Selected quad for the lemma: friend_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
friend_n	ask_v	know_v	see_v	866	5	2.8431	3	true

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A95536	A dialogue between a pedler and a popish priest in a very hot discourse full of mirth, truth, wit, folly and plain dealing / by John Taylor the Water-poet.	Taylor, John, 1580-1653.	1699 (1699)	Wing T451; ESTC R42478	12,850	37

days of Celebration Go but to Spain and shew thy vile condition Thou shall be tortur'd in the Inquisition Her Miracles of small worth you esteem Her merits at low value you misdeem Her sacred Reliques you condemn despise And all her attributes you much misprise Thou say'st with Six score I do make her share Your selves with her your course Wives do compare Shame and Confusion doth to all belong Who dare the best most blest of creatures wrong Pedl Indeed Sir John you come upon me now With somthing which my Faith doth disallow I pray you to consider but a little You give her many a Title and a Tittle For which you have no Warrant in the Word And yet pursue us both with Fire and Sword As Heretiques for doing not as ye do Yet what the Word bids and no more that we do Think you that any Man can be so mad As to hold Christ his Saviour and so bad As to hold Mary for his Saviours Mother And not to love her far above all other Above all Creatures she was full of Grace And sure in Glory she hath suprem place And eminence all other Souls transcending In joy and bliss that never shall have ending The Holy Ghost inspir'd her beyond measure She was possest with Heaven and Earths whole treasure And grant she could speak Latin and all Tongues Yet Mass or Mattins to her not belongs Of all that mortal were she was the best And her immortal Soul is now most blest Her memorable Honour to preserve Her days of Celebration we observe The Feast of her Anuntiation Her clear and pure Purification The Church in reverence hath ordain'd these days On which we should send up our Prayers and Praise To our good God whose mercy was so great To leave his glorious and immortal Seat And to the Blessed Virgins Womb he came And took on him our filthy Sin and Shame And on these days we pray that we may be The Virgins followers in Humility That our true meekness and our lowliness May raise us to Eternal blessedness We hold it the sure way to our Salvation To follow her in Holy imitation Through heavenly influence her excellence Must be admir'd with love and reverence And those that dare compare most sawcily Their Wives or Mothers with her sanctity Are sawcy Knaves in Pride and Ignorance Or Atheists fit to lead the Hang-man's dance We love her then though we believe not in her Nor by will-worship do we think to win her We hold her blessed for Christs flesh conceiving But far more blessed for Christs Faith receiving She was his Mother so 's the Church his Wife Which was to him much dearer then his Life Now if that one could fall at odds with th' other He would respect his Wife before his mother For who so once to him a Wife doth take Must Father Mother Friends and Kin forsake And this is every Spouses carriage But most in this Spiritual Marriage As Mary's mother of Christs humane life She 's but the Daughter of his heavenly Wife By which Church only faith doth me perswade Of Christ blest body she 's a member made Whereby these glorious Titles she hath won Made Mother Wife Child Sister to her Son All this Sir John I do but briefly say To let you see you play us much foul play Pri. Well Pedler tho' that Pack about thou bear Th' art some Apostate Monk or Fryer I fear Of Luthers love or Calvins cursed crew And sent abroad such business to brew Disguised like the Person of some Pedler Ped. No faith Sir John I am not such a medler Nor have I mind or means so high to mount A little I can Read or cast Account My wits are weak to utter Rime or Reason I know not what you call your Kerrieleison So help me God Sir John I know no better Nor in your Latin can I read a Letter For Latin is a Language admirable And my poor Friends and Parents were unable To purchase one scrap of it for my share And sure without it I can sell my ware And though I have no Latin yet I can Ask what I want of either God or Man In mine own mother Tongue I know and see How simple Souls by you abused be And how your doctrin half our Prayers would carry From Christ our Saviour to the Virgin Mary I also do perceive how you do frame Strange innovations to that heavenly Dame Ascribing her that honour which to none Is due but only unto God alone Of which she takes small notice nor will she For it at any time your helper be Pri. Read but the Legend Pedler and there view Her miracles approve her honour due For which the Pope in Latin doth prefer That Mass and Mattins must be said to her Read and Consider and believe it well Or else thou art at least half way in Hell Ped. Sure Hell is not within the Popes Commission Though Purgatory and the Inquisition Are things which he himself of late created Yet of small worth by wise Men they are rated I answer as I oft before have said I Love and Reverence that blest Mother Maid But I believe in God and when I pray Christ help me when my Soul or Corps do stray And so what e'er I either have or want I neither Pray to he or to she Saint And as for Tongues I have but one no more And wot ye well although I had Six score I would conform my self to Paul's commanding Pray with my Tongue Pray with my understanding Think you the twelve when they receiv'd the tongues Talkt and knew not whereto their talk belongs Yielding a sound not knowing what they said Idle in Preaching Idler when they Pray'd No each of them knew well what he did say And why not we Sir John as well as they For since each Man hath one Tongue at command Shall Men speak Tongues they do not understand Alas good sir had I been train'd at School As I am but a silly simple Fool A hundred Questions more I might have mov'd But here I cease for fear to be reproved For these few doubts I learn'd in sundry places Me thinks such Men as you should clear all Cases Pri. Now Pedler I confess thou puts me to it But one thing I will tell thee if thou 'lt do it If to our Prior thou'lt with me go back Perhaps he will buy all that 's in thy pack And teach thee better how to Pray then any For such a holy Man there are not many Be here to Morrow Between six and seven And thou wilt find thy self half ways in Heaven Ped. Content Sir John but there is one thing more I must have your opinion in before Suppose the holy Prior have no leasure To talk of every purpose at our pleasure Your Book which is the Golden Legend nam'd Wherein as many Lies as Lines are fram'd And on my conscience I do think that you Do know the most on 't to be