Selected quad for the lemma: saint_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
saint_n	altar_n	angel_n	golden_a	2,087	5	10.8116	5	true

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A49947	Theodosius, or, The force of love a tragedy, acted by Their Royal Highnesses servants, at the Duke's Theatre / written by Nat. Lee ; with the musick betwixt the acts.	Lee, Nathaniel, 1653?-1692.	1680 (1680)	Wing L877; ESTC R228929	46,446	85

melancholy Hours But how then Madam in this unsuitable condition how shall I answer the infinite Honours and Obligations Your Grace has laid upon me Your Grace who is the most beautiful Idea of Love and Glory who to that Divine Composition have the noblest and best-natur'd Wit in the World All I can promise Madam and be able to perform is That your Grace shall never see a Play of mine that shall give offence to Modesty and Vertue and what I humbly offer to the World shall be of use at least and I hope deserve imitation which is or ought to be I am sure the Design of all Tragedies and Comedies both Ancient and Modern I should presume to promise my self too some Success in things of this nature if Your Grace in whom the Charms of Beauty Wit and Goodness seem reconcil'd at a leisure Hour would condescend to correct with Your excellent Judgment the Errors of MADAM Your Graces most humble most obedient and devoted Servant NAT. LEE THEODOSIUS OR THE Force of Love ACT I. SCENE I. A stately Temple which represents the Christian Religion as in its first Magnificence Being but lately establisht at Rome and Constantinople The Side Scenes shew the horrid Tortures with which the Roman Tyrants persecuted the Church and the Flat Scene which is the Limit of the Prospect discovers an Altar richly adorn'd before it Constantine suppos'd kneels with Commanders about him gazing at a bloody Cross in the Air which being incompass'd with many Angels offers it self to view with these words distinctly written In hoc signo vinces Instruments are heard and many Attendants The Ministers at Divine Service walk busily up and down till Atticus the Chief of all the Priests and Successor of St. Chrysostom in rich Robes comes forward with the Philosopher Leontine The Waiters in Ranks bowing all the way before him A Chorus heard at distance Prepare prepare the Rites begin Let none unhallow'd enter in The Temple with new Glory shines Adorn the Altars wash the Shrines And purge the place from Sin Attic. O Leontine was ever Morn like this Since the Celestial Incarnation dawn'd I think no Day since that such Glory gave To Christian Altars as this Morning brings Leont Great Successor of holy Chrysostom Who now triumphs above a Saint of Honour Next in degree to those bright Sons of Heav'n Who never fell nor stain'd their Orient Beams What shall I answer How shall I approach you Since my Conversion which your breath inspir'd Attic. To see this Day th' Emperour of the East Leaves all the Pleasures that the Earth can yield That Nature can bestow or Art invent In his Life's spring and bloom of gawdy years To undergo the Penance of a Cloyster Confin'd to narrow Rooms and gloomy Walks Fastings and Exercises of Devotion Which from his Bed at midnight must awake him Methinks O Leontine is something more Than yet Philosophy could ever reach Leont True Atticus you have amaz'd my reason Attic. Yet more to our Religious lasting honour Marina and Flavilla two young Virgins Imperial born cast in the fairest mould That e're the hands of Beauty form'd for Woman The Mirrors of our Court where Chastity And Innocence might copy spotless Lustre To Day with Theodosius leave the World Leont Methinks at such a glorious resignation The Angelick Orders should at once descend In all the Paint and Drapery of Heav'n With charming Voices and with lulling Strings To give full Grace to such Triumphant Zeal Attic. No Leontine I fear there is a fault For when I last confess'd th' Emperour Whether disgust and melancholy Blood From restless Passions urg'd not this Divorce He only answer'd me with Sighs and lushes 'T is sure his Soul is of the tenderest make Therefore I 'll tax him strictly but my Friend Why should give his Character to you Who when his Father sent him into Persia Were by that mighty Monarch then appointed To breed him with his Son the Prince Varanes Leont And what will raise your Admiration is That two such different Tempers should agree You know that Theodosius is compos'd Of all the softness that should make a Woman Judgment almost like fear fore-runs his Actions And he will poise an Injury so long As if he had rather pardon than revenge it But the young Persian Prince quite opposite So Fiery sierce that those who view him nearly May see his haughty Soul still mounting in his Face Yet did I study these so different Tempers Till I at last had form'd a perfect Union As if two Souls did but inform one Body A friendship that may challenge all the World And at the proof be matchless Attic. I long to read This Gallant Prince who as you have inform'd me Comes from his Father's Court to see our Emperour Leon. So he intnded till he came to Athens And at my homely board beheld my Daughter Where as Fate ordered she who never saw The Glories of a Court bred up to Books In Closets like a Sybil. She I say Long since from Persia brought by me to Athens Unskill'd in Charms but those which Nature gave her Wounded this scornful Prince In short he forc'd me To wait him thither with deep protestations That Moment that bereft him of the sight Of Athenais gave him certain Death Enter Varanes and Athenais But see my Daughter honour'd with his presence Vara. 'T is strange O Athenais wondrous all Wondrous the Shrines and wonderful the Altars The Martyrs though but drawn in painted Flames Amaze me with the Image of their suff'rings Saints Canoniz'd that dar'd with Roman Tyrants Hermits that liv'd in Caves and fed with Angels By Orosmades it is wondrous all That bloody Cross in yonder Azure Sky Above the Head of kneeling Constantine Inscrib'd about with Golden Characters Thou shalt o'er-come in this If it be true I say again by Heav'n 't is wond'rous strange Athen. O Prince if thus Imagination stirs you A fancy rais'd from figures in dead Walls How would the Sacred Breath of Atticus Inspire your Breast purge all your dross away And drive this Athenais from your Soul To make a Virgin Room whom yet the Mould Of your rude Fancy cannot comprehend Vara. What says my Fair Drive Athenais from me Start me not into Frenzy lest I rail At all Religion and fall out with Heaven And what is she alas that should supplant thee Were she the Mistress of the World as fair As Winter Stars or Summer setting Suns And thou set by in Nature's plainest Dress With that chaste modest look when first I saw thee The Heiress of a poor Philosopher Recorders ready to flourish I swear by all I wish by all I love Glory and thee I would not lose a thought Nor cast an Eye that way but rush to thee To these lov'd arms and lose my self for ever Athenais Forbear my Lord. Vara. O cruel Athenais Why dost thou put me off who pine to death And thrust me from thee when I would approach