Selected quad for the lemma: death_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
death_n	woman_n	womb_n	worthy_a	18	3	6.3531	4	false

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A08434	The lamentation of Troy, for the death of Hector Wherevnto is annexed an olde womans tale in hir solitarie cell.	Ogle, John, Sir, 1569-1640.	1594 (1594)	STC 18755; ESTC S110186	34,123	66

Abraham did greeue In sacrifice to offer vppe his sonne Vnto I am and but he did beleeue His flesh and bloud would such a murther shun If flesh and bloud to loose a sonne be loth Then needes must Priam who was meerely both Great was the gall vnto Harpagus hart When king Astiages gaue to him his sonne Whom he had slaine before O cruell part Then gaue his father him to banquet on But this nor those were halfe so much as his For Priam lost the piller of his blisse Alasse good king that thou whose hap was such As neuer any might compared be That Fortune now at thy good hap should grutch Alas I say that thou shouldst liue to see The Wheele so turne euen now to vieu thy fal Who wert but euen now on the top of all Next him sat wailing in most pitious wise Hectors fayre mother Hecuba the Queene Hir outward lookes hir inward smart descries And by hir sighing was hir sorrowe seene A mothers loue vnto hir childe exceedes And death of him hir endlesse torment breedes Aye me she cries as women wont to doe That ere I did conceiue thee in my wombe Thy life was mine thy death is now my woe Aye that my bellie had beene stil thy tombe Rather I had I neuer had thee borne Then thus in thee to see all Troy forlorne When I thy brother Paris did conceiue I dreamt my wombe was all on burning fire And true it was he doth me not deceiue I feare we burne all by his hot desire Yet hadst thou liu'd thy selfe had beene a spring To quench these flames that now are kindleing For when I bred thee few doe know so much I dreamt a Sea was in my body flowing And that the rage of Aeolus was such That blasts of winde the waues thereof were blowing I tolde it none so was the sence nere found But now I both do finde and feele the ground These Seas of teares which heere about thee flow Are those same seas which I supposde to be These stormes of sighs the winds with them did blow Thus is my vision verified in thee Now that a signe of these Seas may be seene I will be called of sadde seas the Queene The Troyan Queene is Hecuba no more Aye me me thinkes I see it now decaying Hector is dead the Greekes do dance therefore And they giue thanks while we for ayde are praying Frowne not O Neptune that I am Queene of Seas For Queene on earth great Ioue it doth not please With that she weeping tore hir haire and said See see they come to take away my crowne Like one halfe frantike or with feare dismaide Looke looke she cries they 'r burning of the towne O Hector helpe vs she alowd him cals He cannot heare hir she to weeping fals Elkanah thy Hannah neuer sight so sore Nor begd with teares that she by thee might beare A sonne although she powred out before Hir makers throne her soule who did hir heare With tithe of teares I say did she not craue him As losse of hirs she mournd yet could not saue him Thomyris thy teares for Spargapises slaine By Cyrus hand the butcher of thy sonne Were not a few which from thy cloudie brain Thou didst let fal to heare what he had donne But O the drops which Hecuba did shoure For thee to shed was neuer in thy powre She lost hir stay hir piller and a sonne Thou lost a sonne but neyther staie nor piller In Hectors death Hecubaes life was done Thou hadst the head of Spargapises killer And victresse wert liuing in ioy long after She euer mournde and neuer moued laughter Thus sat the mother of that worthy man Weeping vpon him in aboundant raine Clasping his body strongly as she can Into hir armes and then she weepes againe Hugging him hard as thogh she would then take him Into the place where great Ioue first did make him By hir I sawe a goodly Lady bright A stately dame as one shal lightly see But that some drooping clouds then dimnd hir sight I askt Troys ghost what might that Lady be This is quoth she Andromache his wife Whom she did loue more dearely then hir life She wept and wailde and wroong hir hands and tare Hir clothes hir haire hir flesh from off hir face A babie too within hir armes she bare Aye me me thought it was a pitious case To see the babe vppon hir breast to lie And both to weepe the childe not knowing why O heare my Lord O heare thy handmaid speake I am Andromache thy louing wife Through thy dead senses let my words now breake Thou that refusde to heare me in thy life Ah hadst thou listned when thou liuing wert This greefe had neuer come so nigh my hart Thou madste no reckoning of my vision strange Braue men are wont to be too credulous My dreame did tell me that thy life must change If thou this day with Greekes wert venturous I tolde it thee But Womens words are toyes When men most wilfull seeke their owne annoies I tolde the King our Father and the Queene We all did pray thee All could not preuaile For valiant men will haue their valure seene Hector that day must needes the Greekes assaile That day that one day couldst thou not forbeare But men resolued perswasions will nor heare Then flouds of teares ran downe hir christall cheekes Like streames that follow along the siluer sandes A troubled soule in teares hir comfort seekes O heauy comfort that in mourning standes Yet woman say in weeping there is glory Which mede this Lady so exceeding sory The sweete young Infant that lay all this while Vppon the Downe-bed of his mothers brest One while would crie another while did smile Alas it knew no cause of such vnrest Vnles that this did make the babie weepe To heare what howling they about him keepe Sometimes it would the tender hand vp lay And spread the fingers on the mothers face Stroking hir cheekes as Infantes vse to play But she that now for sporting had no place Weeping did wet the childe as it did lie With brinish teares which made the babe to cry Then with a napkin doth she drie his face Peace peace sweet hart thus she hir yonglinge stills He to his plaieng falles againe apace She with hir teares againe his bosome filles And with hir sobs she beates him as he lies That now the childe with ceaseles shriking cryes Alacke the tormentes that she now endueres The cruell plunges in hir hart so sore Hir husbandes death hir endles woe insures The childes fell crieng makes hir tormentes more Thus she sweete Lady is of all accurst Who sittes and sighs as if hir hart should burst The faithfull Porcia neuer sorrowed so Although hir selfe for Brutus she did kill The louing Phillis neuer felt the woe Though for Demophoon she hir selfe did spill As did Andromach for hir Hector slayne Their Death cut off hir life prolonges hir paine Panthea deplord

me this boone that he may in it dwel I speake not Princesse of a shallow greefe His damned stroke hath pierst euen to my soule And at thy hands I humblie craue releefe That as I mourne so he may euer houle Of thee I beg bicause thou art a Queen And Womens mercy more then mens is seene Or if the Grim-god Pluto thy black Lord Doe hold thee straight and giue thee no such power Yet to his grisly-hood speake a gentle word Your sex hath euer one perswading howre Wherein they wish theyr husbands to their will O praie him then that he torment Achill Fowle helborne-monster sent vppon the earth By froward anger and vntoward will Only to worke poore Troy and Ilions death which then thou wroughtst when thou didst Hector kill But thou art curst and damned for that deede And for thy sake accurst is all thy seede How could thy heart consent to heaue thy hand Gainst him whose body was as then vnarmed That worthy man the flower of all the land Which neuer any but with honour harmed How couldst thou then so cowardly him tuch But thou didst feare his valure was so much Like as a Beare that hungry is of pray Yet dares not buckle with a bigger beast Doth watch occasion and his time doth stay Till sure aduantage bids him to a feast And then deuouers and teares all that he can So didst thou waite to spoile this worthy man But thou art spoyld and he still worthy is Thy honour lost but his for euer biding Nor breaths the wight that speakes of him amisse All men all glory are to him ascribing And when you both are named t is this men say Achilles basely did braue Hector slay Why then sweet Homer did thy pen miscarry That writes such wonders in Achilles name Thou madst his praise amongst the starres to tarry And in the skies thou regestred his fame He were immortall by thy Angels tounge But that herein thou doest a double wronge Wrong vnto him that nere deserued so Wrong to thy selfe in flattering him too much Thou made his worth both men and gods to know And heauens can tell the cause was neuer such What worthy mind by treason would asaile When as he knew that valure might preuaile Hector had hurt him hand to hand afore I Then he knew his power and his force Which euer after lyke a greedy bore Made him to seeke his life for to diuorce From that faire temple wherein t' was well placed Who neuer ceased till it was out raced Then why did Homer Laureat of his time Consume the sweet of his mellifluous tongue In hony lines and from his golden chime Chaunt forth in musick a mellodious song To sweeten him that men should with delight For euer read his praises day and night But t was the larges of his liberall hand Which makes some Poets pipe as they will daunce At whose deuotion theyr good witts do stand Waiting and prest their honoures to aduance But Homer thou that couldst immorrall men Shouldst not be thought to haue a flattering pen. No no it was thy kindnes that did giue Thy countryman the glory of thy witt Nor can I thinke that thou by him didst liue But thou wert faine in him to blason it Had Hestor been a Graecian borne I know Achilles name had nere been honoured so There had bene matter for thy heauenly verse A golden subiect for thy Siluer tounge His glorious acts were worthy to reherse And had sweet Homer of braue Hector song Vnto thy selfe such honour had it be As for Achilles to be sung of thee There was the true looking-glas of honour In which together did all vertue stay The worlds wonder for a worthy warriour A man most rare accomplisht euery way And to say truth of such exceding fame That none but Homer can declare the same O then good Spencer the only Homer liuing Deign for to write with thy fame-quikninge quill And though poore Troy due thanks can not be giuing The Gods are iust and they that giue them will Write then O Spencer in thy Muse so trim That he in thee and thou maiest liue in him Although thou liuest in thy Belphaebe faire And in thy Cynthia likely art to shine So long as Cynthia shineth in the ayre Yet liue and shine in this same Sunne of mine O liue in him that whilom was my Sun But now his light and so my life is done With that she wepte and that so piteously As she had been dissolued all to teares Throbbing forth sighs shriking so hideously As one that inly endles torments beare But ore a while for euerie thing must stay She ceast hir plainte and gan agine thus say O tell my griefes and to this worlde them sound As I in sighs doo send them forth to thee Was neuer dole so driery to be found As is the dolour that is now in me Tell how I dround in teares in scalt-sighs burne And while thou sighest I will sitte and mourne View but my lookes and thou shalt feeling write My troubled spirit and how it sighs with grones And still regard mine eies that want their light Blinded with teares that issue from my mones And here O here behold dead Hector shoken And thou shalt speake as if my selfe had spoken Then did she shew me Hector where he lay Pointing hir finger holding backe hir head Scarce had she power Lo here he is to say It was such death to see hir Hector dead There did I see the king the Queene all Troy In mourning weedes bewailing their annoy Olde-aged Priam kneeling ore the corse With trickling teares distilling from his eyes Looketh vpon him with a deepe remorse And heauie cheere doth view him as he lies His luke-warme drops fall downe on Hectors face He wipes them still and still they fall apace Passion be-duls him that he cannot speake Groning he sits and shaking of his head And then he sobs as if his hart would breake That of his death too they are all afraid Only he cried O my sonne my sonne But speech did faile him yer it was begun One while he beats his sigh-swolne brest and cries But then a manly courage staies his crying From being heard and then he lifts his eies Vp to the heauens his fingers iointly tying But more 's his fire the more he chokes his fumes For inward griefe pent in the hart consumes Thus did the olde-man in his mellowed yeares Bewaile the wind-fall of his fruit vnripe His siluer beard he pearled all with teares Which faster fell then he good-man could wipe Nothing he said but O my sonne my sonne His breath stil stopping ere he halfe had done The good king Dauid neuer wailed so And yet he wailde for Absolon his sonne With flouds of teares which stormes of sighes did blow As hath this Priam for his Hector done Death of a priuate sonne doth grieue one sore But losse of such a one gals ten times more The godly Patriarch