Selected quad for the lemma: lord_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
lord_n	day_n	know_v	see_v	13,382	5	3.3355	3	false

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A97185	An elegy, on the timely death of John Warner Late Lord Maior of the Citie of London.	Warner, John, junior.	1648 (1648)	Wing W913; Thomason 669.f.13[43]; ESTC R211068	2,688	1

An Elegy ON THE TIMELY DEATH of John Warner Late LORD MAIOR of the Citie of LONDON The Invitation TAke in your Hornes and make no more adoe Shut up your shops and to 's burying goe Kinde Cozens pray since your Bell-weather's dead Advance your heads and see him Buryed Your Wives may come or with their Fore-Men stay When th' Catt's abroad the Mice may better play Here is no want of Sugar-plumbes nor Sack Nor need you here to cry What doe you lack Gentlemen pray sit downe Listen to mee And whilst y' are serv'd I le read his Elegy His Elegy MOst cruell Death Art thou past shame or feare That durst Arrest the Cities doughty Mayre Whose very Horse did carry in his face A presence able to controul thy Mace Hee 's dead hee 's dead that could appease all stir Hee 's dead the Cities trusty WARRENER He that last Christ-mass day with might and force And Zeal was hurried on a Hobby-horse To pull downe Holly and Ivie 't is hee That caus'd a man there basely kill'd to be Now kill'd himself and bloody here doth lie The fatall Object of each Teare-less eye Dead now he is whose Wisedome could not rule The Citie better then he did his Mule Who like a Pamper'd Jade of Asia Turn'd head and ran with Mr. Mayre away Stop stop I pray good People cryes the Mayre Run horse quoth the Boyes he hates th' Common-Pray'r So back he forceth home his zealous Master Who by the way had a most fowl disaster But when he lighted stop your nose I pray Foh quoth the Varlets what a smell 's to day Not of Roast-meat nor bak'd for at a word Their Christmasse-dinner was not worth a T Each Segeant staring in his fellows face Was faine to Rest his Nose with his owne Mace To know from whence the scent came all did wish At last they found hee 'd Adkiniz'd his Breech They all agreed drew Lotts and 't fell to Trypes Who has him in and the old Shit-breech wipes Not long after for to shew his Zeal For the CAUSE the State Kirk and Common-weale Into Moore-fields he goes on the Lords-Day To keep the Children from their harmless play When he came there his Chain he did off pull And look'd more fierce then a Colechester-Bull The Boyes began to run my Lord runs after I ready was to crack for very laughter At last they compass'd him within a ring Hollow'd and cry'd This Knave will have no King Lay hold on them quoth he away they run My Lord returns and 's Sun-dayes work is done But when the profane Bells of Bow did ring Last Coronation day for the KING His Honor sent in all the haste to know What made those jangling Tingle-tangles goe They sent him word that he might come and see For better men were ringing there then hee He bids them cease they bid him cease his hopes Or else they 'd hang his Lord in the Bell-roapes My Lord went home full loath to make a fray And took a Purge in honor of the Day But when he met with Doctor Kings black Gowne Brethren cryes hee now Humane Learning's downe For this same Popish Vestment that you see Was lately taken from a boy by mee It was to Roode-Church going with intent To break the Parliaments Commandement Come hither one of you and put it on That we may act the Whore of Babylon Fetch the foul Shirt I took the last Lords Day Carrying to washing from a Prentice Boy And put it on that so we may defie That profane Smock of their Idolatry Whilst this was acting in was brought one Drunk With Sheriff Bydes Ale His HONOR said he stunk Of base Tobacco Sirrah quoth he pay Five Shillings toth ' Counter with him else away My Lord saith he I 'me of the Gentle-Craft And scorne to take Tobacco that is naughr Away with him quoth he I le heare no more So bids a Sergeant tàke him out of doore But pray my LORD quoth he heare me but speake I am so poore I cannot chuse but breake Take but two payre of Shooes of me for it I make no doubt they they will your Honor fitt And here is Six Pence more lies in my hand By St. Hughes-Bones I sweare shall buy no land Two pen'oth of your Honors best VARINUS And two full pott of Sheriff Bides shall line us All Partyes were content away went hee Fetch'd him his shooes and so they did agree By this Black-TOM is comming from th'Tower To visite him and tells him that all Power Is plac'd in Him commands him carefull be In the discharging of his Mayoralty The simple Mayor presently falls down Worships and sayes He well deserves a Crown 3Corn TOM bids him rise then stroakes him on the head And instantly hee 's to a Banquet led King Nell came too and did him so much grace As for to teach him what belong'd to 's Place Saith he The more to make thy foes to quake On either side thy Gate I le place a Drake Bids him be carefull to suppress all those That moov'd for Peace such were the States worst foes Feasted they were with all Luxurious Fare And all good things that the Saints Portions are Now all departed and the Banquet done The lustfull Major strives to get a Sonne Then up he strides on Ruth his Chamber-maide The Spirit moov'd her to be underlaide Where they did fructifie and got a Barne So turnes her off her Living for to earne The Wench thus bigge of a young Citie Heire Went to her Friends that to him soon repaire Tells him how 't is Who could not it denie But said in Truth I le make amends yea verily So the Old Fox sent her a hundred Pound To match her to a Brother that was Round Which he provided of the Holy Race And put him also in a Guild-Hall place But now alas the Citie-boyes so fright him That he was forc'd againe for to be him Unto the Tower then he Runs in haste Beshitten up unto his very waste But all appeas'd and quiet Out comes hee And vowes hee 'l make the Citie bratts to flie The Fast-Day being next away he goes Into Cheap-side not caring what he does An Apple-Woman there he seiz'd upon And a Cake-Woman did his Zeal much wrong He in a fury takes them all away Apples and Cakes quoth he must Fast and Pray Unto the Counter then his HONOR sent 'em Where they did lie a fortnight to repent'em THese are the Acts adde Lusture to his Name Fit to be written in the Rowl of Fame Or be preserv'd to all Posterity And each yeer mention'd in the Pagentry Of succeeding Mayors to make sport For the young Punyes of the Inns of Court His Yeer concluded to a very day He left this life and could no longer stay Some say he had a Lease on 't and th' Devill Could suffer him no longer live in evill Others doe say ' cause he was never good Or else because he had shed Innocent Blood He spit blood pist blood shit blood so dide hee And made an end So shall his Elegee His EPITAPH HEre lies my Lord Major under this Stone That last Bartholomew-fair no Puppets would owne But next Bartholomew-faire who liveth to see Shall view my Lord Mayor a Puppet to bee Which Sight shall for ever continue his FAME That he may dye never but here have a NAME FINIS Iohn Warner junior Printed in the Yeer 1648.