn Behold Him sleeping and beholding mourn Speechless That Tongue for wholesom Counsels fam'd And without sight those Eyes for Lust unblam'd Bereav'd of Motion are Those Hands which gave Alms to the Needy did the Needy crave Ah! such a Sight and such a Man Divine Does only call for such a Hand as Thine Great is the Task and worthy is Thy Pen The best of Bards should sing the best of Men. Awake arise from Thy Lethargick State Mourn Britain's Loss tho' Britain be ingrate Nor let the sacred Mantuan's Labours be A Ne plus ultra to Thy Fame and Thee Thy Abingdon if once Thy glorious Theme Shall vie with His Marcellus for Esteem Tears in his Eyes and Sorrow in his Heart Shall speak the Reader 's Grief and Writer's Art And tho' this barren Age does not produce A great Augustus to reward Thy Muse Tho' in this Isle no good Octavia reigns And gives Thee Virgil's Praemium for His Strains Yet Dryden for a while forsake Thy Ease And quit Thy Pleasures that Thou more may'st please Apollo calls and ev'ry Muse attends With ev'ry Grace who ev'ry Beauty lends Sweet is Thy Voice as was Thy Subject's Mind And like His Soul Thy Numbers unconfin'd Thy Language easy and Thy flowing Song Soft as a Vale but like a Mountain strong Such Verse as Thine and such alone should dare To charge the Muses with their present Care Thine and the Cause of Wit with speed maintain Least some rude Hand the sacred Work prophane And the Dull Mercinary Rhiming Crew Rob the Deceas'd and Thee of what 's your due Such Fears as these if Duty cannot move And make Thy Labours equal to Thy Love Should hasten forth thy Verse and make it show What Thou Mankind and ev'ry Muse does owe As Abingdon's High Worth exalted shines And gives and takes a Lustre from thy Lines As Eleonora's pious Deeds revive In Him who shar'd Her Praises when alive So the stern Greek whom nothing could perswade To quit the rash Engagements which he made With sullen Looks and Helmet laid aside He sooth'd his Anger and indulg'd his Pride Careless of Fate neglectful of the Call Of Chiefs entreating till Patroclus's Fall Rouz'd by his Death His Martial Soul could bend And lose his whole Resentments in his Friend As to the dusky Field he wing'd his Course With Eyes impatient and redoubled Force And wept him dead in thousands of the Slain Whom living Greece had beg'd his Sword in vain One Friend in Tears that shade could only boast And Grecia gain'd in what Achilles lost But Oh! the Glorious Dead to whom we pay Our present Grief and fruitless Sighs convey He so his Worth demands and Vertues crave Is wept by Thousands who could Thousands save Yonder He lies ah what has Albion done To be thus punish'd in Her Noble Son Round Him his Orphan Children Pensive stand And Sadness reigns and deepest Griefs command Brave Manly Sorrow sits upon their Face And speaks at once their Duty and their Race A Father's Death for Lamentations crys But what that asks a Father's Life denies Their Hearts are acting what their Eyes forbear Remembring what He was and what They are Amidst the rest superlative in Care Erects Himself his Wealth and Honour's Heir To Heav'n He looks for Heav'n alone could take A Soul like His of bright Aetherial make And argues with its Laws and blames those Pow'rs Who suffer'd Fate to thwart His Vows and Ours As His Religion with His Duty strives And He bewails for lost what He revives The Sons describ'd the Brothers next appear And Leeds and Lindsey pensive Sable wear The first the Prop and Atlas of the State Tho' now resign'd the Charge and pompous Weight And who had still could murm'ring Brittains know What grateful Minds to their Protectors owe Bestow'd his Counsels and pursu'd his Toils Had we return'd his Labours with our Smiles But We to do this thankful Nation right Hug the Deliv'rance the Deliv'rer slight And use such odd Acknowledgments as show Not what We take but what the Givers owe. Grant Heav'n the Pilot gone that Albion's Realm May never want His Guidance at her Helm Round Her may no rough Storms or Billows beat To force Him from His Leisure and retreat Tho' much I fear and prescious is the Muse That She shall court that Help we could refuse The last but oh what daring Pen can shew Sorrows like His and paint those Sorrows true In Vertues and in Honour's List the Chief Mournful He stands yet Conq'ror of His Grief His Father's Courage boils within His Veins And o're the Brother's Loss contends and reigns But why alas do I in vain pursue Sorrows like His which fly the Searchers View The Noblest Muse in such Attempts must fail Heroes like Him should grieve behind a Veil Yet cannot I tho' lowly be my Song And whom 't would praise perhaps the Verse may wrong Neglect such Goodness and such Worth forbear Which I ev'n I by His Example share Lindsey A Name to Britain's Subjects known So far from Fraud and yet so near the Throne The Courtier 's Pride without the Courtier 's Arts And great His Post as great are His Deserts Retir'd from all the Pageantry and Pride Of Pallaces in private to reside He flies the Place where specious Ills resort And loves the Monarch tho' he shuns the Court But I too far by Lindsey's Worth am led And in the living Heroe lose the Dead Ah! Sacred Shade from sinful Albion torn Whom we must ever want and ever mourn Whose Life could teach us and whose Death could tell The Comforts and the Ioys of living well He from above our weak Attempts surveys And