Selected quad for the lemma: lord_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
lord_n	daughter_n	duke_n	earl_n	11,070	5	7.3316	4	false

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A66741	Wit and drollery joviall poems / corrected and much amended, with new additions, by Sir J.M. ... Sir W.D. ... and the most refined wits of the age.	Phillips, John, 1631-1706.; E. M.; J. M.	1661 (1661)	Wing W3132; ESTC R38723	98,574	304

c. You that sell Books I pitty most You are undone I see 't Unlesse you will rebellion sell At a penny by the sheet If so you have a thriving trade For customers go no further For these bloud merchants at dear rates Engrosse all rape and murther Come my new Courtiers c. Undone undone Confectioners Alas there is no hopes Unlesse you will give o're your trades And set up Sutlers shops Your Apricockes your Ringo roots Your Marmalad will not sell Get you conserves of bread and cheese You 'l bear away the bell Come my new Courtiers what d' ye lack Good Consciences if you do Here 's long and wide the onely weare The strait will trouble you Another WHy should we not laugh and be jolly Since all the World is mad And lull'd in a dull melancholly He that wallows in store Is still gaping for more And that makes him as poor As the wretch that nere any thing had How mad is that damn'd money-monger That to purchase to him and his heirs Growes shriviled with thirst and hunger While we that are bonny Buy Sack with ready-money And nere trouble the scriveners nor Lawyers Those guts that by scraping and toiling Do swell their revenues so fast Get nothing by all their turmoiling But are markes of each taxe While they load their own backs VVith the heavier packs And lie down gall'd and weary at last VVhile we that do traffick in tipple Can baffle the Gown and the Sword VVhose jawes are so hungry and gripple VVe nere trouble our heads VVith Indentures or Deeds And our wills are compos'd in a word Our money shall nere indite us Nor drag us to Goldsmiths Hall No Pirates not wracks can affright us VVe that have no estates Fear no plunder nor rates VVe can sleep with open gates He that lies on the ground cannot fall VVe laugh at those fools whose endeavours Do but fit them for Prisons and Fines VVhen we that spend all are the savers For if thieves do break in They go out empty agin Nay the plunderers lose their designes Then let us not think on to morrow But tipple and laugh while we may To wash from our hearts all sorrow Those Cormorants which Are troubled with an itch To be mighty and rich Do but toile for the wealth which they borrow The Mayor of our town with his ruffe on VVhat a pox is he better then we He must vale to the man with the buffe on Though he Custard may eat And such lubbardly meat Yet our Sack makes us merrier then he The Horns A Song BRight Cynthia scorns alone to wear horns Unto her great grief and shame And swears by the light and the worlds despite That men shall wear the same The man in the Moon to hear this in a swoun And quite out of his wits fell And feeling his front quoth he a pox on 't My forehead begins to swell Away straight he ròde in a Lunatick mood And from his Mistress would run And swore in his heat though he stood in a sweat He had rather go live in the sun But he was well appeas'd that it other men pleas'd For no man did mutter or mourn But without all affright and a great delight Did take to themselves the horn The Lord he will go in his woods to and fro Pursuing a Doe that is barren But while he 's in his Park another in the dark May safely go hunt in his warren The Citizen clown in his fur-faced Gown And his doublet faced with ale Talks short but drinks thicker while his wife like his liquor Leaves working and relishes stale Lo thus she behorns him and afterward scorns him Though he comes to be Mayor of the rout And holds it no sin to be occupied within Whiles her husband is busied without The Physician will ride to his Patient that dy'd Of no sickness but that did come But whilst abroad he doth kill with potion and pill His wife takes a glister at home The Lawyer to succour him with parchment and buckrum To London the next Term will ride To open his case in his adversaries face While his wife to his friend doth the like Seven miles to and fro the professor will go To hear a sanctifi'd brother But while his zeal burns his wife she up turns The whites of her eyes to another The merchant he runs o're seas with his guns His mariners and his mates But whilst he doth please himself on the seas Another may ride in his straits The Souldier will go like a man to and fro With a full resolution to fight While his wife with her friend in her wanton arms pen'd Doth make a boon boy before night And although that he be well arm'd cap a pe He must yield to a naked boyes scorn Or instead of bright Steel or Iron on his heel Be content with a Helmet of horn Thus each their wives love still though they do prove Them to be false in their own sight But indeed you do well the horn you can tell Was never a friend to the light Pedegree A Begger got a Bayliff A Bayliff got a Yeoman A Yeoman got a Prentice A Prentice got a Freeman A Freeman got a Master And he begot a Tease And so become a Gentleman Then a Justice of Peace This Justice got a daughter And she is come to light She stept unto the Court And there she got a Knight A Knight got a Lord A Lord an Earl begot An Earl got a Duke This Duke he was a Scot. This Duke a Prince begot A Prince of royal hope He begot the Emperor The Emperor got the Pope The Pope got a Bastard He was a noble spark He lay with a Nun And so begot a Clark A Clark got a Sexton A Sexton got a Vicar A Vicar got a Parson A Parson got a Vicar And they were all made Prebends And so they got a Dean A Dean got a Bishop A Bishop got a Quean A Quean got five shillings Five shillings got a smock That got a Scotch prick And there he got a pock A Merchant got the pock And set it in a Ring And gave it to a Lady That laid it to her thing That gave it to her Page That gave it to his master That sent for the Surgeon And laid to it a plaister The plaister was too hot It bred to him much pain A nach was in his And so this man A Medley 1. ROom for a gamester that plays at all he sees Whose fickle faith is fram'd Sir to fit such times as these One that cryes Amen to ev'ry factious prayer From Hugh Peters Pulpit to St. Peters Chair One that can comply with Crosier and with Crown And yet can bouze A full carouze While bottles tumble down Dery down 2. This is the way to trample without trembling Since Sycophants onely secure Covenants and Oaths are badges of dissembling 'T is the politique pulls down the pure To plunder and pray To protest and betray

Feasting in his Scarlet Gown No Fife must on the Thames be seen To fright the Major and please the Queen nor any wild fire tost Though he suppose the Fleet that late Invaded us in eighty eight o're matcht by his Gally foist The Pageants and the painted cost Bestowed on them are all quite lost for now he must not ride Nor shall they sheare the Players tall Being mounted on some mighty Whale swims with him through Cheap-si● Guild-hal now must not entertain The Major who there would feast his brain with white broth and with He● Nor shall the Fencers act their Piggs Before the Hinch-boyes which are Giggs whipt out with all the me●● Nor must he go in State to swear As he was wont at Westminster no Trumpets at the Hal● Their clamorous voices there would stretch As if the Lawyers they would teach in their own Courts to ba●● But what in sooth is pitty most Is for their Daughters they have lost all joyes for which they pray Which scatter palmes on their cheeks Which they had prim'd at least three weeks before against the day And 'mongst themselves they much complain That this Lord Major in first of reign should do them so much wrong As to suppress by message sad The feast for which they all have had Their March-pane dream so long Thus for their beauteous sakes have I Describ'd the daies large History 't is true although not witty Which is deny'd for I 'de be loath To cut my coat above my cloath my Subject is the City A Song by Sir John Suckling OUt upon it I have lov'd three whole daies together And perchance might love three more if that it hold fair weather Time shall melt his wing away e're he can discover In the whole wide world again such a constant lover But a pox upon 't no praise there is due at all to me Love with me had had no stay had it any been but she Had it any been but she and that very very face There had been long time e're this a dozen dozen in her place The answer by the same Author SAy but did you love so long in sooth I need● must blame ye Passion did your judgement wrong and want o● Reason shame ye Truth Times fair and witty Daughter quickly did discover You were a subject fit for laughter and more fooll then Lover Yet you needs must merit praise for your constant folly Since that you lov'd three whole daies were yo● not melancholly She for whom you lov'd so true and that very very face Puts each minute such as you a dozen dozen to disgrace Upon an old Scold IOve lay thy Majesty aside and wonder To hear a voice in consort with thy thunder Whilst thine with a shrill treble neatly graces The roaring clamour of her deep-mouth`d basis Yet in each point her nimble chops run on The lubrick touches of division And when her kindled thoughts her tongue inspire Instead of words like Etna she spits fire So in a word to her eternal fame Shee 'l excercise thy thunder and thy flame Old Time had pull'd her teeth out but they 'r sprung Again more sharp and active in her tongue ●n her Malignant Aspect doth appear The season of the Dog-dayes all the year With her sowre look she might convert the Sea And all the Elements to Curds and Whea On a deformed old Woman whorish whome one was pleased to call the Phoenix ARt thou the Phoenix I could rather swear Thou art Callisto chang'd into a Bear Or else thou then transformed but in part And so laid by halfe Bear halfe Woman art Or art thou Io whome adulterate Iove Long since when thou wett beautiful did love And jealous Iuno for thy crime hath now Chang'd thee into a foule mishapen Cow But thou the badge of thy disgrace now scornes And makes thy harmless Husband wear th● horne● He that can call thee Phoenix from his heart Must needs be such another as thou art Or he to sacred beauty had a spite Like those that use to paint the Devil white And calling thee the Phoenix hath out-gone All that revenge could e're think upon He had more truly spoke and might with less Despight have call'd the Devil his Holiness Should but thy picture be expos'd to sight And under it the name of Phoenix write woo● They that ner'e knew what meant the Phoenix Straight swear by it the Devil was understood A Gentleman on his being trim'd by a Cobler MY haire grown rude and Gally's bridg● broke dow● Which dam'd my passage to Carmarthen Town Trim'd was I I am sure but by what Monster If I describe him you will hardly Conster 'T is one whose foot is in the stirrup still Yet never rides waxes each hour more ill Yet never mends can make a bad soul better Yet no Divine nor scarce doth know a letter He 's alwaies sowing yet ne'r useth needle Put folkes i' th stocks yet is no beggars beadle fee. Mens legs he stretcheth often on a tree Yet free from th' Gallows and the Hangmans Let a Consumption some to skellitons wast He will be sure to ease'um at the last And yet is no Physitian he 's still knocking Yet breaks no peace nor need his doors unlocking He alwaies sits yet Table wants and Carpet ●ut looks like a scab'd Sheep tane from a Tarpit ●his lovely gallant with his well pitcht thumbe ●nd Leather apron on my hide did-thrumb ●nd par'd my face 't were worth the sight to have bin ●o see his oilely joynts about my chin ●armarthen Barbers be not quite dismayed ●hough Kit the Cobler undertake your trade ●Twas only done that his best friends might feel ●ow perfect he is made from head to Heel On Jack wiseman ●Ack Wiseman brags his very name Proclaimes his wit he 's much to blame ●o do the Proverb so much wrong ●hich saies he 's wise that holds his tongue ●hich makes me contradict the Schooles ●nd apt to think the wise men fooles Yet pardon Iack I hear that now Thou' rt wed and must thy wit allow That by a strange aenigma can Make a light Woman a Wiseman Love blind a Song 1. LOve blind who saies so 't is a lye I 'le not believe it no not I If Love be blind how can he then Discerne to hit the hearts of men Yet pause a while it may be true Or else hee 'd wound the womens too 2. The Females only Scape nay then The lad has got his eyes agen And yet methinks 't is strange that he should strike at randome thus and see I' th' guiding still to fix his dart And leave untoucht the stubborne heart 3 Love blind how can his darts surprize Our hearts then piercing through our eyes Unless by secret power guided Least he by us should be derided It be the little Archers minde To make us all as he is blinde The Anglers Song ●'Th ' non-age of the Morn we got up If plots had tane all night w 'had