Selected quad for the lemma: fire_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
fire_n	world_n	worthy_a	write_v	18	3	4.6858	4	false

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A00825	Certain elegies, done by sundrie excellent wits With satyres and epigrames.; Satyres: and satyricall epigrams	Fitzgeffrey, Henry.; Beaumont, Francis, 1584-1616.; Drayton, Michael, 1563-1631.; Hookes, Nathaniel, fl. 1618, attributed name.	1618 (1618)	STC 10945.3; ESTC S116819	27,046	152

CERTAIN ELEGIES DONE BY SVNDRIE Excellent Wits WITH Satyres and Epigrames LONDON Printed by B A for Miles Partriche and are to be solde at his shoppe neare Saint Dunstons Church in Fleet-streete 1618. An Elegie by F. B. SO Madam may my verses pleasing be So may you laugh at them and not at me T is something to you I would gladly say But how to doe it cannot finde the way I would auoyde the common troden wayes To Ladyes vs'd which be or loue or prayse As for the first that little wit I haue Is not yet growne so neere vnto the graue But that I can by that dim-fading light Perceiue of what and vnto whom I write Let such as in a hopelesse witlesse rage Can sigh a quire and reade it to a page Such as can make ten Sonets ere they rest When each is but a a great blot at the best Such as can backes of bookes and windows fill With their too furious Diamond and Quill Such as are well resolued to end their dayes With a loude laughter blowne behind the Sea Such as are mortified that they can liue Laught at by all the world and yet forgiue Write loue to you I would not willingly Be pointed at in euery company As was that little Tayler who till death Was hote in loue with Queene Elizabeth And for my last in all my liuing dayes I neuer yet did liuing creature prayse In verse not prose and when I doe beginne I le picke some woman out as full of sinne As you are sull of vertue with a soule As blacke as yours is white a face as foule As yours is beautifull for it shall be Out of the rules of Physiognomie So farre that I doe feare I must displace The arte a little to let in the face It shall at least fower faces bee below The Diuels and her parched corpes shall show In hir loose skin as if some spirit she were Kept in a bagge by some great Coniurer Her breath shall be as horrible and vilde As euery word you speake is sweet and milde It shall be such a one as will not be Couered with any art or policie But let her take all waters fumes and drinke Shee shall make nothing but a dearer stinke She shall haue such a face and such a nose As will not stand in any thing but prose If I bestow my prayses vpon such T is Charity and I shall merite much My prayse will come to her like a full bowle Bestow'd at most need on a thirsty soule Where if I sing your praises in my ryme I loose my incke my paper and my time Adde nothing to your euer flowing store And tell you noughts but what you knew before Nor doe the vertuous minded which I sweare Madam I thinke you are delight to heare Their owne perfections into question brought But stoppe their eares at them for if I thought You tooke a pride to haue your vertues knowne Pardon me Madam I should thinke them none But if your braue thoughts which I must respect Aboue your glorious titles shall accept These harsh disordered lines I shall ere long Dresse vp your vertues new in a new song Yet far from all base prayse of flatterie Although I know what ere my verses be They will like the most seruile flatterie shew If I write truth and make my subiect you Fr. Beau An Elegie on the Lady Penelope Clifton By M. Dr. MVst I needes write who 's he that can refuse ' He wants a mind for her that hath no Muse The thought of her doth heau'nly rage inspire Next powerfull to those clouen tongues of fire Since I knew ought time neuer did allow Me stuffe fit for an Elegie till now When France and Englands Henries dy'de my quill Why I know not but it that while lay still T is more then greatnesse that my spirit must rayse To obserue custome I vse not to prayse Nor the least thought of mine yet ere depended On any one from whom she was descended That for their fauour I this way should wooe As some poore wretched thing perhaps may doe I gaine the end whereat I onely ayme If by my freedome I may giue her fame ● Walking then forth being newly vp from bed Oh Sir quoth one the Lady Clifron's dead When but that reason my sterne rage withstood My hand had sure beene guilty of his bloud If shee bee so must thy rude tongue confesse it And com'st thou too so coldly to expresse it Thou shoul'dst haue giuē a shrike to make me fear That might haue slain what euer had bin neer th● Thou should'st haue com'n like Time with thy scalp And in both hands thou should'st haue brought t● Casting vpon me such a dreadfull looke As seene a spirit or th'adst beene thunder stroo● And gazing on me so a little space Thou should'st haue shot thine eye-balls in my fa● Then falling at my feet thou should'st haue sayd Oh she is gone and Nature with her dead With this ill newes amaz'd by chance I past By that neere groue whereas both first and last I saw her not three months before she dy'd When though full summer gan to vaile her pride And that I saw men lead home ripened corn Besides aduis'd me well I durst haue sworne The lingring yeare the Autumne had reiourn'd And the fresh spring had beene againe return'd Her delicacie louelinesse and grace With such a summer brauery deckt the place But now alas it look'd forlorne and dead And where she stood the fading leaues were she Presenting so much sorrow to my sight Oh God thought I this is her Embleme right sure I thinke it cannot but bee thought That I to her by prouidence was brought ●or that the Fates foredooming she should dye Shew'd me this wondrous master-peece that I Should sing her Funerall that the world should know it That Heau'n did thinke her worthy of a Poet My hand is fatall nor doth Fortune doubt For what it writes not fire shall ere raze out A thousand silken puppets should haue dy'de And in their fulsome coffins putrifide Ere in my lines you of their names should heare Or in the world tell such there euer were Whose memory shall from the earth decay Before those ragges be worne they gaue away Had I her godlike features neuer seene Poore slight report had told me she had beene A handsome Lady comely very well And so might I haue liu'd an Infidell As many doe which did her neuer see Or cannot credite what shee was by me Nature her selfe that before Art prefers To goe beyond all our Cosmographers By Charts and Mappes exactly that haue showne All of this earth that euer could be known For that shee would aboue them all descrie What art could not by any mortall eye A mappe of heauen in her rare features drue And that she did so liuely and so true That any soule but seeing it might sweare That all was perfect heauenly that was there If euer any painter were so