Selected quad for the lemma: sin_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
sin_n	eye_n	tear_n	weep_v	4,198	5	9.1580	5	false

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A33429	The character of a London-diurnall with severall select poems / by the same author.	Cleveland, John, 1613-1658.	1647 (1647)	Wing C4666; ESTC R6762	26,937	62

loath'd name be A stigmatizing brand of Infamie Till forc'd by generall hate you cease to rome The world and for a plague go live at home Till you resume your poverty and be Reduc'd to beg where none can be so free To grant and may your scabbie Land be all Translated to a generall Hospitall Let not the Sun afford one gentle Ray To give you comfort of a Summers day But as a Guerdon for your traiterous War Live cherisht onely by the Northern Star No Stranger deign to visit your rude Coast And be to all but banisht Men as lost And such in height'ning of th' infliction due Let provok'd Princes send them all to you Your State a Chaos be where not the Law But Power your Lives and Liberties may awe No Subject mongst you keep a quiet brest But each man strive through blood to be the best Till for those miseries on us you 've brought By your own sword our just revenge be wrought To summe up all let your Religion be As your Allegiance mask'd hypocrisie Untill when CHARLES shall be compos'd in dust Persum'd with epithetes of GOOD and IUST HE sav'd incensed Heaven may have forgot T' afford one act of mercy to a Scot Unlesse that Scot deny himselfe and do What 's easier farre renounce his Nation too Epitaph on the Earl of Strafford HEre lies Wise and Valiant Dust Huddled up 'twixt Fit and Just STRAFFORD who was hurried hence 'Twixt Treason and Convenience He spent his Time here in a Mist A Papist yet a Ca●vinist His Prince's nearest Joy and Grief He had yet wanted all Reliefe The Prop and Ruine of the State The People's violent Love and Hate One in extreames lov'd and abhor'd Riddles lie here or in a word Here lies Blood and let it lie Speechlesse still and never crie On the Archbishop of Canterbury I Need no Muse to give my passion vent He brewes his teares that studies to lament Verse chymically weeps that pious raine Distill'd with Art is but the sweat o' th braine Who ever sob'd in numbers can a groane Be quaver'd out by soft division 'T is true for common formall Elegies Not Bushells Wells can wash a Poets eyes In wanton water-works hee 'l tune his teares From a Geneva Jig up to the Spheares But when he mournes at distance weeps aloof Now that the Conduit-head is our own roof Now that the fate is publike we may call It Britains Vespers Englands Funerall Who hath a Pensill to expresse the Saint But he hath eyes too washing off the paint There is no learning but what teares surround Like to Seths Pillars in the deluge drown'd There is no Church Religion is growne From much of late that she 's increast to none Like an hydropick body full of Rheumes First swells into a bubble then consumes The Law is dead or cast into a trance And by a Law dough-bak'd and Ordinance The Liturgie whose doom was voted next Died as a Comment upon him the Text There 's nothing lives life is since he is gone But a Nocturnall Lucubration Thus you have seen deaths inventory read In the sum to●all Canterburie's dead A sight would make a Pagan to baptize Himselfe a Convert in his bleeding eyes Would thaw the rabble that fierce beast of ours That which Hyaena-like weeps and devoures Tears that ●low brackish from their soules within Not to repent but pickle up their sin Meane time no squallid griefe his looke defiles He guilds his sadder fate with noble smiles Thus the worlds eye with reconciled streames Shines in his showers as if he wept his beames How could successe such villanies applaud The S●ate in Strafford fell the Church in Laud The twins of publike rage adjudg'd to dye For Treasons they should act by Prophecy The f●cts were done before the Lawes were made The trump turn'd up after the game was plai'd Be dull g●eat spirits and forbeare to climbe For worth is sin and eminence a crime No Church-man can be innocent and high 'T is height makes Gran●ham steeple stand awry On I. VV. A. B. of York SAy my young Sophister what think'st of this Chimae●ra's reall Ergo falleris The Lambe and Tyger Fox and Goose agree And here concorp'rate in one Prodigie C●ll an Ha●uspex quickly let him get S●lphur and ●orches and a Lawrell wet To P●●●fie the place for sure the Harmes This Monster will produce transcend his Charmes 'T is Na●ures Master-piece of error this and redeems whatever she did amisse B●fore from wonder and reproach this last Le●i●imateth all her by-blowes past Loe here a Generall Metropolitan An Arch-Prelat●que Presbyterian Behold his pious Garbs Canonique Face A z●alous Episcopo-mastix Grace A fa●●e blew-apron'd Priest a Lawn-sleev'd Brother One leg a Pulpu holds a Tub the other Let 's give him a fit name now if we can And make th' apostate once more Christian Protaeus we cannot call him he put on His change of shapes by a succession Nor the Welch Weather-cock for that we find At once doth only wait upon the wind These speake him not but if you 'l name him right Call him Religions He●maphrodite His head i' th sanctified mould is cast Yet sticks th' abominable Miter fast He still retaines the Lordship and the Grace And yet has got a reverend Elders place Such acts must needs be his who did devise By crying Altars downe to sacrifice To private malice where you might have seen His conscience holocausted to his spleen Unhappy Church the Viper that did share Thy greatest honours helps to make thee bare And void of all thy Dignities and store Alas thy own Son proves the Forrest-boare And like the Dam-destroying Cuckow he When the thick-shell of his Welsh Pedigree By thy warme fost'ring bounty did divide And open straight thence sprung forth parricide As if 't was just revenge should be dispacht In thee by th' Monster which thy selfe hadst hatcht Despaire not though in Wales there may be got As well as Lincolnshire an antidote 'Gainst the foul'st venome he can spit though 's head Were chang'd from subtle gray to poys'nous red Heaven with propitious eyes will looke upon Our party now the cursed thing is gone And chastise Rebells who nought else did miss To fill the measure of their sins but his Whose foule unparallel'd apostasie Like to his sacred character shall be Indelible when ages then of late More happy growne with most impartiall fate A period to his dayes and time shall give He by such Epitaphs as this shall live Hee Yorks great Metropolitan is laid Who Gods Annointed and his Church betraid THE END * 〈…〉 * 〈◊〉

was said See ●ee it comes Draw boyes let Trumpets sound strike up Drums See how his blood doth with the gravie swim And every trencher has a limb of him The Ven'sons now in view our Hounds spend deeper Strange Deer which in the Pasty hath a Keeper Stricter then in the Park making his guest As he had stoln 't alive to steale it drest The scent was hot and we pursuing faster Then Ovids pack of dogs e're chas'd their Master A double prey at once may seize upon Actaeon and his case of Venison Thus was he torne alive To vex him worse Death serves him up now as a second coorse Should we like Thratians our dead bodies eat He would have liv'd only to save his meat A young Man to an old Woman Courting him PEace Beldam Eve surcease thy suit There 's no temptation in such fruit No rotten Medlers whil'st there be Whole Orchards in Virginitie Thy stock is too much out of date For tender plants t' inoculate A match with thee thy bridegroome feares Would be thought Int'rest in his years Which when compar'd to thine become Odd money to thy Grandam summe Can Wedlocke know so great a curse As putting husbands out to Nurse How Pond and Rivers would mistake And cry new Almanacks for our sake Time sure hath wheel'd about his yeare December meeting laniveere The Aegyptian Serpent figures time And stript returnes unto his Prime If my affection thou would'st win First cast thy Hieroglyphick skin My moderne lips know not alack The old Religion of thy smack I count that primitive embrace As out of fashion as thy face And yet so long 't is since thy fall Thy Fornication 's Classicall Our sports will differ thou may'st play Leer● and I Alphonso way I 'me no Translator have no veine To turn a woman young againe Unlesse you 'l grant the Tailor's due To see the forebodies be new I love to weare cloaths that are flush Not prefacing old rags with plush Like Aldermen or Monster-Sheriffs With Canvas Backs and velvet Sleeves And just such discord there would be Betwixt thy Skeleton and me Go study Salve and Treacle ply Your tenants leg or his sore eye Thus Matrons purchase credit thank Six penni-worth of Mountebank Or chew thy cood on some delight Thou takest in thy Eighty Eight Or be but bedrid once and then Thou 'lt dream thy youthfull sins agen But if thou needs wilt be my Spouse First hearken and attend my Vowes When Aet●na's fires shall undergo The penance of the Alps in snow When Sol at one blast of his horne Posts from the C●ab to Capricorne When th' Heavens shuffle all in one The Torrid with the Frozen zone When all these contradictions meet Then Sybill thou and I will greet For all these similies do hold n my young heat and thy dull cold Then if a Feaver be so good A Pimp as to inflame thy blood Hymen shall twist thee and thy Page The distinct Tropicks of Mans age Well Madam Time be ever bald I le not thy periwig be cal'd I le never be ' stead of a Lover An aged ●hronicles new cover To Mrs. K. T. who askt him why hee was dumb STay should I answer Lady then In vaine would be your question Should I be dumb why then againe Your asking me would be in vaine Silence nor speech on neither hand Can satisfie this strange demand Yet since your will throwes me upon This wished contradiction I le tell you how I did become So strangely as you heare me dumb Ask but the chap-falne Puritan 'T is zeale that tongue-ties that good man For heat of conscience all men hold Is th' onely way to catch that cold How should loves zealot then forbear To be your silenc'd Minister Nay your religion which doth grant A worship due to you my Saint Yet counts it that devotion wrong That does it in the vulgar tongue My ruder words would give offence To such an hallow'd excellence As th' English Dialect would vary The goodnesse of an Ave Mary How can I speak that twice am checkt By this and that religious Sect Still dumb and in your face I spie Still cause and still Divinitie As soon as blest wit● your salute My manners taught me to be mute For least they cancell all the blisse You sign'd with so divine a kisse The lips you seal must needs consent Unto the tongues imprisonment My tongue in hold my voice doth rise With a strange E●la to my eyes Where it gets Baile and in that sense Begins a new-found Eloquence Oh listen with attentive sight To what my pratling eyes indite Or Lady since 't is in your choice To give or to suspend my voice With the same key set ope the doore Wherewith you lockt it fast before Kisse once againe and when you thus Have doubly been miraculous My Muse shall write with Handmaids duty The Golden Legend of your Beauty He whom his dumbnesse now confines But meanes to speak the rest by signes I. C. A faire Nimph scorning a black Boy Courting her Nimph STand off and let me take the aire Why should the smoak pursue the faire Boy My face is smoak thence may be guest What flames within have scorch'd my brest Nymph The flame of love I cannot view For the dark Lanterne of thy hue Boy And yet this Lanterne keeps loves Taper Surer then yours that 's of white paper Whatever Midnight hath been here The Moon-shine of your light can cleare Nymph My Moon of an Eclipse is 'fraid If thou should'st interpose thy shade Boy Yet one thing sweet-heart I will ask Buy me for a new false Mask Nymph Yes but my bargaine shall be this I 'le throw my Mask off when I kisse Boy Our curl'd embraces shall delight To checquer limbs with black and white Nymph Thy ink my paper make me guesse Our Nuptiall bed will make a Presse And in our sports if any came They 'l read a wanton Epigram Boy Why should my Black thy love impaire Let the dark shop commend thy ware Or if thy love from black forbeares I 'le strive to w●sh it off with teares Nymph Spare fruitlesse teares since thou must needs Still weare about thee mourning weeds Teares can no more affection win Then wash thy Aethiopian skin Vpon the death of M. King drowned in the Irish Seas I Like not teares in tune nor will prize His ar●●ficiall grief that scanns his eyes 〈◊〉 weep down pious beads but why should I Con●ine them to the Muses Rosarie I am no Poet here my pen's the spout Where the raine-water of my eyes runs out In pitie of that name whose fate we see Thus copied out in griefs Hydrographie The Muses are not Mermaids though upon Thy death the Ocean might turn Helicon The Sea 's too rough for verse who rimes upon 't With X●●xes str●ves to fetter th' Hellespont My teares will keep no channells know no lawes To guide their streams but like the waves this cause Runs with