Selected quad for the lemma: sin_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
sin_n	death_n	hell_n	sting_n	5,062	5	11.8490	5	false

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A30923	Poetical recreations consisting of original poems, songs, odes, &c. with several new translations : in two parts / part I, occasionally written by Mrs. Jane Barker, part II, by several gentlemen of the universities, and others.	Barker, Jane.	1688 (1688)	Wing B770; ESTC R7698	114,866	432

13 following Copies done by Mr. Hovenden Walker sometime of Trinity-Colledge in Dublin Psalm 139. Paraphras'd from Verse 7. to Verse 13. p. 207 A Pastoral in imitation of Virgil's 2d Eclogue p. 210 The fourth Elegy of Cornelius Gallus of the Miseries of Old Age. Made English p. 219 To my Mistriss Translated out of Tibullus p. 226 The Agreement p. 228 Song p. 231 The Innocent Discov'ry p. 234 The Petition A Song p. 234 Fate A Song p. 235 My Religion p. 237 The Kiss p. 239 The Wrack A Song p. 241 To Mr. P. Berault upon his French Grammar p. 242 Song p. 245 The same Song Inverted by Mr. VValker p. 246 The Five following Copies done by Mr. C. G. of AEton-Colledge A Paraphrase on part of the 23d Idyll of Theocritus p. 247 Chorus 1. Of Seneca's Agamemnon p. 255 The Penitent p. 259 To Duserastes p. 262 The Vow p. 263 The Six following POEMS by Mr. T. B. of Cambridge An Elegy on King Charles the Second p. 265 A Dithyrambique made just before the King and Queen went to their Coronation p. 269 To their Graces the Duke and Dutchess of Albemarle upon their Voyage for Iamaica p. 280 Ovid. Amor. lib. 2. Eleg. 15. A Ring presented to his Mistriss p. 283 To Afer Martial Epig. 31. lib. 4. Made English p. 285 An Excuse for not Rhiming in the Time of the Rebellion p. 286 MISCELLANY POEMS PART II. Written by several Authors A Paraphrase on an HYMN Sung when the Corps is at the Grave By T. S. Fellow of Maudlin-Colledge Oxon. I. HOW full of Troubles is the Life of Man Vain like a bubble shorter than a span He springs and blossoms as an early Flower Whose silken Leaves the Frosts and Snow devour He like the ●leeting Shadow hastes away Unable to continue in one stay It disappears and can't survive the day II. The Noon-tide of our Life is plac'd in Death We 're not secure of one light puff of Breath To whom O God can we for succour fly But unto thee by whom we live and dye 'T is for our Sins thou dost employ this Sting Thou justly angry art our God and King But takest no delight in punishing III. O Holy Mighty Lord and Saviour Declare thy signal Mercies and thy Pow'r Condemn us not unto the pains of Hell Where Horror reigns and endless Torments dwell From whence no ransom ever can be made Since we our bless'd Redeemer have betray'd And both his Will and Laws have disobey'd IV. Thou know'st the secret Closet of our Hearts Thy divine Presence fills our secret parts Therefore be mercifull unto our Pray'r Most worthy Iudge thy wretched People spare Forsake us not when on our Death-beds thrown Lest through despair we deeply sigh and groan And Hell grow proud of the Dominion Advice to his Friends lamenting the Death of I. F. By the same Hand RIse and rejoyce all ye that Mourn Dry ev'ry Eye that weeps The Body in this hollow Urn Is not quite dead but sleeps See how the Leaves in Autumns falling Dew Forsake the weeping Tree And how the jocund Spring renews With Buds their infancie What though the Root lye under-ground The Boughs to Heav'n aspire Thus Bodies in the Grave are found The Souls are mounted higher Hark! hark I hear the Trumpet 's Voice Cry Come ye Blessed come Methinks I hear our Friend rejoyce That he is Summon'd home Now Dronish Death hath lost her Sting The Grave her Victorie For Christ in Triumph rides as King Of this great Iubilee Arise my Friends and wipe your Eyes Salvation's drawing nigh Let 's live to dye and dye to rise T' enjoy Eternity T. S. EPITAPH on Mrs. E. F. who sickned of the Small Pox and Deceased December the 31st 1686. being the Day before her intended Nuptials THis fair young Virgin for a Nuptial Bed More fit is lodg'd sad Fate among the Dead Storm'd by rough Winds so falls in all her pride The full-blown Rose design'd t' adorn a Bride Truth is this lovely Virgin from her Birth Became a constant strife 'twixt Heav'n and Earth Earth claim'd her pleaded for her either cry'd The Nymph is mine at length they did divide Heav'n took her Soul the Earth her Corps did seize Yet not in Fee she only holds by Lease With this proviso When the Iudge shall call Earth shall give up her share and Heav'n have all An EPITAPH to the Memory and fix't on the Tomb of Sir PALME FAIRBORN Governour of Tangier who in Execution of his Command was Mortally Wounded by a Shot from the Moors that then besieged the Town Octob. 24. 1680. YE Sacred Reliques which this Marble keep Here undisturb'd by Wars in quiet sleep Discharge the Trust which when it was below Fairborn's undaunted Soul did undergo And be the Towns Palladium from the Foe Alive and dead he will these Walls defend Great Actions Great Examples must attend The Candian Siege his early Valour knew Where Turkish Blood did his young hands embrew From thence returning with deserv'd applause Against the Moors his well-flesh'd Sword he draws The same the Courage and the same the Cause His Youth and Age his Life and Death combine As in some great and regular design All of a piece throughout and all Divine Still nearer Heav'n his Vertues shone more bright Like rising Flames expanding in the height The Martyrs Glory crown'd the Souldiers Fight More bravely Brittish Gen'ral never fell Nor Gen'rals Death was e'er reveng'd so well Which his pleas'd Eyes beheld before their close Follow'd by Thousand Victims of his Foes An ELEGY on the Death of N. D. Doctor of Physick By I. C. WHat will my Mourning yet no period find Must sighs sorrow still distract my Mind My Sense grows ●eeble and my Reason's gone Passion and Discontent usurp the Throne With blubber'd Eyes my veiled sight grows dim Ah cruel Death cou'd you ●ind none but him To gratifie your hungry Iaws withall Or if in haste none but a Doctor 's fall Howe'er you might forbore your stroke a while But possibly you thought he might beguile Your craving Appetite of many more Which you expected to strike long before But sure my Mind 's disturb'd my Passions rav● To censure Death and quarrel with the Grave● Alas he 's bound the blow he cannot give Till his Commission shews we must not live Yet hence we learn and may this inf'rence make That if Physicians Souls their Iourney take Into a distant Climate well may Ours Then with what care ought we to spend those hours Or rather few remaining Sands which are In so much Bounty tender'd to our care The purest Druggs compos'd with greatest Skill Can't preserve Life when Death has pow'r to kill Peasant and Prince are both to him alike And with an equal blow doth either strike All must surrender when his Arm is stretch't With such a weighty force his blow is fetch 't But oh I wander from my Virtuous Friend 'T is true indeed he 's dead but yet no

'T is as a Shadow which is quickly fled Or as a Word which in as small time 's said 'T is as a Vapour rising from the Earth But at the most 't is but a little Breath And is this truly so and shall my Eyes Together with my Souls bright Faculties Be cheated with the Worlds gay Vanities Certainly no! Adieu ye cheating Pleasures Which only bear the empty name of Treasures No Sophistry or stratagem can hide Your gilded Vanity your Lust and Pride And as for Honour that I 'll most avoid My lonesome Cottage shall not be annoy'd By th' noisome Breath of a confused Rabble Void of calm Reason full of nonsence babble Besides my Eyes are both too weak and dimm To guide my Feet whilst I so high must climb To reach her Pinacles which if I do 'T is but to make me fall from thence more low And as for worldly Wealth my bounds I set According to what Prudence do's direct Our honest Industry is not deny'd When all disponding Thoughts are laid aside So much I can most lawfully desire As may with decency my Life attire And bear me up lest I too much shou'd Mourn Before I fill my dark and silent Urn. Such serious Thoughts as these delight me best Death when fore-seen in time do's quite devest A Man of dubious Thoughts and frightful Fears And with a Plaudit closeth up his Years ON THE Divine Spirit AS when the lab'ring Sun hath wrought his track Up to the top of lofty Cancer's back The Icie Ocean cracks the Frozen Pole Thaws with the heat of Celestial Coal So when thy absent Beams begin t' impart Again a Solstice on my ●rozen Heart My Winter 's o'er my drooping Spirits sing And every part revives into a Spring But if thy quickning Beams a while decline And with their Light bless not this Orb of mine A chilly Frost surprizeth every Member And in the midst of Iune I feel December O how this Earthly temper doth debase The noble Soul in this her humble place VVhose wingy Nature ever doth aspire To reach that place whence ●irst it took its ●ire These Flames I feel which in my Heart do dwell Are not thy Beams but take their fire from Hell. O quench them all and let thy Light Divine Be as the Sun to this poor Orb of mine And to thy Sacred Spirit convert those Fires VVhose Earthly fumes crack my devout Aspires To the Memory of the Illustrious Prince GEORGE Duke of Buckingham WHen the dread Summons of Commanding Fate Sounds the Last Call at some proud Palace-Gate When both the Rich the Fair the Great and High. Fortunes most darling Favourites must die Strait at th' Alarm the busie Heraulds wait To fill the Solemn Pomp and Mourn in State Scutcheons and Sables then make up the Show Whilst on the Herse the mourning Streamers flow With all the rich Magnificence of Woe If Common Greatness these just Rights can claim What Nobler Train must wait on Buckingham When so much Wit 's Great Re●ormer dyes The very Muses at thy Obsequies The Muses that melodious cheersull Quire Whom Misery could ne'er untune nor tire But chirp in Rags and ev'n in Dungeons sing Now with their broken Notes and flagging Wing To thy sad Dirge their murm'ring Plaints shall bring Wit and Wit 's god for Buckingham shall mourn And His lov'd Laurel into Cypress turn Nor shall the Nine sad Sisters only keep This mourning Day even Time himself shall weep And in new Brine his hoary furrows steep Time that so much must thy great Debtor be As to have borrow'd ev'n new Life●rom ●rom Thee Whilst thy gay Wit has made his sullen Glass And tedious Hours with new-born Raptures pass What tho'black Envy with her ranc'rous Tongue And angry Poets in embitter'd Song Whilst to new tracks thy boundless Soul aspires Charge thee with roving Change and wandring Fires● Envy more base did never Virtue wrong Thy Wit a Torrent for the Banks too strong In twenty smaller Rills o'er-flow'd the Dam Though the main Channel still was Buckingham Let Care the busie Statesman over-whelm Tugging at th' Oar or drudging at the Helm With lab'ring Pain so half-soul'd Pilots plod Great Buckingham a sprightlier Measure trod When o'er the mounting Waves the Vessel rod Unshock'd by Toyls by Tempests undismay'd Steer'd the Great Bark and as that danc'd He play'd Nor bounds thy Praise to Albion's narrow Coast Thy Gallantry shall Foreign Nations boast They Gallick Shore with all the Trumps of Fame To endless Ages shall resound thy Name When Buckingham Great CHARLES Embassador With such a Port the Royal Image bore So near the Life th' Imperial Copy drew As ev'n the Mighty Louis could not View With Wonder only but with Envy too His very Fleur-de-Lize's ●ainting Light Half droopt to see the English Rose so bright Let Groveling Minds of Nature's basest mould Hug and Adore their dearest Idol Gold Thy Nobler Soul did the weak Charms defie Disdain the Earthly Dross to mount more High. Whilst Humbler Merit on Court-Smiles depends For the Gilt Show'r in which their Iove descends Thou mount'st to Honour for a Braver End What others borrow Thou cam'st there to lend Did'st sacred Vertues naked Self adore And left'st her Portion for her sordid Woer The poorer Miser how dost thou out-shine He the Worlds Slave but thou hast made it thine Great Buckingham's Exalted Character That in the Prince liv'd the Philosopher Thus all the Wealth thy Generous Hand has spent Shall raise thy Everlasting Monument So the fam'd Phoenix builds her dying Nest Of all the richest Spices of the East Then the heap'd Mass prepar'd for a kind Ray Some warmer Beam of the Great God of Day Do's in one hallow'd Conflagration burn A precious Incense to her Funeral Urn. So Thy bright Blaze felt the same Funeral Doom A wealthier Pile than old Mausolus Tomb. Only too Great too Proud to imitate The poorer Phoenix more Ignoble Fate Thy Matchless Worth all Successors defies And scorn'd an Heir shou'd from thy Ashes rise Begins and finishes that Glorious Spheer Too Mighty for a Second Charioteer UPON THE DEATH OF OLIVER CROMWELL In Answer to Mr. W ' s Verses By Mr. Godolphin 'T IS well he 's gone O had he never been Hurry'd in Storms loud as his crying Sin The Pines and Oaks fell prostrate to his Urn That with his Soul his Body too might burn Winds pluck up Roots and fixed Cedars move Roaring for Vengeance to the Heavens above For Guilt from him like Romulus did grow And such a Wind did at his Ruin blow Praying themselves the lofty Trees shou'd fell Without the Ax so Orpheus went to Hell At whose descent the sturdiest Oaks were cleft And the whole Wood its wonted Station left In Battle Herc'les wore the Lyon's Skin But our Fierce Nero wore the Beast within Whose Heart was Brutish more than Face or Eyes And in the shape of Man was in disguise Where ever Men where ever pillage lyes Like rav'nous