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Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
heart_n	blood_n	great_a	vein_n	4,207	5	10.0284	5	true

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ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A11194	The tvvo famous pitcht battels of Lypsich, and Lutzen wherein the ever-renowned Prince Gustavus the Great lived and died a conquerour: with an elegie upon his untimely death, composed in heroick verse by John Russell, Master of Arts, of Magdalene Coll. in Cambridge.	Russell, John, d. 1688.; Russell, John, d. 1688. Elegie upon the death of the most illustrious and victorious Prince Gustavus Adolphus King of Swethland &c. aut	1634 (1634)	STC 21460; ESTC S116282	35,062	94

the Frame Of some rare Frontispice with neat device Tying unto it the Spectatours eyes So both in equall tye are excellent Thy Book 's His Elegie He its Monument WHat loose Prose could not pay to Swedens Herse Thou hast discharg'd in thy Heroick Verse Th' Intelligencers Feet on which he 'l runne Now round the world like a surveying Sunne 'T was greater art to chuse thy Theme then write Some Poems But to pen it in despite Of others grief or silence argues Love Great as thy Art And if the People prove Thy hand hath rudely op't a publick wound Newly clos'd up the Magistrate's not bound As Athens mulcted Phrenicus to be Their Censor and to fine thy Historie No Let us know our Guilt that Matchlesse Man Whose Dirge thou sing'st hath murdred Nay I can And dare tell how too 'T was the fond excesse Of our big thoughts decreas'd his Happinesse Whose modest Soul we vext with restlesse crie Of love pretended Proud Idolatrie His purer Breast divin'd asmuch while we Mad men still tempted him with Prophesie Oh! had this Frenzie rested in the heart Onely of us the People little Art Might frame a Plea But our great Rabbins too Oh Learning what huge mischiefs mayst thou do Seduc'd by Pride and Flatt'rie nay those Brains That wear the Sacred Cappe through all their veins Descri'd infected bloud whose tainted streams Danger'd the Nations whil'st noisome steams Exhal'd as high as Heav'n That starrie Sphere Stranger to vapours could not now be cleare Egypt examin'd Starres and father'd lies On their pure Substances all Mysteries Are pri'd into and stretcht The Chiliast Takes sev'rall shapes now poses us in vast Contemplative just nothings and then slips Into a Cassock picks th' Apocalyps And showes us Wonders which poore I dare swear His fleering heart well knew were never there The unclaspt Book was read the Signes unseal'd The Trumpets Phials and the Beast reveal'd The Pope and Cesar slain outright and all By GVSTAVE and by Heav'n This was his fall The Sinne was ours the troubled Vertue his So Evil hasted Goodnesse to her blisse Now th' An'grams blush and had not Pirrhus art Excus'd the letter when the Authours heart Glow'd with a lie by this time Levi had Like Iss'chars asse coucht under 's burden glad Though strong to be releas'd Let this suffice We all confesse we slew him and our eyes Shall testifie our sorrows LYPSICH may And LUTZEN tell his Life some half the way What we confesse tells all perfects the Storie More then the Annals of his living Glorie Oh! this Confession well-penn'd would be His Chronicle his Tombe his Elegie T. RILEY Fellow of Trin. Coll. TO THE AVTHOVR OF this ensuing Poem Master RUSSELL HOw dares thy mortall Fancie undertake A Theme Divine unlesse for Vertues sake The Germane Eagle to advance thy skill In praising Swethland lends a conqu'red quill Yet when thy Self and loftie Bird have done Neither are able to behold this Sunne Go strive to write and cast away thy pen Repent thy self and take it up agen Sometimes thy self and sometimes Swethland blame And midst thy praises check his glorious Name Tell valiant Swethland if thy Eagle brings A flight too low his Greatnesse clipt her wings CAESAR WILLIAMSON Fellow of Trinit Colledge To his ingenious Friend Master RUSSELL upon his Heroick Poem LEt those soft Poets who have dipt their brains In am'rous humours thaw to looser strains Let Cupid be their theme and let them pay Service to Venus in a wanton lay And let these Rhymers of our silken Age Unlade their Fancies on an emptie page Mars is thy theme thy Muse hath learn'd to talk The Cannon-language of the Warre and walk A loftie March while thy faint readers dread And tremble at each syllable they reade Leade on Stout Poet in thy Martiall state And let these Pages on GVSTAVVS wait Armed with verse of proof and those that aim To wound thy Muse or print upon thy Name Their darts of malice in their full pursuit Charm'd like those stones thrown at the Thracian Lute May they forget their message and in fierce Career dance at the musick of thy verse And if those eyes with pois'ned flame that shine Like Basilisks shed poison on a line To blot a syllable that sounds the least GVSTAVVS Warre Jove turn them to that Beast Then rest GVSTAVVS do not change thy room Within this Book for any marble tombe Each line 's a golden chain to hoise thee farre 'Bove Fate then blaze as fastned to a starre And for these Leaves presented thee a bough Of Laurell shall adorn the Poets brow JOHN SALTMARSH Magd. Coll. To his friend the AUTHOUR INgenious friend that dost so bravely sing The conquests of the Swethes Victorious King Who by thy thundring lines dost seem to follow Aswell the tents of Mars as of Apollo And in depainting of a bloudie fight Dost intermingle Terrour with Delight Though I could tell thee that thy verses worth Abundantly will gild and set them forth Although I might without base flatterie say Thy forehead doth deserve a wreathe or Bay Yet I forbear thy modestie is such I dare not praise at least not praise thee much Indeed what need'st thou my too slender praise To usher thy so sweetly-soaring layes Into the world since that the very name GUSTAVUS will more highly grace the same Then if the rarest Laureats choisest quill To pen thy praise should shew its utmost skill How richly is thy work rewarded See! Thou mak'st GUSTAVUS live GUSTAVUS thee And by thy loftie Muse I know not now Whether shall more be honour'd he or thou Sweds Great * Anagram of GUSTAVUS AVGVSTVS Oh how could I dwell Upon that Name How often could I spell Its every sacred syllable and when I 've done 't a thousand times begin agen That Name who honours not Oh may he be O'rewhelm'd with never-dying infamie His blessed Memorie who adoreth not Oh may he be eternally forgot Thy book my friend if I do not mistake Will please and sell for Great GUSTAVUS sake STEPHEN JONES of S. Johns Coll. THE BATTELL OF LYPSICH HAve you not heard the ever-restlesse Ocean Beat on the shore with waves continuall motion Which fill our eares with sad and murm'ring tones Just like the dolefull sighs and hollow grones Of thousands that together have conjoyn'd T' expresse the sorrows of a wounded minde For some disastrous Fate perhaps the death Of some deare Prince untimely reav'd of breath They fill the troubled aire with confuse cries Which are resounded by the trembling skies Which these sad tunes so often do repeat That now the woodie Choristers forget Their wonted strains and either stand as mute Or to these notes their warbling voices suit The willing aire instructing to expresse To humane eares soul-moving heavinesse Sweet Philomel now thinks upon her rape And former wrongs that she may fitly shape A tune of lively sorrow and make known The grief of others fully as her own Like this

was that amazed time when first Our eares those more then frightfull rumours pierc't Of great Gustavus dismall Fate with whom All then did seem their hopes and hearts t'intombe And did expresse in sighs and drouping looks Sorrow enough t' have fill'd most spatious Books You might have read in thought-discov'ring eyes Volumes of sad and mournfull Elegies While Fame doth with a thousand tongues resound Such trembling murmures as our hearts do wound My fainting Soul not able to sustain So oft redoubled blowes nor such dire pain Sunk to the ground then over all my limbes A frigid sweat and dewie vapour swimmes A Death-like sleep clos'd up my eyes and I As one eternally entranc'd did lie But then methoughts my Genius did appeare And words of comfort whispred in mine eare Then led my airie Spirit by the hand Through darksome shades to that Inferior Land And Region where Vnbodied Souls reside There what my fancied thoughts to me descri'd I now prepare unto the World in verse By favour of the Muses to rehearse Those two so bloudie Battels there I view'd Lypsich and Lutzen dreadfully renew'd But now more furious and a greater ire Their bloud-enraged spirits did enfire Oh that those raptures which then fill'd my brain Would burn in my impris'ned Soul again That I might so in vivid colours paint Those dreadfull fights as should make Mortals faint With horrour and amaze and when they reade My Bloud-besprinkled verse their hearts should bleed Divine Melpomene whose chiefest glorie Consists in sounding of a Tragick storie Fill me with vig'rous heat and for a while Let thy rapt Furie guide my iron style Send Virgils Genius to direct my quill His grave Majestick vein do thou instill Or rather Lucans whose so loftie rhymes Do best befit the Genius of these times But oh what sudden numnesse do I feel To damp my boiling bloud and now I reel As when an Epilepsie doth surprise Some feeble mortall and his senses ties Or when as the Cumean Sibyls breast Some dire Prophetick Spirit hath possest She madly rages struggles all in vain To shake away her Furie-caused pain She raves she frets she storms and tears her hair Stamps with her feet and like a Ghost doth stare Mean while within her rage-distracted soul And troubled thoughts discording Passions roll Thus am I rackt while to my working heart My Phansie doth such jarring thoughts impart For this to ev'ry Poet is enjoyn'd That he shall feel in his impressive minde The reall Thoughts and Passions of all those Whom he in verse presumeth to disclose Judge what a world of discords circling runne Within my breast like Atomes in the Sunne That crosse and meet and meet and crosse agen So many Passions of so many men And such repugning thoughts torment my minde As when two Armies have with furie joyn'd Rage and Revenge march first with burning Ire Dread Fears and Terrours make them to retire Then Shame and Valour with malicious Hate Their reinforced Troups precipitate They charge them home these break and scatt'red flie Unto their main Battalia which stood nigh Here dire Despair was ranged double-rankt With Furie and with Rashnesse strongly flankt These and a thousand more oppugning Phansies Phebus in my enraged breast advances Faint not my Muse but with a fearelesse pace March through the midst of Furies and out-face Armies of Terrours vengefull Wrath and Ire Affrightfull Death devouring Sword and Fire Shrink not at all to heare the hellish jawes Of thundring Cannons roar with hideous noise Mixt with a thousand shot that roughly teare The tender welkin and affright the eare Let not their clam'rous shouts and confuse cries Which seem to wound the aire and pierce the skies Move thee at all Let not the yelling noise Of some half-murdred wights make thee to pause Or draw remorsefull pitie from thy heart Be like a Rock of stone shrink not nor start Be as regardlesse of their shrieks and grones As they themselves have been to others mones If to such tender thoughts thou yeeld'st my Muse Thy Martiall Furie thou wilt quickly lose And none but fearfull Mothers then will praise Thy soft-strain'd verse and heart-relenting layes But now a little breathe my Muse and heare The plaints of others sounded to thy eare The Nymph Germania doth her self present With face disfigur'd and with robes all rent And sprinkled o're with bloud her golden locks She tears and furiously her breast she knocks Then wrings her hands lifts up her woe-sick eyes And thus at last to the unpitying skies She speaks Oh heav'ns how long how long shall we The onely subject of your vengeance be Plagu'd with continuall warre dire cruelties A thousand slaughters and calamities While miscreant Ethnicks who deride thy power Are undisturb'd and flourish to this houre The cursed Pagans laugh when they behold How many miseries on us are roll'd The barb'rous Turk insults with spitefull scorn To see us Christians by our selves so torn And on our bodies those deep wounds to bear Which he so much from us himself did fear To see our Forces by our selves o'return'd Which having joyn'd might easily have spurn'd Him and his Vassall Kings and once again Like their dire Scourge resistlesse Tamerlane Have hew'd their Armies as a field of corn Which is by reaping sickles quickly shorn And then their Sultan in an Iron grate Shut like some monstrous Beast should curse his Fate And rail upon his Grand-Impostour-Prophet That vagabond Arabian Mahomet Then if courage serv'd him valiantly He might dash out his wretched brains and die Then Stampoldam now his Imperiall seat That over-looks the World with flaming heat Enkindled once should send such direfull smoke As should these Infidels for ever choak Then in black clouds enwrapt the fumes should whirle them And Devils to the lowest hell should hurle them And thou bloud-sucking Tartar who of late Proffredst thine aid my wounds to aggravate But wert rejected by that pow'rfull King Who his Commission from the Heav'ns did bring To scourge me for the sinnes of me and mine Dost thou rejoyce to see the Pow'rs Divine Inflict such rig'rous Justice on my Soil Whose very bowels now with torments broil And raging Warre like the Sicylian Hill Whose vaulted caverns sulph'rie flames do fill Thou cursed Rover who dost spend thy dayes In wandring up and down a thousand wayes Whose cold and barren Climate fears no Warre Not worth the sword of any Conquerer Cease for to triumph o're my wofull state Lest at my pray'rs the Heav'ns precipitate A vengeance on thy head shall equallise Warres bloudie mischief and dire cruelties The dreadfull Pestilence whose pois'nous blast Into the grave thousands at once shall cast Or pinching Famine whose long lingring stroke Shall by degrees the vitall spirits choak Or what thou fearest most some rig'rous frost Shall seise upon thy coldly-sited coast And freez the very aire that want of breath May make you yeeld unto unsparing Death But why disturb I thus my wretched heart By wishing

that not purchas'd by laborious Toil By fire and sword by ruine and by spoil Nor by the losse of thy choice Youth whose Fate Thou wouldst not fear ' gainst Heav'n t' expostulate But it hath cost thee nothing for behold On thee th' Almightie hath his blessings roll'd Without all labour or desert of thine Meerly by instinct of his love divine And hath enricht thee with a gracious King At whose blest Birth Angels of peace did sing Oh look upon thy neighbour Germanie Drown'd with a floud of tears and miserie Whose towns are ruin'd and whose Cities burn Whose fields do flow with bloud whose people mourn Think but on this all you that cannot weep Who in the arms of happie Peace do sleep Is' t irksome to your eares Your tender Heart At these molesting sounds methinks doth start From Warres and Woes y' have been so long secure That now you cannot their rough Name endure Are you become like to the Sybarite Whose soft'ned spirit sottish appetite Could no harsh noise endure nor that shrill sound That doth from hamm'red Steel and Brasse rebound And therefore such Artificers as those That did molest their eares with clatt'ring blowes By a preventing law they did compell Farre off in some obscurer place to dwell Shall these my verses that with clatt'ring ding The strokes of Warre and furious Rage do sing Displease our British eares who are of late It seems grown tender and effeminate Your Amorettoes think them farre too rough Not smooth nor pleasing nor half low enough They cannot screw them any wayes to suit Or consort with their sweet-tun'd warbling Lute They are too loftie for a Womans voice And drown all sweetnesse with a ratling noise Some hollow-sounding Drumme or Trumpet shrill Or thundring Cannons that the eare do fill With frightfull sounds fit Instruments would be To Echo forth my lines melodiously The smaller shot shall serve for repetition While clatt'ring swords shall represent division And the more Discords that my verses show The better Harmonie from thence will flow Then cheerfully my loftie Muse proceed There will be some that will thy verses reade Such gen'rous spirits in whose manly breasts An ardent love of Fame and Honour rests Who still retain some sparks of that desire Which did their Ancestours brave hearts enfire When they did make Pagans and Cypriots feel The direfull force of their resistlesse steel Or when so often to their lasting glorie They did o're-runne the Gallick Territorie Or when the Worlds Disturber they did tame Who Europes Monarchie alone doth claim Such men as these will farre above thy merit Approve thy lines applaud thy loftie spirit That thus hast chosen with industrious brains To shew thy vigour in Heroick strains And not in soft-tun'd Ditties or such layes As Ladies onely and their servants praise The Sunne had finisht now his annuall Race Since Fatall Lypsich with a mournfull face Beheld GVSTAVVS and his warlike Force Her fertile plains die with a bloudie sourse Which scarce as yet fully exhaust appeares And scarce had Lypsich wip'd away her tears When lo not farre upon a neighb'ring plain Bellona sounds her dreadfull trump again And Lutzen is appointed for the stage Where Mars intends to act a second Rage Lutzen that Fatall Town whose very sound I feel my grief-disturbed heart to wound There Great GVSTAVVS so renown'd became Dire alteration onely now a Name Once of such power that his conqu'ring hands Could tame stout Nations and subdue their Bands CESAR himself would blush and never dare His Conquests with GVSTAVVS to compare For had he liv'd to see what skilfull hands And valiant hearts are in the Germane Lands Who go not naked now but clad in steel And will not easily be made to reel Sure he had startled and his conqu'ring course Had been prevented by a stronger force Let not black Envie then presume or dare GVSTAVVS worthie glorie to empair Who conqu'red had in such a narrow time So many Lands in such a warlike Clime Let the Proud Spaniard to his lasting shame His many Conquests of the Indians name And let him boast how many Millions too Of unresisting People there he slew While a few Belgian Merchants in despight Of all his Pride Ambition Pow'r and Might Will not be tamed nor be made to yeeld But still affront his Armies in the field Having no Kingdome but a narrow State Yet his Imperiall Greatnesse Check and Mate What Honour then belongs to Swethlands King Who to subjection could such Nations bring That had been so inured unto Warres And ever exercis'd in bloudie Jarres Had Mars himself attended with a Band Of dreadfull Furies entred in their Land They would have met him with a fearlesse heart Nor should his Name or Pow'r have made them start But whither takes my roving Muse her flight I must not here a Panegyrick write Nor spend my self in such admiring laies As sound nought else but Great GUSTAVUS praise A Battell is my scope so dire so fierce That my sad Muse doth tremble to rehearse And seeks an hundred slights a while to stay The black recitall of this bloudie day Like to some tim'rous Hart that from the crie Of Hounds and Huntsmen hastily doth flie Now here now there he turns then back again Breaks through the woods scuds o're the spatious plain And tries a thousand shifts ere at the last Himself on hazard of a fight he 'l cast Thus my slow Muse digressions doth premise And large preambles as you see devise Onely to stay a while ere she recite The sad narration of black Lutzens fight Swethlands Heroick King his Martiall train Neare Naumburg Citie spreads upon a plain Of fighting yet no hopes there did appeare His purpose onely was to march more neare And joyn his Forces with the Saxon Bands That so the surer with united hands They might to all their foes attempts replie And not be forc'd coy Fortunes grace to trie 'T is found too deer a bargain in these dayes By valour onely for to purchase praise He 's valiant now that winnes the Victorie Be it by Number Slight or Subteltie By Stratagem by Cunning or by Skill By Courage Furie or by what you will And sure 't is vain for an Heroick Breast That will not but on equall terms contest That scorns advantages to seek or take But would that Valour should him Victour make While that his subtil foe doth sliely watch All proff'red opportunities to catch And thinks it no disgracefull cowardize To wound or kill him as he sleeping lies Might Valour of it self alone suffice To winne the day in ev'ry enterprise The noble Swethes with Great GVSTAVVS Name Would like the Macedons the whole world tame Think it no wonder that their Mightie King Whose presence onely oft did conquests bring Should notwithstanding like to one afraid Expect and wish and seek for further aid It was not fear but Martiall Policie That made him thus to others help complie Had he been ever thus and ne're