Selected quad for the lemma: death_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
death_n	life_n	love_n	soul_n	8,923	5	5.0064	4	true

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A10255	An elegie vpon my deare brother, the Ionathan of my heart, Mr. Iohn Wheeler, sonne to Sir Edmond Wheeler of Riding Court neare Windsor, in the County of Buckingham, deceased	Quarles, Francis, 1592-1644.	1637 (1637)	STC 20537; ESTC S115450	2,930	16

An Elegie VPON MY DEARE BROTHER THE IONATHAN OF MY HEART M r. Iohn Wheeler Sonne to Sir EDMOND WHEELER Of Riding Court neare Windsor in the County of Buckingham deceased Angustia est mihi propter te frater mi Iehonathan jucundus fuisti mihi valde Admirabilor fuit amor tuus mihi amore foeminarum 2. Sam. 1. 26. LONDON Printed by T. C. for N. Alsop and T. Nicholes and are to be sold at the Angell in Popes head Alley 1637. TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE THE LADY ELIZABETH Lady Wheeler Madam ALL that Iob lost in his Affliction he found double in his Readvancement His children were not doubled therefore were not lost This I speake not to spoyle the Complement of common comforters I know roone descants upon these Marriages I will neither recite nor avouch but wil conclude as Charoone does in many things nothing Onely my drift is to make knowne that this last Marriage was consummated betwixt your incomparable brother whose funeralls I here celebrate and me betwixt whom there was rather an Identity then a brotherhood Frater ferè alter Amicus verè alter The Elegie which David wrote upon his Ionathan 2 Sam. 1. 19. warrants mee to doe the like upon mine whose loves were both alike both passing the love of women What I have done is the Ensigne of my true Affection whose supporters are an Honorable Lady and her noble Sonne Accept it from his hands who is Yours in the true Complement of a faithfull heart Fra Quarles An Elegie 1 AWay those Ioyes away those full delights The late vnbenders of my thoughtfull minde Which fedde my Time with sweeter dayes and nights Then were at first allotted to Mankinde Goe seeke out those that feast Leave me to sadnesse Sorrow is the Guest Which I must entertaine and billet in my brest 2 BReake not the Peace of my compos'd Resolves Rebellious fancy cease to make resort Into my setled Browes whose thought revolves Businesse of great import Invention rest till Servile Bribes entice Some Bards corrupted Pen to set a price On some unworthy Lord or paint his noble vice 3 COme then my Genius Let the needlesse Care Of quaint expressions passe The mourners garbe is not to crispe the hayre And true bread teares consult not with the Glasse Lick not thy lines nor scanne their carelesse feete Vnmeasur'd Griefe and Measures seldome meete Neglected wrincles best beseeme the Winding-sheete 4 DRaw neere you gentle heart draw neere Whilst I bedable my suffused eyes You shall not spend a teare You are my Guests and these my Obsequies No neede to begge a droppe my dearest Sim And I will fill the Cisterne to the Brim Then let me beg my bread if I beg teares for Him 5 Ev'n Him to whose sweet Memorie I owe This sad Memoriall of my deare Affection Whereby who ever please to reade may knowe The perfect President of youths Perfection But ah these too supicious times Alas It will surpasse A good Beleevers Faith to tell but what hee was 6 FOr me let scorne and slight Opinion fill My undervalu'd Rymes with disrepute Let every tongue deride my bafsled Quill And let my lines consume like Summer fruit When I turne Vices Advocate or when Affection or base by-respects of Men Shall falsify the just Geometry of my Pen. 7 GOodnes and vettue and heroick worth Sweetnesse of Nature seconded with Arts A noble brest and Birth Compleatnes both of Person and of Parts Must be our Theame We charge the mouth of Fame To blow her louder Trumpet and proclame His Merits whom we monrne and glorifie his Name 8 HE was an early Spring and beautified With all that Flora's bounty could bestow Life-breathing Zephyr tooke a pride To see his Buds sprout forth and flowers growe The Nymph Pomona feard the Lord of Time Mistooke his Tropick to show fruit in prime Before the Time of fruit and in so cold a Clime 9 Injurious Sisters tell me why you made His Twine so small yet spun so short a twine Thread had beene the Glory of your Trade Had you spun strong as well as fine But ah what strength is able to withstand The direfull stroke of your imperious hand Which prayers can not entreat nor power countermand 10 Now Readers know he was a Marke too fayre For Death to misse His ripenesse did invite Her over-daynty Palate not to spare My lifes delight He was the flowre of youth the Ioy of Art A faithfull Partner of a faithfull heart The very Soule of love and friendships Counterpart 11 LEarning divine and morall did enrich His wealthy Soule with her abundant store There was no Excellence in which He was not halfe a Master if not more Sometimes the busy Quadrant now and then Appelles Pencill and Appollo's Pen Imployd his skinfull hand He studyed Bookes and Men. 12 MVsick the language of th' eternall Quire Breath'd in his soule celestiall straynes And fild his Spirits with Seraphick fyre Whose gentle flames calcin'd his ravisht brynes And made him ripe for heav'n He did depart More then a Scholler in that sacred Art His fancy singers voyce perform'd a Masters part 13 NOble were all his Actions strict and just Quicke but advis'd and milde yet full of spirit His heart was buxom tender full of Trust Prudently simple free to men of merit His Resolutions weighd reserv'd and strong His silence studious sweet his tongue Lesse ready to require then to conceive a wrong 14 O but those firme Indentures sweetly past Betwixt his soule and mine Thy bands ô Hymen are not halfe so fast Ours are too strong for death death cancells thine O how they vrge my frailty How they thresh My wounded Soule and tribulate my flesh And all my teares being sqent they spueeze out teares afresh 15 PAssion usurpes the kingdome of my Soule My heart is full and it must vent or breake Peace Iudgement peace O shall I not condole So deare a losse Give losers leave to speake Thou knowest my teares are just Shall shall they not embalme the precious dust Of my true bosome friend They shall they will they must 16 QVench not those flames which your owne breath hath blowne In my Affection O limit not those Bon-fires which are growne Beyond your reach love burnes without direction Nor tell me what I know that he sits crown'd With endlesse Ioy My sorrow does propound The joyes that I have lost not those which he hath found 17 REason must stoope and Iudgement strike her sayle His Ioyes befoole the wisedome of a Pen Fancy must flagge and language must turne taile No these are heights for Angels not for men Alas the stormes of passion That burst from natures Clowds have dispensation To ease themselves by vent vent by lamentation 18 SO vaine so fraile so poore a thing is Man A weather cocke that 's turnd with every blast His Griefes are Armefulls and his mirth a span His Ioyes soone crost or past His best delights are sauc'd with doubts and feares If had we plunge in Care If lost in teares Let goe or hold they bite We hold a Wolfe by th' eares 19 TIme shake thy Glasse and let thy Minits flye Switcht on with Angels till thy Sand be spent Till then their 's nothing certaine but to dye Or worse to droyle in feares or discontent Thy best of all thy Sweets are but a Snare Thy Honours blasts of Ayre Thy wealth but golden Trash and trifles full of care 20 VNdresse thy selfe my Soule and dissinvest Thy thoughts of all these Ragges of flesh and blood Returne thee to thy Rest O there be Monsters lurke in Natures flood Close up thy springs thy bankes are to the brim Weepe for thy selfe my Soule thou canst not swim In the dead Sea of teares O weepe no more for Him 21 WAnder no more in the distracted Path Of Sense The teares are lost which Passion vent O rather seeke the Pleasures that he hath Whose death thine eyes lament He lives in joy Thou show'st a weeping eye He sits in Glory Thou sittst downe to cry Thou either lou'dst him not or giv'st his joyes the Lye 22 YOu that are Partners in so great a losse Strive to be partners in so great a gaine Pry not too much into his Dust his Drosse The hopes of Comfort there are lesse then vaine Cast up your better eyes And view that Palace where his Glory lyes Where Time cannot suppresse where Death cannot surprize FINIS