Selected quad for the lemma: lord_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
lord_n	earl_n	edward_n	thomas_n	28,470	5	8.0371	4	true

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A03203	A funerall elegie vpon the death of the late most hopefull and illustrious prince, Henry, Prince of Wales / vvritten by Thomas Heyvvood.	Heywood, Thomas, d. 1641.	1613 (1613)	STC 13323; ESTC S123365	7,095	24

A FVNERALL Elegie Vpon the death of the late most hopefull and illustrious Prince HENRY Prince of Wales Written by THOMAS HEYVVOOD Quid numeras Annos vixit maturior Annis Acta senem faciunt haec numeranda tibi LONDON Printed for William Welbie dwelling in Pauls Church-yard at the signe of the Swan 1613. To the right Honourable Edward Earle of Worcester Lord of Chepstoll Ragland and Gower Knight of the most Noble Order of the Garter Maister of the Horse and one of the Kings most Honourable Priuy COVNCELL AS to the most compassionate in this generall mourning right Honourable I dedicate this Funerall Elegy to your gracious protection wishing with my soule I might haue had a more pleasing subiect both for my Pen and your Patronage but since the Heauens haue giuen vs this cause it is a duty to entertaine the occasion and an vnswerable negligence to omit it pitty it were that Pen should euer more cast inke that would not make the whitest paper mourne in so vniuersall a sorrow To whom then may I so aptly consecrate these Teares as to your Honour whose entire zeale to the Prince liuing as I am confident equal'd the Best so I am no lesse assured your sorrow for his death hath exceeded the most and if I may offencelesse speake it contended with the greatest Accept I intreate your Honour this my obliged duty to him and euer acknowledged seruice to you wishing all future occurrences to be true and essentiall causes of your ioies and this last the last of your Teares Your Honours most Affectionately deuoted THOMAS HEYVVOOD TO THE READER WHy should I vnto any priuate Peere Commend these sorrows for a Prince like deere To all sorts Sexes Titles and estates Liues there a man that when his friend relates This Princes Fate though he before were glad With surplusage when he but thinkes we had But haue him not though he knowes hee 's Diuine And cannot betterd be his eyes droppe brine If I may mongst these sad ones then include The Gentle Base the Polisht and the Rude If from the Head to th' Heele this Land complaine As well the learn'd Clarke as the ignorant Swaine If neither Country Citty Campe nor Court Hath scap't this deluge but we may report All drench't in 't euery man to haue wept his turne And still in heart though not in habit mourne To thee ô Reader whoso-ere thou be I dedicate this Funerall Elegie But thou that canst not read canst thou but heare If thy attention can but force one teare Eor that it is as welcome to thy hand As vnto those I loue that vnderstand Thine T. H. A Funerall Elegie Of the late most High and Illustrious Prince HENRY Prince of Wales IS all the Land in sorrow and can I Still silent be when euery Muse exclames On Time on Death and on sad Destiny FOR HENRIES losse cursing the fatall Dames Mournes Christendome and in a generall cry Vp-roares her griefes whilst some weake Phisicke blames Accusing Galen of his want of skill That where he once can saue doth oft-times kill Others on Soueraignty that hath giuen power To Princes others forset liues to saue Yet to their owne Times cannot adde an hower Or keepe their bodies from th' abortiue Graue Oh greedy Earth whose hunger could denoure So choyce a gem thou neuer leau'st to craue More rauenous then the most raging fires Earth still the more it eates the more desires What Muse shall I inuoke To whom commit The guidance of my weake vnable braine Whose humble thoughts neuer aspired yet A pitch so lofty or so high a straine A subiect for my weakenesse farre vnfit As neuer hauing like cause to complaine Was euer like to this seene heard or read Th' Hope of three kingdoms nay the World is dead Whom shall I blame for this great Crosse of Crosses This present want which Earth cannot supply To generall Europe the great Losse of Losses Had we put all our sinnes to vsury Could they haue yeelded vs such Drosse of Drosses Had all the world deuis'd one Tragedy And drawne the proiect from a thousand yeares From the spectators could it draw more teares This Vniuerse imagine a Theater Nations spectators and this land a stage Was euer Actor made by the Creator That better scean'd his part vnto his Age 'Mongst all compos'd of fire aire earth and water So grauely yong and so vnmellowed sage Whose Trunke the Tombe exacts as of a detter Subiect or Prince none euer acted better Nay who so well yet as oft-times we see Presented in a lofty buskind stile Achilles fall Thersites to scape free The eminent Hector on the dead-mans file Numbred and rank't when men morebase then he Suruiue the battell of lesse worth and stile So thousands haue suruiu'd these mortall brals Whil'st amongst millions standing Henry fals Whom shall I blame for this Iust heauen oh no Starres are their eyes and with so many seeing What cloud can hud-winke all besides we know The Maker that gaue Them and Vs our being Whose out-streacht hand steares all things here below The imprisned soules frō their base bondage freeing Being all goodnesse he can neuer erre Then vnto whom shall we the blame transferre To Earth we know she naturally breeds Both Trees for vse and Plants that onely spring But neither beare nor build both flowers weeds Simples hearbes roots and euery other thing For smell or pallat that delights or feeds Should faire Pomona to Vertumnus bring Her choycest store she could not deck her bower With such a sweet faire odoriferous flower Is not the Earth a Mother and could she Contentedly part with her best-lou'd Sonne In whose creation Nature was so free That to compose him she was halfe vndone Her store she had so wasted for to be As he was late Ages must backward runne And her great Ware-house as in it first pride With her first plenty must be new supply'd It was not Earth then sure might it be Nature Would she her choycest worke-manship destroy Her best of fabrickes both for beauty stature And all perfections mankinde can enioy And in his growth before he was full Mature Vnto her owne pride could she proue so coy As to this height of spight to haue transcended To spoyle so braue a worke ere 't was full ended Vnlesse I could imagine one so fond To build a gorgious pallace but to race it A cunning painter that hath gone beyond His skill in a faire picture to deface it Before the world his cunning vnderstand For one to make a rich suit and ere grace it Cut it to shreds Imagine these to be Else from his sad fate I must Nature free On whom shall I this blacke aspersion cast Vpon the Furies Fiends and Hagges below And say that Hell had hand in 't at the last Although I hate Hell I l'e not iniur't so As stands Ioue's Tree whom lightning cannot blast So high so broad so greene this plant did grow As is the Lawrell from