Selected quad for the lemma: rest_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
rest_n	day_n	old_a	sabbath_n	2,634	5	10.0526	5	false

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A09228	The loue of King Dauid and fair Bethsabe With the tragedie of Absalon. As it hath ben diuers times plaied on the stage. Written by George Peele.	Peele, George, 1556-1596.; Du Bartas, Guillaume de Salluste, seigneur, 1544-1590.	1599 (1599)	STC 19540; ESTC S110364	31,374	62

shiuers breake thy yuorie Lute Hanging thy stringlesse harpe vpon his boughs And through the hollow saplesse sounding truncke Bellow the torments that perplexe thy soule There let the winds sit sighing till they burst Let tempest mufled with a cloud of pitch Threaten the forrests with her hellish face And mounted fiercely on her yron wings Rend vp the wretched engine by the roots That held my dearest Absalon to death Then let them tosse my broken Lute to heauen Euen to his hands that beats me with the strings To shew how sadly his poore sheepeheard sings He goes to his pauillion and sits close a while Beth. Die Bethsabe to see thy Dauid mourne To heare his tunes of anguish and of hell O helpe my Dauid helpe thy Bethsabe She kneeles downe Whose heart is pierced with thy breathie swords And bursts with burthen of tenne thousand greefes Now sits thy sorrowes sucking of my bloud O that it might be poison to their powers And that their lips might draw my bosome drie So Dauids loue might ease him though she die Nat. These violent passions come not from aboue Dauid and Bethsabe offend the highest To mourne in this immeasurable sort Dau. O Absalon Absalon O my sonne my sonne Would God that I had died for Absalon But he is dead ah dead Absalon is dead And Dauid liues to die for Absalon He lookes forth and at the end sits close againe Enter Ioab Abisay Ithay with their traine Ioab Why lies the Queene so prostrate on the ground Why is this companie so Tragicke hew'd Why is the King now absent from his men And marcheth not in triumph through the gates He vnfolds the pauillion Dauid awake if sleepe haue shut thine eies Sleepe of affection that thou canst not see The honour offerd to the victors head Ioab brings conquest pierced on his speare And ioy from all the Tribes of Israel Dauid Thou man of bloud thou sepulchre of death Whose marble breast intombe my bowels quicke Did I not charge thee nay intreat thy hand Euen for my sake to spare my Absalon And hast thou now in spight of Dauids health And skorne to doe my heart some happinesse Giuen him the sword and spilt his purple soule Ioab What irkes it Dauid that he victor breaths That Iuda and the fields of Israel Should cleanse their faces from their childrens bloud What art thou wearie of thy royall rule Is Israels throne a Serpent in thine eyes And he that set thee there so farre from thankes That thou must curse his seruant for his sake Hast thou not said that as the morning light The cloudlesse morning so should be thine house And not as flowers by the brightest raine Which growes vp quickly and as quickly fades Hast thou not said the wicked are as thornes That cannot be preserued with the hand And that the man shall touch them must be armd With coats of yron and garments made of steele Or with the shaft of a defenced speare And art thou angrie he is now cut off That lead the guiltlesse swarming to their deaths And was more wicked then an host of men Aduance thee from thy melancholy denne And decke thy bodie with thy blisfull robes Or by the Lord that swaies the heauen I sweare I le lead thine armies to another King Shall cheere them for their princely chiualrie And not sit daunted frowning in the darke When his faire lookes with Oyle and Wine refresht Should dart into their bosomes gladsome beames And fill their stomackes with triumphant feasts That when elsewhere sterne warre shall sound his trumpe And call another battaile to the field Fame still may bring thy valiant souldiers home And for their seruice happily confesse She wanted worthy trumpes to sound their prowesse Take thou this course and liue refuse and die Abisay Come brother let him sit there till he sincke Some other shall aduance the name of Ioab Offers to goe out Beth. O stay my lords stay Dauid mournes no more But riseth to giue honour to your acts Stay He riseth vp Dauid Then happie art thou Dauids fairest sonne That freed from the yoke of earthly toiles And sequestred from sence of humane sinnes Thy soule shall ioy the sacred cabinet Of those deuine Ideas that present Thy changed spirit with a heauen of blisse Then thou art gone ah thou art gone my sonne To heauen I hope my Absalon is gone Thy soule there plac'd in honour of the Saints Or angels clad with immortalitie Shall reape a seuenfold grace for all thy greefes Thy eyes now no more eyes but shining stars Shall decke the flaming heauens with nouell lampes There shalt thou tast the drinke of Seraphins And cheere thy feelings with archangels food Thy day of rest thy holy Sabboth day Shall be eternall and the curtaine drawne Thou shalt behold thy soueraigne face to face With wonder knit in triple vnitie Vnitie infinite and innumerable Courage braue captaines Ioab tale hath stird And made the suit of Israel preferd Ioab Brauely resolud and spoken like a King Now may old Israel and his daughters sing Exeunt FINIS