Selected quad for the lemma: lord_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
lord_n	esq_n	sir_n	town_n	23,986	5	9.8585	5	false

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A44478	The poems of Horace consisting of odes, satyres, and epistles / rendred in English verse by several persons.; Works. English. 1671	Horace.; Brome, Alexander, 1620-1666.; Fanshawe, Richard, Sir, 1608-1666.; T. H. (Thomas Hawkins), Sir, d. 1640.; Dunstall, John, fl. 1644-1675.; Loggan, David, 1635-1700?	1666 (1666)	Wing H2781; ESTC R43263	170,972	418

big was he Was he as big as I am now quoth she Then swell'd her self Bigger by half repli'd Frog junior What thus much bigger cri'd The Beldame Frog and still she did swell on Until at last Oh Mother sayes the Son Forbear your swelling for you cannot be Though you should burst your self as big as he This Picture very much resembles you Add Poetry to all thy madness now Which mixt with other Vices is the same As if thou should'st pour Oyl into the flame Yet if a Poet had been ever known To be a sober fellow thou art one I 'le not speak of thy horrid cholerickness Hor. Hold prithee Stoick hold Dam. Nor of thy dress That 's so phantastical and so above Thy Purse and Quality nor of thy love T' a thousand wenches and a thousand boyes Hor. Good Damasippus follow thine own toyes And now for shame my peccadilloes spare Which no pr●portion with thy Vices bear SATYRE IV. By T. F. Esq A Character of a Belly-god CATIUS and HORACE Hor. Whence Brother Catius and whither bound so fast Cat. Oh Sir you must excuse me I 'm in haste I dine with my Lord Mayor and can't allow Time for our eating Directory now Though I must needs confess I think my Rules Would prove Pythagoras and Plato fools Hor. Grave Sir I must acknowledge 't is a crime To interrupt at such a nick of time Yet stay a little Sir it is no sin You 're to say Grace're Dinner can begin Since you at food such Virtuoso are Some Precepts to an hungry Poet spare Cat. I grant you Sir next pleasure ta'ne in eating Is that as we do call it of repeating I still have Kitchin-Systems in my mind And from my Stomach's fumes a brain well lin'd Hor. Whence pray Sir learnt you these ingenious arts From one at home or hir'd from foreign parts Cat. No names Sir I beseech you that 's foul play We ne're name Authors onely what they say 1. For Eggs chuse long the round are out of fashion Unfavory and distasteful to the Nation E're since the brooding Rump they 're addle too In the long Egg lies Cock-a-doodle-do 2. Chuse Colworts planted on a soil that 's dry Even they 're worse for th' wetting verily 3 If Friend from far shall come to visit then Say thou would'st treat the wight with Mortal Hen Don't thou forthwith pluck off the cackling head And impale Corps on Spit as soon as dead For so she will be tough beyond all measure And Friend shall make a trouble of a pleasure Steep 't in good wine let her her life surrender O then she 'l eat most admirably tender 4. Mushromes that grow in Medows are the best F'rought I know there is poyson in the rest 5. He that would many happy Summers see Let him eat Mulberries fresh off the Tree Gather'd before the Sun 's too high for these Shall hurt his Stomach less then Cheshire Cheese 6. Ausidius had you done so 't had undone ye Sweetned his Mornings-draughts of Sack with honey But he did ill to empty veins to give Corroding Potion for a Lenitive 7. If any man to drink do thee inveigle in First whet thy whistle with some good Metheglin 8. If thou art bound and in continual doubt Thou shalt get no more in till some get out The Muscle or the Cockle will unlock Thy bodie trunck and give a vent to nock Some say that sorrel steept in wine will do But to be sure put in some Aloces to 9. All Shel-fish with the growing Moon increase Are ever when she fills her Orbe the best But for brave Oysters Sir exceeding rare They are not to be met with every where Your Wall-fleet Oyster no man will prefer Before the juicy Grass-green Colchester Hungerford Crawfish match me if you can There 's no such Crawlers in the Ocean 10. Next for your Suppers you it may be think There goes no more to 't but just eat and drink But let me tell you Sir and tell you plain To dress 'um well requires a man of Brain His pallat must be quick and smart and strong For Sauce a very Critick in the tongue 11. He that pais dear for Fish nay though the best May please his Fishmonger more then his Guest If he be ignorant what Sauce is proper There 's Machiavel in th' menage of a Supper 12. For Swines-flesh give me that of the wild bore Pursu'd and hunted all the Forrest o're He to the liberal Oke ne're quits his love And when he finds no Acorns grunts at Iove The Hamshire Hog with Pease and Whey that 's fed Sti'd up is neither good alive nor dead 13. The tendrels of the Vine are Sallads good If when they are in season understood 14. If Servant to thy Board a Rabbet bring Be wise and in the first place carve a wing 15. When Fish and Fowl are right and at just age A feeders curiosity to asswage If any ask Who found the Mystery Let him enquire no farther I am he 16. Some fansie Bread out of the Oven hot Variety's the Gluttons happiest lot 17. It 's not enough the wine you have be pure But of your oyl as well you ought be sure 18. If any fault be in thy generous wine Set it abroad all night and 't will refine But never strein't nor let it pass through linnen Wine will be worse for that as well as Women 19. The Vintner that of Malaga and Sherry With damn'd ingredients patches up Canary With Segregative things as Pigeons Eggs Straight purifies and takes away the dregs 20. An o're charg'd stomach roasted Shrimps will ease The cure by Lettice is worse then the disease 21. To quicken appetite it will behove ye To feed couragiously on good Anchovie 22. Westphalia Hamm and the Bolognia sawsage For second or third course will clear a passage But Lettice after meals Fie on 't the Glutton Had better feed upon Ram-alley-Mutton 23. 'T were worth ones while in Palace or in Cottage Right well to know the sundry sorts of potage There is your French Potage Nativity Brot● Yet that of Fetter-lane exceeds them both About a limb of a departed Tup There may you see the green Herbs boiling up And fat abundance o're the furnace float Resembling Whale-oyl in a Greenland Boat 24. The Kentish Pippin's best I dare be bold That ever Blew-cap Costardmonger sold. 25. Of Grapes I like the Raisons of the Sun I was the first immortal Glory won By mincing Pickle-Herrings with these Raisons And Apples 'T was I set the World a gazing When once they tasted of this Hoghan Fish Pepper and Salt Enamelling the Dish 26. 'T is ill to purchase great Fish with great matter And then to serve it up in scanty Platter Nor it it less unseemly some believe From Boy with greasie Fist Drink to receive But the Cup foul within is enough to make A squamish creature puke and turn up stomach 27. Then Brooms and Napkins and the Flander tyl● These

Land and Sea and adde a West-Indies to th' East The cruel Dropsie grows self-nurst The thirst not quencht till the cause first Be purg'd the veins and the faint humour Which made the tumour Vertue that reves what Fortune gave Calls crown'd Phraates his Wealth 's slave And to the Common People teaches More proper speeches Giving a Scepter and sure Throne And unshar'd Palmes to him alone That unconcerned could behold Mountains of Gold ODE III. By Sir R. F. To DELLIUS That the minde should not be cast down with adversity 〈◊〉 puft up with prosperity But that we should live merrily since the condition of dying is equal to all KEep still an equal minde not sunk With stormes of adverse chance not drunk With sweet Prosperitie O Dellius that must die Whether thou live still melancholy Or stretcht in a retired valley Make all thy howers merry With bowls of choicest Sherrie Where the white Poplar and tall Pine Their hospitable shadow joyn And a soft purling brook With wrigling stream doth crook Bid hither Wines and Oyntments bring And the too short sweets of the Spring Whilst wealth and youth combine And the Fates give thee Line Thou must forgoe thy purchas'd seats Ev'n that which golden Tyber wets Thou must and a glad Heir Shall revel with thy care If thou be rich born of the Race Of antient Inachus or base Lieft in the street all 's one Impartial death spares none All go one way shak'd is the pot And first or last comes forth thy lot The Pass by which thou' rt sent T' Eternal banishment ODE IV. By Sir R. F. To XANTHIA PHOCEUS That he need not be ashamed of being in love with a Serving-maid for that the same had befaln many a Great Man TO love a Serving-Maid's no shame The white Briseis did enflame Her Lord Achilles and yet none Was prouder known Stout Telamonian Ajax prov'd His Captives Slave A●rides lov'd In midst of all his Victories A Girl his prize When the Barbarian side went down And Hect●●s death rendred the Town Of Troy more easie to be carried By Grecians wearied Know'st thou from whom fair Phillis springs Thou may'st be son in law to Kings She mourns as one depos'd by Fate From regal state Believe 't she was not poorly born Phoceus such Faith so brave a scorn Of tempting riches could not come From a base womb Her face round armes and every lim I praise unsmit Suspect not him On whose loves wild-fire Age doth throw Its cooling Snow ODE V. Upon Lalage Argument Since beauteous Lalage's unfit For Hymens rites or Venus yet He will with Continency's reign All wild Concupisence restrain Nondum Subacta AS yet with neck subdu'd she cannot ' bide The yoke nor answer th' office of a bride Nor sustain the eagerful Fierce rushes of a pondrous bull Thy heifer 'bout the Verdant medows roves Sometimes in brooks t' allay her thirst she loves And sometimes she 's much rejoyc'd To sport with Calves 'mongst Sallows moyst Restrain all longing for Grapes immature Straight gaudie Autumn deckt in Purple pure Will to thee ripe clusters send Straight she thy foot-steps will attend For fleet-heel'd Time with rapid motion flows And years subtracted from thy date bestows On her Straight with brazen brow Will Lalage a husband wooe More lov'd than Cloris or nice Pholoe Her candid shoulders glittering like the Sea In the night with Moon-shine dy'd Or Gyges sprung from th' Isle of Cnide Whom if thou rank'st among the Virgin Fyle His scarce-spy'd differnce eas'ly might beguile Quick-ey'd strangers for his Grace Of shev'led hair and dubious face ODE VI. By Sir T. H. To SEPTIMIUS He wisheth Tybur and Tarentum may be the seal of hi● old age whose sweetness he praiseth SEptimius ready bent with me Rude Cantabers or Gades to see And those inhospitable Quick-sands where The Moorish seas high billows rear Tybur which th' Argives built O may That be the place of my last day May it my limit be of ease From journeys warfare and rough seas But if the Sister-Fates deny I 'le to rich fleec'd Galesus hie And thence down to Tarentum stray Earst subject to Phalantus sway That tract of land best pleaseth me Where not Hymettia's full fraught Bee Yields better honey and where grow Olives that equal Venafro Where the middle air yields gentle frost And a long Spring-tide warms the coast And Aulon fertile in rich vines Envieth not Falernian wines That place with all those fruitful hills Me with desire of thee fulfils There let thy due-paid tears descend O're the warm ashes of thy friend ODE VII To POMPEIUS VARUS Argument He gratulates that Pompey scome In safety to his Native home O saepe mecum O' Thou reduc't oft to extremest thrall With me when Brutus was our General Who to Latiums liberty And Rural Lars restored thee Pompey my chief'st associate with whom I Oft many long-day drunk Wine copiously My bright hair with unguents fill'd From rich Malobathrum distill'd I with thee bare th' brunt of Philps Field And flying basely flung away my shield When those foil'd souldiers swell'd With boasts to blood-drencht earth were fell'd Pay Iove then thy vow'd Junckets and repose Thy limbs out-tir'd with warfare's tedious woes Under my Bay-shroud nor spare What hogsheads for thee destin'd are Let polisht Goblets freely flow about With mem'ry-thralling Massick wines teem out Sweet Oyles from capacious cup Who strives to pleat a chaplet up Of Mirtle or moist Parsley Who 's the guest Venus-throw signs Controller of the feast I 'le play Thracian pleas'd amain To rant my friend return'd again ODE VIII By Sir R. F. To BARINE That there is no reason why he should believe her when she swears for the Gods revenge not the perjuries of hansome women IF any punishment did follow Thy perjurie if but a hollow Tooth or a speckled nail thy vow Should pass But thou When thou hast bound thy head with slight Untwisting oaths are fairer by 't And like a Comet spread'st thy rayes The publick gaze It boots thee to deceive the Ghost Of thy dead Mother and still boast Of Heav'n with their eter● aboads And deathless gods Venus but laughs at what is done Her easie nymphs and cruel son On bloodie whetstone grinding ever His burning quiver New suitors daily are inrol'd New servants come nor do the old Forsake their impious Mistress dore Which they forswore Thee Mothers for their Fillies dread Thee gripple Sires and Wives new wed Least thy bewitching breath should fray Their Lords away ODE IX By Sir T. H. To VALGIUS That now at length he would desist to deplore his deceased Myste THe swelling Cloud not alwayes powres On rugged Fields impetuous showres Nor Caspian Sea Valgius belov'd With boystrous stormes is ever mov'd Nor on Armenia's bordring shore Dull Isicles stand alwayes hore Or garden-groves with North-windes riv'd Or are Ash-trees of leaves depriv'd You still in mournful sort complain That death hath your dear Myste slain Your love sets