Selected quad for the lemma: kingdom_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
kingdom_n	england_n	king_n	stir_v	1,803	5	9.7955	5	false

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A81038	Cromwells panegyrick.		1647 (1647)	Wing C7194; Thomason 669.f.11[86]; ESTC R210656	1,636	1

CROMWELLS PANEGYRICK SHall Presbyterian bells ring Cromwels praise While we stand still and do no Trophyes raise Unto his lasting name Then may we be Hung like the bells in our dependencie Well may his Nose that is dominicall Take pepper in 't to see no Pen at all Stir to applaud his merits who hath lent Such valour to erect a monument Of lasting praise whose name shall never dye While England has a Church or Monarchy He whom the laurell'd Army home did bring Riding Tryumphant o're his conquer'd King He is the Generals Cypher now and when Hee 's joyn'd to him he makes that one a Ten. The Kingdomes Saint England no more shall stir To cry St. George but now St. Oliver He 's the Realmes Ensigne and who goes to wring His Nose is forc'd to cry God save the King He that can rout an Army with his name And take a City ere he views the same His Souldiers may want bread but n'ere shall fear While he 's their General the want of Beer No Wonder they wore Bayes his Brewing-fat Helicon-like make Poets Laureat When Braines in those Castalian liquors swim We sing no Heathenish Peän but a Hymne And that by th' Spirit too for who can chuse But sing Hosanna to this King of Jewes Tremble you Scotish zealots you that han't Freed any Conscience from your Covenant That for those bald Appellatives of Cause Religion and the Fundamentall Lawes Have pul'd the old Episcopacy down And as the Miter so you 'le serve the Crowne You that have made the Cap to th' Bonnet vaile And made the Head a servant to the Taile And you curst spawne of Publicans that sit In every County as a plague to it That with your yeomen Sequestrating Knaves Have made whole Counties beggerly and slaves You Synod that have sate so long to know Whether we must beleeve in God or no You that have torn the Church and sate t' impaire The Ten Commandements the Creed the Prayer And made your honours pull down heavens glory While you set up that Calfe your Directory We shall no wicked Jewes-ear'd Elders want This Army 's built of Churches Militant These are new Tribes of Levi for they be Clergy yet of no Universitie Pull down your Crests for every bird shall gather From your usurping back a stollen feather Your Great Lay Levite Prynne whose Margent tires The patient Reader while he blots whole quires Nay reames with Treason and with Nonsence too To justifie what e're you say or do Whose circumcised eares are hardly grown Ripe for another Persecution He must to Scotland for another paire For he will lose these if he tarry here Burges that Reverend Presbydeane of Pauls Must with his Poundage leave his Cure of Souls And into Scotland trot that he may pick Out of that Kirk a nick-nam'd Bishoprick And Calamy must now resigne his place Because Scalpellum has cut through the Case The Protean Hollis that will never burne Must here or'at Tiburne take another turne And Will the Conquerour in a Scottish dance Must lead his running Army into France Or he and Stapleton among those Crews In Holland build a Synagogue of Jewes And spread Rebellion Great Alexander Fears not a Pillory like this Commander And Bedlam Iohn that at his Clerks so raves Using them not like servants but like slaves He that so freely rail'd against his Prince Cal'd him dissembling subtile Knave and since Has still'd the whole Army Bankrupts said that none Of their Estates were equal to his own He that was by a strong ambition led To set himself upon the Cities head But when he has restor'd his both-side fees Hee 'll be as poor or they as rich as hee 's And that still-gaping Tophet Goldsmiths Hall With all his Furies shall to ruine fall Wee 'l be no more gull'd by that Popish story But shall reach heav'n without that Purgatory What honor does he merit what renown By whom all these oppressions are pul'd down And such a Government is like to be In Church and State as eye did never see Magicians hold hee 'l set up Common Prayer Looking in 's face they find the Rubrick there His Name shall never dye by fire nor floud But in Church-windows stand where pictures stood And if his soul lothing that house of clay Shall to another Kingdome march away Under some Barnes floore his bones shall lye Who Churches did and Monuments defie Where the rude Thrasher with much knocking on Shall wake him at the Resurrection And on his Grave since there must be no Stone Shall stand this Epitaph That he has none {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} Printed in the Yeer 1647.