Selected quad for the lemma: friend_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
friend_n	enemy_n	true_a	zeal_n	759	5	10.9440	5	false

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A61352	State-poems; continued from the time of O. Cromwel, to this present year 1697. Written by the greatest wits of the age, viz. The Lord Rochester, the Lord D-t, the Lord V-n, the hon. Mr. M-ue, Sir F. S-d, Mr. Milton, Mr. Prior, Mr. Stepney, Mr. Ayloffe, &c. With several poems in praise of Oliver Cromwel, in Latin and English, by D. South, D. Locke, Sir W. G-n, D. Crew, Mr. Busby, &c. Also some miscellany poems by the same, never before printed	Prior, Matthew, 1664-1721. Hind and panther transvers'd to the story of the country-mouse and the city-mouse. aut; Rochester, John Wilmot, Earl of, 1647-1680. aut; University of Oxford.	1697 (1697)	Wing S5325A; ESTC R219192	116,138	256

Old Satan his Associate too must stand Behind his Chair to guide his heart and hand Draw him stuck round with all the Toys that come From the grand Mint of Lies old foppish Rome Bulls Dispensations Pardons all the baits He lays for the dull Crowd the Book of Rates Will be convenient too that of every Sin The value may be known pray cram them in Draw him dispersing with a bounteous hand For horrid Ends the Treasures of his land Dispensing with false Oaths o● any thing So that they 'll murther Charles Great-Britain's King Poor Fool to think the Guardian of his Throne Is grown so dull and senseless as his own No proud Imposture no thy Hand 's too short To reach his Head or make his fall thy sport Next draw proud France and his ambitious hope Of being mighty cringing to the Pope 'T is not his Zeal to him or to his Laws That cheats the World this his Affection draws 'T is Interest mighty Interest bears the sway He dare not tho he 's willing disobey Base Prince and foolish too your self you cheat When on such Terms as these you would be great You feast your senses at such costly Rates That nothing else can serve but Delicates Dipt in the Blood of Princes Death of Kings In your Opinion are but vulgar things If thirst of Empire sway'd a generous Soul These base low tricks could never sure controul But when a Mind 's so firm on mischief bent No thoughts of Honour can its Crimes prevent In meanest Actions Princes should be true And act on principles of Honour too Then they are sacred to the World and ought To be ador'd then Disrespect's a Fault But when both base degenerate they 're grown The Vulgar hurl them headlong from the Throne Go on vile Prince in all these Arts and try How soon your Crown will fade your Empire die By your Example your own Subjects teach To strike at Empire and at Sceptres reach And may their first attempt be on thy Head Dethrone thee first of all then strike thee dead Now Painter to our Subject dip thy Pen In black in horrid black yet once agen For when a Subject from a King revolts Conspires his Death and thinks these things no faults The Scene must needs be horrid first begin With Bel s his foul ungrateful sin Draw him a Monster in as foul a dress As e'er your heart can think or hand express Long did he in his Prince's bosome lie One would have thought void of all Treachery For what base Man but he could e'er conspire To set that house wherein he lives on fire Who would such Treasons harbour in his breast 'Gainst th' best of Princes and to him the best The other Lords must on the stage be led Draw out each Man with Halter on his head And Dagger in his heart with which in vain They often strove to stab their Sovereign Base Rascals do you thus your Prince reward Have you no Honour left or no Regard To Clemency which some of you I know Have tasted or y 'had dy'd for 't long ago Had he been cruel or Tyrannick grown You 'd had more reason to usurp his Throne But to a gracious and obliging Prince 'T is past all hopes of pardon or defence Now Painter draw me Hell in all its heat Let sulphurous Flames and dismal Darkness meet Draw S ley Col n and the Jesuits And in the hottest place as best befits Let them endure the flaming Brimstones Rage These bloody trayterous Miscreants of our Age. These were the Men design'd oh bloody Act Nay were resolv'd on to commit the fact Base Rebels don't you know that Heaven's high hand Has ever kept the Monarch of our Land And could you think to move our Scene and do What Heaven 's high Lord had ne'er consented to Burn on vile Wretches think well on these things What Treason is what 't is to murther Kings Now draw in all his Majesty and State Our Sovereign Prince just rising from his Fate Pray paint him laughing at the Follies done By th' Pope and France his most unchristian Son Prithee old Fellow prithee tell me why Old England should so much disturb thy Eye Is it because we do not doat on you And worship all your Saints we never knew If these Old Man your Aggravations be Know we defie thy Malice Imps and Thee Stafford 's Ghost February 1682. IS this the Heavenly Crown Are these the Joys Which bellowing Priests did promise with such noise Charming my Fears with such lewd Words as these A Saint a Martyr Bliss Eternal Ease Such promis'd Glories were for meaner Deeds He 's trebly blest by whom our Monarch bleeds Curs'd Priests did me with other Fools delude Brib'd with their Gifts of the Beatitude Had I that Life so unadvis'dly lost 'T is not your fawning Jesuitish Host Should e'er prevail on my misguided sense To smother Guilt with Vows of Innocence Nor thou false Friend as false to me or more Than all thy Oaths for Coleman's Life before With thy true Catholick protesting Breath Shouldst e'er betray me to a perjur'd Death Blinded with Zeal what did we once admire A sulph'rous Soul by Jesuits set on fire A head-strong stupid rash bigotted Prince Declar'd the open Enemy to Sense Weak are the sacred Ties that should attend The Name of Sov'reign Brother and of Friend This pious Sampson would with Joy o'erthrow The Universe and perish by the blow His Plots tho known yet he will ne'er give o'er But still Intriegues with his dear Babel Whore So much infected by that Fatal Bitch He 's all broke out in scabby Zeal and Itch. Could we distinctly view his tainted Soul That all the Relicks of S were small Compar'd with th' Scars of his P spiritual 'T is not the powerful Force of Iordan's Streams Nor his dear Purgatories cleansing Flames Can e'er remove from his polluted Soul The least remains of a Disease so foul You 'll say 't is hard that such a one as he Should be depriv'd of Naaman's Remedy But there 's Distinction to be made I hope 'Twixt those that worship Rimmon and the Pope Amends for my intended Crimes I make If Charles from his Lethargick Sleep I wake But such a Dose of Opiats they have given To rouse him were a Miracle for Heaven I hope tho when he hears what I can tell Success may crown my Embassy from Hell I 'll boldly name those that pursue his Life And 'mongst his Subjects fester endless Strife Their Friends and their Advisers I 'll reveal Those Holy Men that toucht with pious Zeal Are such Well-wishers to the Common Weal York's most belov'd and boldest Friend is he Who knows he must succeed by Gadbury Yet some with Wonder are surpris'd to find That in the Loyal Ague of his Mind His hot fit comes in such a proper time Whose cold one thought the Covenant no Crime The next a Slave to his Ambitious Pride Must be the chief tho of

set to work your busy Brain Which took Fire quickly from their Train Some Wise some Valiant you remove 'Cause they your Maxims don't approve And in their stead such Creatures place Which to th'Employments bring disgrace While whatsoe're you do I own And still the dirt on me is thrown Straight new Chimera's fill your Brain The humming Beetles buz again A Goal-Delivery now must be All tender Consciences set free Not out of Zeal but pure Design To make Dissenters with us join To pull down Test and Penal Laws The Bulwark of the Hereticks Cause The sly Dissenters laugh the while They see where lurks the Serpent's guile And rather than with us comply Will on our Enemies rely The Chieftains of the Protestant Cause We did confine though 'gainst the Laws But soon was glad to set 'em free Fearing the giddy Mobile Now all is turning upside-down Loud Murmurings in every Town We 've Foes abroad and Foes at home Armies and Fleets against us come The Protestants do laugh the while And the Dissenters sneer and smile But no assistance either sends They 're neither Enemies nor Friends Now pray conclude what must be done Consult your Oracle of ROME For next fair Wind be sure they come On the University of Cambridge's burning the D. of Monmouth's Picture 1685. who was formerly their Chancellor In Answer to this question In turba semper sequitur fortunam odit damnatos By Mr. Stepney YES fickle Cambridge Perkins found this true Both from your Rabble and your Doctors too With what applause you once receiv'd his Grace And begg'd a Copy of his Godlike Face But when the sage Vice-Chancellor was sure The Original in Limbo lay secure As greasy as himself he sends a Lictor To vent his Loyal Malice on the Picture The Beadle's Wife endeavours all she can To save the Image of the tall young man Which she so oft when pregnant did embrace That with strong thoughts she might improve her race But all in vain since the wise House conspire To damn the Canvas Traytor to the Fire Lest it like Bones of Scanderbeg incite Scythemen next Harvest to renew the fight Then in comes Mayor Eagle and does gravely alledge He 'll subscribe if he can for a bundle of Sedge But the man of Clareball that proffer refuses ' Snigs he 'll be beholden to none but the Muses And orders Ten Porters to bring the dull Reams On the Death of Good Charles and Crowning of Iames And swears he will borrow of the Provost more stuff On the Marriage of Ann if that ben't enough The Heads lest he get all the profit to himself Too greedy of honour too lavish of pelf This motion deny and Vote that Ti●e Tillet Should gather from each noble Doctor a Billet The Kindness was common and so they 'd return it The Gift was to all all therefore would burn it Thus joining their Stocks for a Bonfire together As they club for a Cheese in the Parish of Chedder Confusedly crowd on the Sophs and the Doctors The Hangman the Townsmen their Wives and the Proctors While the Troops from each part of the Countries in all Come to quaff his Confusion in Bumpers of stale But Rosalin never unkind to a Duke Does by her absence their folly rebuke The tender Creature could not see his fate With whom she had danc'd a Minuet so late The Heads who never could hope for such frames Out of envy condemn'd Sixscore pounds to the flames Then his Air was too proud and his Features amiss As if being a Traytor had alter'd his Phiz So the Rabble of Rome whose favour ne're settles Melt down their Sejanus to Pots and Brass Kettles Nulla manere diu neque vivere carminant possum que scribuntur aque notoribus By Mr. Ayloffe T. C. C. HE that first said it knew the worth of Wit Lov'd well his Glass and as he drank he Writ Vast was his Soul and sparkling was the Wine Which strangely did inspire each mighty Line The wat'ry Springs of Helicon are Theams Fit for dull Freshmen and dull Doctors Dreams Not Flood of Cam or Well of Aristotle Yield half the pleasure of the charming Bottle Poor Scriblers then that bread and water use The slender diet of a Bridewel muse As easily may Water Poets make As Coffee Politicians does create The Two Grand Whigs of Poetry and State When Booths on Thames were built and Oxen roasted Poets the strength of waters might have boasted And might have made their frozen Verse to pass As well as he that put out Ice for Glass Though our good Proctor otherwise does think Our Mother Cambridge kindly bids us drink She holds the Candle and the sacred Cup And as the one wasteth cries Drink t'other up 'T was drinking got our Ancestors Renown And Claret first that di'd the Scarlet Gown As well may Dutchmen without Brandy sight As English Poets without Claret write Not moderate Learning nor immoderate Fees Are of themselves sufficient for Degrees Wine and the Supper must the Act compleat And he does best dispute who best does treat 'T is Carnival and we 'll the time enjoy This day and next while Wine and wit run high And the forty days Preachers in vain may bid the Court repent But Poets sure did never write in Lent Now in the name of Dulness and small-Beer Ye Northern Wits of fam'd St. Iohns appear That scarce taste Wine or Wit throughout the Year Had she who by the pow'rful Charms of Wine Transform'd Ulysses men to Gruntling Swine Had she and you the Experiment try'd again By contrary effects ye had Poets been Next the pert Fops by Title dignifi'd Wise to themselves and Fools to all beside Whom Company nor Drinking can refine Blockish and dull beyond the pow'r of Wine Who after the first Bottle still the same Can never higher rise than Anagram Or at most quibble on their Dowdy's name When Whig Religious Trimmer Loyal turns When Cambridge Wives and Barnwel Whores turn Nuns When Curate's Rich and the fat Doctor 's poor When Scholars tick and Townsmen cheat no more When am'rous Fops leave hunting handsom Faces When craving Beadle begs no more for Places Hopkins and Sternold with their paltry Rhimes Shall please us now and take with future Times And Water-drinkers then shall famous grow Seile the Poet to my Lord-Mayor's Show Shall Dryden Cowley and our Duke outgo To Mr. Fleetwood Shepherd By Mr. P r. WHen Crowding Folks with strange ill Faces Were making Legs and begging Places And some with Patents some with Merit Tired out my good Lord D t 's Spirit Sneaking I stood among the Crew Desiring much to Speak with You. I waited while the Clock struck Thrice And Footman brought out fifty Lies Till Patience vext and Legs grown weary I thought it was in vain to tarry But did Opine it might be better By Penny-post to send a Letter Now if you miss of this Epistle I 'm balkt again and may go Whistle My business