Selected quad for the lemma: hand_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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A63107
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Poems by several hands, and on several occasions collected by N. Tate.
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Tate, Nahum, 1652-1715.
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1685
(1685)
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Wing T210; ESTC R22319
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113,299
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465
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piece-meal found the Organ and the Harp Strook was the Shepherds God and stole a Pipe Yet single as it was it laid an hundred eyes asleep IV. To pass the Theban Artist at whose call Stones mov'd and danc'd themselves into a wall And under which Mythology Was civiliz'd even Barbarity Arm'd with his Harp alone the Thracian Bard Attempts the Shades below None ask'd him whence he came or how Or mutter'd what he was All stood at gaze and the bold stroke once heard Ev'n Hell had silence too And yet made Holiday The Wheel stood still none ply'd the Sieve The rolling stone was gathering Moss The Vultur heeded not its Prey His powerful hand did not perswade but drive He left no room for Thought the sooty God Smooth'd his rough Brow and made the granting nod And had th' enamour'd done the same His shy fond Fool had ne're been scar'd Sh 'ad stood nay met him shot him flame for flame Nor fled the unknown-know-not-what she fear'd V. Immur'd in Temples next it lay and then The Praises of their Gods and mighty Men Were only in request What but the best cou'd fit the best Dilated thence to Kings and Prophets he That took it up began to prophesie Thus David danc'd before the Ark And when the evil Spirit infested Saul He play'd and the same Heaven-born Spark Enform'd his hand and tun'd the others Soul Thus when before the Kings Elisha stood Iehoram's Gods had fret his Blood But when the Minstrel play'd God's hand came on him and he prophesi'd What may'st thou not that driv'st ill Spirits and call'st down good And mak'st that All we see or ever saw One full-mouth'd Diapason Alleluja Anacreon To himself 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 By the same I Care for neither Prince nor State Nor this nor that great Potentate Gold 's not the thing that I adore And envy not a Tyrant's Power But this I care to have my Beard With the most precious Unguents smear'd My careless Locks with Roses bound My old Companion-Goblet crown'd Let me live free and unperplex'd This day and take who will the next Then go to while 't is to day Drown all your Cares in Wine and Play Lest crazy grown nor sickness proof Doctors cry Hold you 've drunk enough Another 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 By the same LEt others sing the Theban Wars Or Troy's Destruction But I will chant my own And unconcern'd at others Jars Nor Horse nor Foot nor Ships nor all That Arsenal shall see me fall No No when e're Anacreon dies His sullen Heart Will bear no dart But from his Mistress Eyes Strada's Nightingale By the same Iam sol è medio pronus dâ—…flexerat Orbe c. PAst his Meridian was the Sun each Beam Had spent its Vigor when by Tyber's stream At at Oaks Foot a Lutenist did play To ease his Thoughts and pass the time away Nor was he long unheard above there stood A Nightingale the Syren of the Wood Muse of the place poor harmless Syren she Took the rebound and jugging o're what he Had with his Fingers struck her nimble Throat Eccho's it back and gives him Note for Note Our Lutenist that to her Ayres had lent His Ear perceiving what and whom she meant Resolves to make her sport when strait he trys Each Peg each string and o're 'em all he flys Nor was she long behind but running o're Each Note of his yes and a thousand more Gave him a taste of what she could to shew That even she could chirp a Prelude too With that he took his Lute and with a dash 'Twixt sport and scorn he makes a careless Rash Stops every Fret and to each trembling string Gives a soft Beat when presently again With a sweet touch he strikes an even strain And takes up all with his first Rash again And here he paws'd and now expects her part Which she strait gives and answers Art with Art One while as if she could not find her Throat She plays it here and there with her field-note And draws it out in length to let him see Her discords too carry'd their Harmony Then quavering out Division with shrill And open Throat gives every Note its Trill He stood amaz'd and well he might to meet So small a Pipe and yet a Note so sweet So soft so various that he concludes to get The Victory he must run higher yet And with it chang'd his Cliffs now sharp then flat Now Bass then Treble nor content with that Jumbles his strings in such disorder'd Rattle As if his Lute were to enform a Battel Yet here she had him too while she stretcht So shrill yet clear as if she meant t' ave raeacht A flight 'bove Ela in a trice with note As if 't were lost and bury'd in her throat Double De-sol-re low she sinks a Hum 'Twixt lowd and deep as humouring a Drum Anger Shame by this time stirr'd his blood Nor shall my little Quirister o' th' Wood Carry it thus Not conquer her I 'll do 't I 'll do 't he cry'd or I will break my Lute Nor said he more when thundering amain A sprightly bold unimitable strain His careless hand from this to that he flings And runs it up as he would crack the strings From Bass to Tenor Counter-tenor Alt His nimble Joynts in quick Division vault And not to leave one Note untouch'd upon He closes all with a full Unison And with it made as full a stop and stood Expecting what his little Rival cou'd But she poor Fool tho she was now become Quite hoarse impatient yet to be o'recome Rallies her little strength but all in vain For while she offers at so high a strain And strives to render with her single Throat The various Accents of such different Notes Too weak alas to bear her Grief or do 't Dead dead she dropt upon the Conquerors Lute A sitting Sepulchre such power upon Ev'n little Souls has Emulation A Translation of the fourth Chorus in Seneca's Troas Beginning at Dulce moerenti populus dolentum c. By I. T. LEss are the Griefs we undergo When they are felt by others too Less are our Sorrows less our Fears The more our Company appears Great Griefs like Burdens are more light The more they are to share the weight And none with Justice can refuse To bear the Fortune others use When we see happier men we grieve And all our Sorrows are comparative He only does his Fate bemoan Who in a single Ship alone Has plough'd the Sea and after some great wrack With a light Ship and heavy Heart comes back Who sees the Dangers of a sinking Fleet Thinks not his Sufferings are so great H' has this sad Comfort of his Misery That all as well as he must dye When the proud Master of the Golden Fleece With his dear Burden cross'd the Seas Phryxus with Tears saw Helle drown Well might he weep when he was left alone Thus when the only honest Pair That could