Selected quad for the lemma: lord_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
lord_n	word_n	work_v	year_n	211	3	4.4182	3	false

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A57500	Rome rhym'd to death being a collection of choice poems, in two parts / written by the E. of R., Dr. Wild, and others of the best modern wits.	Rochester, John Wilmot, Earl of, 1647-1680.; Wild, Robert, 1609-1679.	1683 (1683)	Wing R1758; ESTC R16454	52,573	136

our God Or else must We not in Heaven have aboad Must Fire and Wood burn all that won't bow Worship S. Doll and the Devil knows who Must Ignorance be our Guide to Glory Then Heaven I 'm sure is but an Old Story Must all Men be blind that open their Eyes That Priests may do what they please with their Wives● Must killing of Kings and Princes to boot Be Marks that the Pope is sound at the Root Must a Conclave of Rogues and Jesuit Priests Perswade all the World to Worship the Beast Must the Pope order all by Sea and by Land Who must turn out and who is to 〈◊〉 Must those be intrusted that swear and receive What e're you impose that they may deceive Must Iudas be saved that eat of the Sop No by the Mass he deserved the Rope Must such be employed at Sea and at Shore That would subvert all to set up the Whore Must those be good that designed to seem such Who in Parliament time subscrib'd to the Church Must We all be undone by a damn'd Popish Crew Some that is about us and some We ne're knew Must the King and his Friends see and know this And yet be advised that nothing's amiss Must this be the Trap then the Devil take it Our Hogs We 've brought to a blessed Market Vpon the Execution of the late Viscount STAFFORD I. SHall every Jack and every Jill That rides in State up Holbourn Hill By aid of Smithfield Rhymes defie The Malice of Mortality And shall Lord Stafford dye forgot He that would needs be such a Sot To dye for love of a damn'd Plot No Viscount no believe it not II. Diana's Temple all in flame Advanc'd th' Incendiaries Name Ruffians and Bauds and Whores and Theives In Ballad Records live new lives And shall a Lord because a Traytor In such an Age so given to flatter Want that which others Saints to him Ne're want to fame them Words and Rhime III. Oh Sir the Papishes you know Have much more gratitude than so For this same Lord that brake the Laws Of God and Man to serve their Cause Shall live in Pravers and Almanacks Beyond what Ballad-Monger makes And some Years hence you 'l see shall work Such Miracles would turn a Turk IV. Blest is that Man that has a Box To save the Saw-dust in that sokes His tainted Blood or can besmeare One corner of his Muckinder Oh! then some Ages hence they 'l cry Lo Stafford's Blood and shed for why For nothing but because he sought To kill his Prince and sham the Plot. V. Now they that dye for crimes like these The Papists send to Heaven with case For they secure 'em safe from Hell Which once believ'd the rest is well A strange Belief that Men should think That were not drunk with worse than Drink That such Rewards as Deifying By Treason should begain'd and Lying VI. The Man that for Religion dyes Has nothing more before his Eyes But he that dyes a Criminal Dyes with a load and none can call Religion that which makes him dream Obduracy can hide his shame VII The Pope may do what he Conjectures As to the business of his Pictures The Colours ne're can hide the Crimes Stories will read to after Times And 't will be found in the Hangman's Hands Will strangely blur the Pope's Commands VIII Had he but shewed some Christmas Gambles And Headless took St. Denis Rambles The Plot had been a damnable thing And down had gon the Scaffolding But 'cause his Lordship this forgot Men still believe there is a Plot. IX Where was St. Dominick asleep Where did St. Frank his Kennel keep That on a business so emergen They did not brisly teize the Virgin To let his Lordship play a Prank Her Grace becoming and his Rank X. But they that Heaven and Earth Command You see sometimes they 're at a stand For truth to tell ye should the Saints Be bound to hear all Fools complaints Their Lives would be as void of mirth In Heaven as formerly on Earth XI Now Ballad●wise before he 's dead To tell ye what the Sufferer said He both defended and gain-said Held up his hands and cry'd and pray'd And swore he ne're was in the Plot No by his Vicountship God wot XII Come come Sir had it not been better To have dy'd to Death common Debter And that upon your lasting Stone This Character had been alone Here lies a very Honest Lord True to his King true to his Word XIII But those of your Religion Are now a days so damn'd high flown You think that nothing makes a Saint But Plot refin'd and Treason Quaint And Heaven accepts no Offerings But Ruin'd Kingdoms Murdered Kings XIV Now you that knew who were his Judges Who found him Guilty without grudges Who gave him over to the Block And how he sham'd to save the stroak If you believe the Speech he made ye Le'strange and P ton's shame degrade ye XV. Thus us'd all Arts that could cajole You may be sure his silly Soul And were those promises perform'd With which his Conscience they had charm'd Who would betray a Cursed Plot To be when Dead the Lord knows what XVI But if those jolly Promises Do send thee into Little ●ase As certainly they must undo thee What ever Fools and Knaves said to thee Then Phlegeus like in Hell condole And Curse them that betray'd thy Soul XVII Now God preserve our Noble King And bless all them that thus did bring Unto the Block that silly Head That car'd not what it did or said And all good Men may Heaven defend From such a vile untimely End The Lord STAFFORD's Ghost c. FRom Stygian shade lo my pale Ghost doth rise To visit Earth and these sublunar Skies For some few moments I'm in Mercy sent To bid my Fellow-Traytors to Repent Repent before you taste of Horrid Fate Your Guilt confess before it be too late I am not here arriv'd on Earth to tell The hidden secrets that belong to Hell Nor am I sent to publish or declare Who are tormenters whom tormented there For now I know that it is Heavens decree These things to Mortals still shall secrets be Who have fantastick Dreams and nothing know Of what is done above or yet below But I have seen with my Immortal Eyes Things that with horror do my Soul surprize Too late alas too late I see my Sin With strange Chymera's I 've deluded been By a curs'd brood who sounded in my Ear Dye obstinate no Chains of Conscience fear Upon us firmly let your Faith be built We can and do Absolve you from your Guilt And after this you need no more Repent For you a Martyr dye and Innocent O Cursed Men who on Wretches thus Intrude And thus poor Souls Eternally delude Whilst they believe what these deluders say Li●e is snatch'd from them and they drop away And falling down by Charon Death they 're hurl'd Into the Mansions of a dismal

Dauphins Jest We fore't their Cavalry their Foot t'ore-run As Tides withstood bear their own Billows down Such was the Virtue of our Ancestours And such on just Resentment shall be Ours Our temper'd Valour just Pretence requires As Flints are Struck before they shew their Fires Vpon the Prentices-Feast at Merchant-Taylors-Hall THe busie Town grew still and City Fops Had bid adieu to melancholly Shops Had left their lonesome Cell● and did repair To Drink to Whore to Feast or take the air I knew not which but being Young I follow'd The shouting croud and most devoutly hollow'd At length arrived at a place they call The Cockscombs-Court or Merchant-Taylors-Hall Where the starv'd Prentices kept Carnival I enter'd where in most prodigious sort Tables were placed al-a-mode at Court I saw a Monster as I entered in At first I took him for a rowling Pin 'Till bowing with a grave Majestick grace Drew up his chaps and said Sir take your place And so I did for at a Loyal Dinner There is no difference 'twixt Saint and Sinner In one place sat an hungry Irish Teague And in another a fly cunning Whigg In drouzy murmurs eccho'd round the Hall The different voices of the Festival At length the young shop Beagles enter'd in And made a most confused hideous din They yelp and bawl upon the hunting strain As if they meant to kill the Bucks again Till monumental Pasty did arise Which stopt their Tongues and feasted all their eyes The sharp set Prentices could scarce forbear While Dr. Crape did say a Puny Prayer Which he made hast to do but kept his Eye Divinely fixt upon a Pudding pye Least some base sneaking Rascal should convey The Schollars well beloved bit away He having said they all did cease from prating Left speaking nonsence and all fell to eating One crys God save the King Rips up a Pye But trayterous steam did put out every Eye And then he damns the Cook and calls him So● To serve a Pasty up that was so hot Another gently tastes and then he swore In all his Life he ne're eat Buck before Another his long silence 'gan to break But 's mouth was fill'd so full he could not speak A fourth whom they deem'd to be i' th right Declar'd 't was better for to eat then fight At length their hungry paunches being full With fill'd up Glasses and with empty Scull Bending their Marrow-bones unto the ground With hoarse huzza's the Loyal Health went round How many converts Wine and Age do make When forc'd the earthly Region to forsake The aged Sinners whine in pious tone So every Drunkard is a Loyal Drone I who as Loyal am as tite as true As any of the Drunken Tory crew Of all the modern Healths ne're drank but this The best the Loyallest his Majesties But now was forc'd to drink all Healths of Fame A Catalogue alas too hard to name For which base fact I 'm markt a fallen star In every Presbiterian Callender But if they call me sot and fool and say I was a Rogue it was but for a day I drank a Papist Health and since 't was so I had a mental reservation too I in deceit to some a fool did show Tories to all are naturally so Free from the Peoples censure and disdain I 've cast my Tories skin and now am Whigg again A Rejoynder to the Whiggish Poem upon the Tory-Prentices-Feast at Marchant-Taylors-Hall WELL Tory Poets answers come at last The Tory Sots never write Verse in hast Or else the Cur got drunk like snoaring Sow Lay under Board and never wak't 'till now But if the noise the yelping Beagles keep Did waken him his Verse I 'm sure 's asleep I 'le swear I thought when first I looked on His Poem he had sent me back mine own It began alike alike almost throughout 'T was only mine was turn'd the inside out 'T is a damn●d ●rick the Tory Tools have got To kill an Enemy with his own Shot Had he not imped me he 'd been to seek For an Exordium another week For of the To●y Poets I must say It 's a witty Rogue can write a Verse a day But Gaffer-Goose-Cap who tould you such stories His Majesty sent Bucks to feast the Tories You might as well have said the King was drest In Royal Robes and came to be your guest But you may speak amiss amiss may do It had been Treason if I had said so Tories may murder Fame may Honour kill May slander Kings and yet be Loyal still Their Loyalty consist in doing ill You may 't is like by these your Verses lewd Make the mistaken To●y multitude Believe I Treason spake and that I swore And I may safely say you 'l Drink and Whore But this for truth they all do know before That Noble-men were Priests I ne're said so But Doctor Crape-Gown's may for ought I know 'T was Scandalum magnatum if I do in jest But speak one word 'gainst Stewards of the Feast Though Lords be high yet Prentices are low And lowsie Taylors still were counted so You may say what you please but without doubt I may speak Treason against the Rugged-Rout And Silly Fops 'cause they 've all Whiggs abhorr'd Shall have as good a title as a Lord And prosecute for scandal whom they please Such Lordly things are lordly Prentices No silly Citts for ever doom'd to Shops Keep still your antient titles Fools and Fops This Sham won't take I 'm Loyal still and true Although I 'm scandaliz'd by traiterous you Disloyal Tories you the Traytors are Whilst Loyal Baxter Curtis Loyal Care Bravely maintain their Soveraigns right in truth Without e're feasting of the snotty Youth True Whiggs ne're stoopt to such mean tricks as these To feast the hungry sniveling Prentices Illustrious Charles by all that 's great and high Tho I am branded with Disloyalty No fawning Courtier e're shall so much glose As I 'le detest thine and thy Nations Foes No Charles the third nor budding Embryo-King Shall be the Subject for my Muse to sing Whilst thou do live let Traiterous Tories sooth And raise Sedition in the Factious Youth Long may'st thou live and flourish in thy Throne Whilst all these little Kings shall basely tumble down An Answer to the Tories Pamphlet called The Loyal Feast To the Tune of Sauney will never be my Love again TOries are Tools of Irish Race And well belov'd by Blades of the Town They 've Irish Hearts but an English Face And Dammee and Huzza is all their tone With Abhorring and Addressing their time is spent Quaffing and Cursing though all in vain But the main thing they fear is an honest Parliament For Tory will still be a Rogue in Grain 2. Tories are made like Bristol Cans Round and hollow but I 'le tell you more anon The Word is Dammee Iack meet me at Sams There 's honest Roger and Flat-footed Tom Huffing and swearing in Silk so fine Black-Coats Red-Coats Lord and Swain E're