Selected quad for the lemma: spirit_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
spirit_n	flesh_n	lust_n	sin_n	7,244	5	5.0237	4	false

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A50994	The Mischief of intemperance occasioned by the death of a young gentleman who shortned his days by immoderate drinking.		1691 (1691)	Wing M2234; ESTC R26844	6,688	16

downward prest And locked fast within the Bodies Chest Nor can they in this wretched state prevail To move beyond the Confines of a Jayl Nor can they Truth from Falsehood ever know Nor what is Good and Evil here below But what the Senses judges to be so Nor do we heed what should concern us most Not conscious to our selves that we are lost The bodies Malady is soon espy'd Soon felt and soon the Remedy's apply'd But in Distempers that affect the Mind The Party most concern'd is sadly blind And deadly sick though in appearance well Sleeping securely at the Gates of Hell Thus Man is lost within himself and can But by a Metaphor be called Man Spoyl'd of his Faculties and of his Frame And is but Man in Anagram and Name So Houses oft are in their Ruines seen And what they are not speak what they have been Look what that Serpent was that did deceive Our Father Adam and our Mother Eve The same of tempting Pleasure may be said By which our souls are gull'd and thus betray'd It is that Serpent here in Masquerade Which loves in tempting Coverts for to lye Tracing the steps of all that passeth by Shewing his speckled Coat and spangled Skin Gaudy without but Venome all within With creeping courtship and with charming smiles With curling circles and with twisting wiles He steals upon us hoping to prevail First twining in his head and then his tayl For so by things that lawful are and small W' are tempted most and by the Tempter fall And by such subtle and such sly Pretences He thus accosts our Eve I mean our senses Canst thou deny that God made all things good And no less for thy Pleasure than thy Food Did not He paint the Colours in the Face And cause the Wine to sparkle in the Glass Doth not this Apple blazon like to Gold Sweet to the taste and pleasant to behold At last by poyson'd and inchanted breath We kiss and close and sport our selves to death Not dreading once which will at length prevail The cuspid sting that 's sheathed in his tayl Viewing the Apple in its dapled skin Unskilful of the Core that 's wrap't within And thus we eat o th' Tree of Good and Evil Tempted by Pleasure termed here a Devil Which proves a Tree of Knowledge to our cost Knowing the Evil by the Good we lost So darkness sets a Price upon the light Health is by sickness known by blindness sight Thus Pleasure is that Serpent that doth tempt us And is that Serpent too that doth torment us And dooms us to his Curse as downward thrust To creep upon our breasts and lick the dust The froath of Luxury and foam of Lust Loathing that Manna which the Angels feed on Not rising up above the Ground we tread on Unable for to fix our Eyes aloft Cent'ring on Earth in body and in thought Condemned to a dark and pinching Cell Moving but like a Crab-fish in a shell The only state on Earth that 's termed Hell And thus benighted little do we know From whence we come or whither we shall go Nor do these Pleasures thus bewitch the Mind But do attract great Evils still behind Spending the talent of our time in vain Which the most grateful Man can't call again On which two vast Eternities depend Of Bliss and Wo and both without an end Time if improv'd will prove a Friend in store When time will be that time shall be no more But ah We see how oft the Glass in hand Deceives the Glass that presseth out the sand As he that in a Ship a Voyage makes Knows not the strimes and measures which he takes Sleep or awake the Vessel rideth post And unexpectedly doth make the Coast And so our time doth slide away and pass Between the Looking and the Drinking-Glass Whilst we Carouse and drink away our Care We know not where we go nor where we are And so God's Gifts and Talents lye as dead Under a bushel barrel and a bed Nor can we shake off this beloved sleep Caus'd by the steams which on our Temples creep 'Till death comes in and makes us quit the Room Calls for a Reckoning and chides us home God turns the Glass of Time but we do shake it And by our Follies too too often break it And then cry out how short our time hath been And yet we make it shorter by our sin For so did Artaxerxes once complain And weep that his Armado should be slain Not one among two Millions should survive Fifty or sixty Years and be alive And yet through his own fault it was they dy'd As one great Sacrifice unto his Pride Thus Time and Life is spent by those that love it And we turn Prodigals of that we covet God doth impart his Gifts in ample measure But Man 's the Prodigal of this his treasure Wrapping his Talents in a sordid Cloath Which rusty grows through Idleness and Sloath Or spend them on our Luxury and Pride And so grow poor and then our Maker chide As if His Bounty never had been shown Or reap'd the Crop that he had never sown Or we were independent and our own Living we waste our time and dying crave it So Children eat their Cake and cry to have it Intemperance no less contracts a Curse First blinds the Eyes and after picks the Purse Unlocks our secrets and betrays our trust Makes Man that would be honest be unjust Or if he must discharge the debt and score Turns House and Wife and Children out of door Chequers our Joys with intermixing Fears Temp'ring our Liquors with our Childrens tears And makes them thus their Sire for to upbraid We want your drink and you consume our bread But then are Mischiefs still among the many Second to none and are as great as any Cools our devotion casts off godly fear Voids pious counsels and and a prudent care Nor can the clean and holy Dove find rest Within a wet and moist and steamy breast No more than Noah's Dove refreshment found When once the waters overspread the ground For so the flame of Heaven must needs expire When so much liquor 's cast upon the fire God's spirit and the drunkards are at odds Who cannot keep his own he cannot God's Which cannot choose or e're concert in one Since like by like as light by light is known Since Reason's fled and Lust usurps the Throne And God can challenge nothing of his own Whose hidden Manna cannot yield a Gust To crazed Pallats tinctured by Lust Nor can his soft and sweet and silent Word With tumults noise and clamors e're accord Whose Light cannot be seen through muddy steams Nor can his Spirit mix with puddle streams Nor can he bring the Olive Branch of Peace Home to the soul until these Waters cease Nor can the flesh and spirit e're combine Nor can he mix his water with our wine Nor will he cast his Pearls of price to swine Thus when the Holy Spirit

's fled and gone No wonder there succeeds an evil one In other sins the Devil tempts us here 'T is we that tempt the Devil in our beer For so when once the Good Man 's gone from home Legion of Devils do possess the room Wrath railing lying lust oaths void of fear These are the Fiends that will have quarter here If Pride be call'd the Devils Chair in fashion Intemperance and Sloth may be the Cushion Look as the Boats-swain that should guide the ship When by some Charming Philtre lull'd asleep How doth the Vessel stagger reel and knock Wrecking her self upon some shelving Rock So when the Mind of Man design'd by God To rule by Reasons sceptre and her rod Is drench't in Liquors Riot and Excess And wrapped fast in steams of drunkenness How doth the Vessel reel and overwhelm Wanting her Pilot for to guide the helm And look when Sampson's Eyes were forced out He was expos'd for sport to th' Rabble Rout So when the Eye of Reason waxeth dim Through steams of wine the Drunkard 's like to him Apt to be stricken and as apt to strike Since in the dark all Objects are alike And thus he 's forc't to grind the Devils Grist Who fills the hopper and drives on the beast So have I seen it in our Childrens Play When one of them is hood-wink't in the Fray He staggers too and fro and little knows The hand from which he doth receive the blows 'T is here a truth which is but play elsewhere Man speaks and acts he knows not what in Beer Stumbling at every step he doth advance Bewildred in the Night of Ignorance Little perceiving who it is that blinds him When all the while the Devil stands behind him Who 's Author and Abettor of the sport And then severely doth torment him for 't Oh cursed Master He who thus engages To pay his Vassals stripes instead of wages Since they most feel the burden of his hands Who most of all comply with his Commands Who will be then admitted in his School Must first commence a Beast and then a Fool. Can Reason make for that which spoyls our Reason And makes us no less guilty of High Treason Since God who stampt his Image on his Coin Finds it debased through Excess of Wine Which clips our speach disfigureth our face Which blinds the mind and blends the seal of Grace Causing God's Holy Spirit to decline Griev'd by our Mirth and quenched by our Wine Which robs us of the treasure of our Mind And only leaves the broken Box behind Or rather Guilt to be the only Test To difference that we are worse than Beast Since nothing's left to speak us Humane Creatures But inward sin and outward shape and features Why should I drink then for to keep the round Tracing the Devils Circle till I 'me found Dizzy at last so falling on the ground So by this Cadency declare I have Stumbled unwittingly upon a Grave If through a hand of Mercy I arise Though I 'me alive but then my Pleasure dies Which splits the Vessel on most dreadful shelves As wrecking others so they wreck themselves No sooner are they come but they are past And so by Pleasure is my Pleasure lost Why should I court them then Why should I woo ' em When looking on them I have looked through 'em Their out-sides bulky but their in-sides hollow Pleasant to meet but ugly for to follow Sweet to the sense but irksome to the mind Fair is the face but crooked all behind So when the nimble Arrow takes her flight No sooner on the wing but out of sight None can a Minute after trace her way And such are fading Pleasures such are they Swift as an Arrow fast away they send And are like it sharp-pointed at the end They are and are not both within a breath And Serpent-like bite keenest towards death So sweet and most delicious things withal Makes and fills up a Vessicle of Gall And so the Spleen is held to be the seat Where Mirth and Grief do both together meet For so we often find in pressing Laughter That pain succeeds or else a sigh comes after And so the Wise-Man Socrates did reason When once his Feet were galled in the Prison Then scratching them with pleasure till they smarted That Pain from Pleasure never can be parted For so I find that when my Pleasures gone They are not to be found but in a Groan And thus the Serpent acteth in his kind Not only dies but leaves his sting behind For so my head or stomack pains me more Than was my pallate pleas'd the day before And then I must bating my Pains and Cost Reckon with God as well as with my Hoast FINIS