Selected quad for the lemma: master_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
master_n	john_n	richard_n	sir_n	21,631	5	7.8335	4	true

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A89049	Musarum deliciæ: or, The Muses recreation. Conteining severall select pieces of sportive vvit. / By Sr J.M. and Ja:S.	Mennes, John, Sir, 1599-1671.; Smith, James, 1605-1667.; Herringman, Henry, d. 1704,; H. H.	1655 (1655)	Wing M1710; Thomason E1672_1; ESTC R202916	33,905	95

Quoth the most learned Councel of the Queen Quoth Mr. Daniel this young man 's too bold This priviledge belongs to us that are old Then wo the time quoth Sir Laurence Hyde That these our priviledges are deny'd Quoth Mr. Recorder a word for the City To cut off the Aldermans right were great pity Well quoth Kit Brook wee 'l give you a reason Though he had right by descent he had not livery and seisin Yet quoth M. Peak I have a president in store His father farted last Sessions before Then said Mr. Noy this may very well be done A fart may be entail'd from the father to the son Saith Mr. Moore let us this motion repeale What 's good for the private is ill for the Common weal A goodyear on this Fart quoth gentle Sir Harry He hath caus'd such an Earth-quake that my Coal-pits miscarry It is hard to recall a Fart when t is out Quoth Sir William Lower with a loud shout Yes quoth Sir Laurence Hide that we may come by it Wee 'l make a proviso time it and tye it Qd. Sir Harry the hardy look well to each clause Aswell for Englands Liberty as Lawes Now then the knightly Doctor protests This Fart shall be brought into th' Court of Requests Nay rather sayes Sir Edwin I 'le make a digression And fart him a project shall last him a Session Then Sir Edward Hoby alleadg'd with the spigot If you fart at the Union remember Kit Pigot Swooks quoth Sir Iohn Lee is your Arse in dotage Could you not have kept this breath to cool your pottage Grave Senat quoth Mr. Duncomb upon my salvation This Fart had need of great Reformation Quoth the Countrey Courtier upon my Conscience It might have been reformed with Frankinsence We must have this Fart by Parliament enacted Said another before this businesse be transacted And so we shall have oh do not abhor it A Fart from Scotland reciprocall for it A very good jest it is by this light Quoth spruce Mr. Iames of the Isle of Wight Quoth Sir Robert Iohnson if you 'l not laugh I 'le measure this Fart with my Iacobs staffe Now by my troth quoth sage Mr. Bennet We must have a selected Committee to pen it Philip Gawdy stroak'd the old stubble of his face Said the Fart was well penn'd so sat downe in his place Then modest Sir Iohn Hollis said on his word It was but a Shoo that creak'd on a board Not so quoth Sir Iohn Ackland that cannot be The place underneath is matted you see Before God said Mr. Brooke to tell you no lye This Fart by our Law is of the Post-nati Fye quoth M. Fotherby I like not this Embassage A Fart Interlocutory in the midst of a Message In all your Eloquence then quoth Mr. Martin You cannot finde out this figure of Farting Nay quoth Dr. Crompton can any man draw This Fart within compasse of the Civill Law Then Sir William Pady I dare assure'm Though 't be Contra modestiam 't is not Contra naturam Up starts Ned Weymark the Pasquil of Powls And said this Fart would have fitted the Master of the Rolls Said Oxenbridge there is great suspition That this Fart savours of Popish Superstition Nay said Mr. Good and also some other This Fart came from som reformed Brother Then up start Sir Iohn Yong and swore by Gods nailes Was nere such a Fart let in the Borders of Wales Sir Walter Cope said this Fart as 't was let Might well have broke ope his privy Cabinet Sir Ierome in Folio swore by the Masse This Fart was enough to have broke all the Glasse And Sir Ierome the lesse said such an abuse Was never committed in Poland or Pruce In compasse of a thousand miles about Sir Roger Owen said such a Fart came not out Quoth Sir Iohn Parker I sweare by my Rapier This Bombard was stuff●d with very foul Paper Now quoth Mr. Lewknor we have found such a thing As no Tale-bearer dares carry to the King Quoth Sir Lewis his Brother if it come of Embassage The Master of the Ceremonies must give it passage I quoth Sir Robert Drury that were your part If so it had been a forrein Fart Nay said Sir Richard Love lace to end the difference It were fit with the Lords to have a conference Hark quoth Sir Iohn Townsend this Fart had the might To deny his owne Master to be dubbed Knight For had it ambition or orationis pars Your Son could have told him quid est Ars. Quoth Sir Thomas Lake if this house be not able To censure this Fart I 'le have it to the Councel Table It were no great grievance qd M. Hare If the Surveyour herein had his share Be patient Gentlemen quoth Sir Francis Bacon There 's none of us all but may be thus mistaken Silence quoth Bond though words be but wind Yet I doe mislike these Motions behinde Then quoth Mr. Price it stinks the more you stir it Naturam expellas furca recurrit Then gan sage Mounson silence to break And said this Fart would make an Image speak Up rises the Speaker that noble Ephestion And sayes Gentlemen I 'le put you a question The question propounded the eares did lose For the Major part went there with the nose Sir Robert Cotton well read in old stories Having conferred his notes with Mr. Pories I can well witnesse that these are no fables Said 't was hard to put the Fart in his Tables If 't would bear an Action saith Sir Tho Holcrost I 'ld make of this Fart a Bolt or a shaft Quoth Sir Roger Ashton 't would mend well the matter If 't were shay'd and well wash'd in rose water Why quoth Sir Roger Acton how should I tell it A Fart by hearsay neither hear it nor smell it Quoth Sir Thomas Knevet I fear here doth lurk In this Hallow Vault some more powder work Then precisely rose Sir Anthony Cope And pray'd to God 't were no Bull from the Pope Quoth Sir Tho Chaloner I 'le demonstrat this fart To b'a voice of the Belly and not of the heart Then by my Faith saith Sir Edwin Sandyes He playes not by th' line this Gentleman bandies Then said Sir George More in his wonted order I mean but to speak against the houses disorder The Fart which we favour far more then is fit I wish to the Sergeant you would commit The Sergeant refus'd it humbly on 's knees For Farts break Prison and never pay Fees Wherefore this motion without reason stands To charg me with what I can't hold in my hands Then quoth the Clerk I now plainly see That a private Act is some gaine for me All which was admitted by Sir Thomas Freak This Gentleman saith his Shoo did but creak Then said Sir Richard Gargrave by and by This Gentleman speaketh as well as I. But all at last said it was most fit The Fart as a Traitor to the Tower to commit Where as they say it

voyage to be split We drank old Lees gave our heads a fraught Of that Don Pedro left in Eighty Eight A bawdy house would scorne it 't was too poor For those that play at Noddy on the score Felt-makers had refus'd it Nay I think The Deuill would abhorre such posset-drink Bacchus I 'm sure detests it 't is too bad For Hereticks a Friar would be mad To blesse such vile unconsecrable stuffe And Brownists would conclude it good enough For such a Sacrifice I 'ld wish no worse A draught unto the Ignorant nor curse My foes beyond it Not a Beads-man sure At a Town Funerall would it endure Much lesse a Man of sence 't were an affront To put an understanding Fur upon 't Or Burgo Mistris It is such a thing Would dam a Vintner at a Christening Yet we must quaff these dregs and be constrain'd To what the L●ety seven years since disdain'd Oh would I might turne Poet for an houre To Satyrize with a vindictive power Against the Drawer or I could desire Old Iohnsons head had scalded in this fire How would he rage and bring Apollo down To scold with Bacchus and depose the Clown For his ill government and so confute Our Poet Apes that doe so much impute Unto the grapes inspirement Let them sit And from the winepresse squeeze a bastard wit But I while Sever● and old Avon can Afford a draught while there 's a Cider-Man Or a Metheglenist while there 's a Cup Of Beer or Ale I doe forswear to sup Of wicked Sack Thus Solemn I come from it No dog would e're return to such a vomit The Lowse's Peregrination DIscoveries of late have been made by adventure Where many a pa●e hath been set on the Tenter And many a Tale hath been told more then true is How Whales have been serv'd whole to Saylors in Brewis But here 's a poor lowse by these presents desies The Catalogue of old Mandevils Lyes And this I report of a certaine My Father and Mother when first they joyn'd paunches Begot me betwen an old Pedlers haunches Where grown to a Creeper I know how a pox I Got to suck by chance of the bloud of his doxie Where finding the sweetnesse of this my new pasture I left the bones of my pockified Master And there I struck in for a fortune A Lord of this Land that lov'd a Bum well Did lie-with this Mort one night in the Strummel I cling'd me fast to him and left my companions I scorn'd to converse more with Tatterdemalians But sued to Sir Giles to promise in a Patent That my Heires might enjoy clean Linnen and Sattin But the Parliament cross'd my Intention This Lord that I follow'd delighted in Tennis He sweat out my fat with going to Venice Where with a brave Donna in single Duello He left me behinde him within the Burdello Where leacherous passages I did discover Betwixt Bonna Roba and Diego her Lover Youl 'd wonder to heare the discourse of 't The use of the Dildo they had without measure Behind and before they have it at pleasure All Aretines wayes they practice with labour An Eunuch they hate like Bethlem Gabor Counting the English man but as a Stallion Leaving the Goat unto the Italian And this is the truth that I tell you Thus living with wonder escaping the talent Of Citizen Clown Whore Lawyer and Gallant At last came a Soldier I nimbly did ferk him Up the greazy skirts of●s robustuous Buff Jerkin Where finding companions without any harm I Was brought before Breda to Spinola's Army And there I remaine of a certain King Oberon's Apparell WHen the Monthly horned Queen Grew jealous that the Stars had seen Her rising from Endymions armes In rage she throws her misty charmes Into the bosome of the night To dim their curious prying light Then did the dwarfish Faery Elves Having first attir'd themselves Prepare to dresse their Oberon King In highest robes for revelling In a Cobweb shirt more thin Then ever Spider since could spin Bleach'd by the whitenesse of the Snow As the stormy windes did blow It in the vast and freezing aire No shirt halfe so fine so faire A rich Wastcoat they did bring Made of the Trout flies gilded wing At that his Elveship gan to fret Swearing it would make him sweat Even with its weight and needs would wear His Wastcoat wove of downy haire New shaven from an Eunuch's chin That pleas'd him well 't was wondrous thin The out-side of his Doublet was Made of the four-leav'd true-love grasse On which was set so fine a glosse By the oyle of crispy mosse That through a mist and starry light It made a Rainbow every night On every Seam there was a Lace Drawn by the unctuous Snailes slow trace To it the purest Silver thread Compar'd did look like dull pale Lead Each Button was a sparkling eye T'ane from the speckled Adders Frye Which in a gloomy night and dark Twinckled like a fiery spark And for coolnesse next his skin 'T was with white Poppy lin'd within His Breeches of that Fleece were wrought Which from Colchos Jason brought Spun into so fine a Yarne That mortals might it not discerne Wove by Arachne in her Loom Just before she had her doom Dy'd crimson with a Maidens blush And lyn'd with Dandely on Plush A rich mantle he did wear Made of Tinsel Gossamer Bestarred over with a few Dyamond drops of morning dew His Cap was all of Ladies love So passing light that it did move If any humming Gnat or Fly But buzz'd the ayre in passing by About it was a wreath of Pearle Drop'd from the eyes of some poor girle Pinch'd because she had forgot To leave faire water in the pot And for Feather he did weare Old Nisus fatall purple haire The sword they girded on his Thigh Was smallest blade of finest Rye A paire of Buskins they did bring Of the Cow Ladyes Corall wing Powder'd o're with spots of Jet And lin'd with purple-Violet His Belt was made of mirtle leaves Plaited in small curious threaves Beset with Amber Cowslip studds And fring'd about with Daizy Budds In which his Bugle horne was hung Made of the babbling Eccho's tongue Which set unto his Moon-burn'd lip He windes and then his Faeries skip At that the lazy dawn'gan sound And each did trip a Faery round A Poets farewell to his thred bare Cloak CLoak if I so may call thee though thou art My old acquaintance prithee now let 's part Thou wer 't my equall friend in thirty one But now thou look'st like a meer hanger on And art so uselesse to me I scarce know Sometimes whether I have thee on or no But this I needs must say when thou go'st from me These ten years thou hast been no burden to me Yet that 's thy accusation for if I Divorce thee from me 't is for Levity Thou hast abus'd my Bed that is thou hast Not kept me warme when thou wer 't over-cast Transparent