Selected quad for the lemma: spirit_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
spirit_n	know_v	lord_n	see_v	7,565	5	3.3975	3	false

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A29982	Poems on several occasions by the Duke of Buckingham, The late Lord Rochester, Sir John Denham, Sir George Etheridge, Andrew Marvel, Esq., the famous Spencer, Madam Behn, and several other poets of this age.	Etherege, George, Sir, 1635?-1691.; Denham, John, Sir, 1615-1669.; Buckingham, George Villiers, Duke of, 1628-1687.; Behn, Aphra, 1640-1689.; Rochester, John Wilmot, Earl of, 1647-1680.; Spenser, Edmund, 1552?-1599.; Marvell, Andrew, 1621-1678.	1696 (1696)	Wing B5318; ESTC R29910	38,792	192

Examples blind To chinking Numbers fatally enclin'd Who by his Muse wou'd purchase Meat and Fame And in th' next Miscellanies plant his Name Were my Beard grown the wretch I 'd thus advise Repent fond Mortal and be timely wise Take heed be not by gilded Baits betray'd Clio's a Jilt and Pegasus a Jade By Verse you 'll starve Iohn * The Cambridge Bell-man a Poetaster Saul 〈◊〉 cou'd never live Did not the Bell-man make the Poet thrive 〈◊〉 rather to some little Shed near Paul's ●ll Chevy-Chase and Baxter's Salve for Souls Cry Raree Shows sing Ballads transcribe Vote Be Carr or Ketch or any thing but Oats Hold Sir some Bully of the Muses cries Methinks you 're more Satyrical than wise You rail at Verse indeed but rail in Rhyme At once encourage and condemn the Crime True Sir I write and have a Patron too To whom my Tributary Songs are due Yet with your leave I 'd honestly disswade Those wretched Men from Pindus's barren shade Who tho' they tire their Muse and rack their Brains With blust'ring Heroes and with piping Swain● Can no Great Patient-giving-Man engage To fill their Pockets and their Title Page Were I like these by angry Fate decreed By Penny-Elegies to get my Bread And want a Meal unless George Croome and I Cou'd strike a Bargain for my Poetry I 'd damn my Works to wrap up Soap Cheese Or furnish Squibs for City Prentices To b●rn the Pope and celebrate Queen Bess. But on your Ruin stubbornly pursue Herd with the little hungry chiming Crew Obtain the airy Title of a Wit And be on free-cost noisie in the Pit Print your dull Poems and before 'em place A Crown of Lawrel and a Meagre Face And may just Heav'n thy hated Life prolong Till thou bless'd Author seest thy deathless Song The dusty Lumber of a Smithfield Stall And find'st thy Picture starchd to stubborn Wall With Ionny Armstrong and the Prodigal And to compleat the Curse When Age and Poverty come faster on And sad Experience tells thee thou' rt undone May no kind Country Grammar-School afford Ten Pounds a Year for Lodging Bed and Board Till void of any fixt Employ and now Grown useless to the Army and the Plough You 've no Friend left but trusting Land-lady Who stows you in kind truckle Garret-high To dream of Dinners and curse Poetry Still I 've a Patron you reply 't is true Fate and good Parts you say may get one too Why faith e'en try write flatter dedicate Your Lords and his fore-Fathers Deeds relate Yet know he 'll wisely strive Ten Thousand ways To shun a Needy Poet 's fulsom Praise Nay to avoid thy Importunity Neglect his State and condescend to be A Poet tho' perhaps a worse than thee Thus from a Patron he becomes a Friend Forgetting to reward learns to commend Receives your long six Months succesless Toil And talks of Authors Energies and Style Damns the dull Poems of the scribling Town Applauds your Writings and repeats his own Thou Wretch in Complaisance oblig'd must sit Extol his Judgment and admire his Wit Tho' this Poetic Peer perhaps scarce knows With jingling Sounds to tagg insipid Prose And shou'd be by some honest Manly told He 'd lost his Credit to secure his Gold But if thou' rt bless'd enough to write a Play Without the hungry Hopes of kind third day And he presumes that in thy Dedication Thou 'lt fix his Name nor bargain for his Station My Lord his useless kindness then assures And vows to th' utmost of his Power he 's yours Likes the whole Plot and praises e'ery Scene And play'd at Court 't wou'd strangely please the Queen And you may take his Judgment sure for he Knows the true Spirit of good Poetry All this you see and know yet cease to shun And seeing knowing strive to be undone So Kidnap'd Slave when once beyond Gravesend Rejects the Counsel of recalling Friend Is sold to dreadful Bondage he must bear And see 's unable to avoid the Snare So practis'd Thief if taken ne'er dismay'd Forgets the Sentence and pursues the Trade Tho' yet he almost feels the smoaking Brand And sad T. R. stand fresh upon his Hand The Author then with daring Hopes wou'd strive With well-built Verse to keep his Fame alive And something to Posterity present That 's very new and very excellent Something beyond the uncall'd drudging Tribe Beyond what BEN cou'd write or I describe Shou'd in substantial Happiness abound His Mind with Peace his Board with Plenty crown'd No early Duns shou'd break his Learned Rest No sawcy Cares his nobler Thought molest Only th'ent'ring God shou'd shake his lab'ring Breast In vain we bid dejected S tle hit The Tragic Flights of Tow'ring Shakespear's Wit He needs must miss the Mark who 's kept so low He has not Strength enough to draw the Bow In vain from our starv'd Songsters we require The height of COWLEY's and ANACREON's Lyre In vain we bid them fill the Bowl Large as their Capacious Soul Who since the King was crown'd ne'er tasted Wine But write at Eight and know not where to dine D t indeed and R r might write For their own Credit and their Friend's Delight Shewing how far they cou'd the rest outdo As in their Fortunes in their Writings too There was a time when OTWAY charm'd the Stage OTWAY the Hope and Sorrow of the Age When the full Pit with pleas'd Attention hung Charm'd on each Accent of Castalio's Tongue With what a Laughter was his SOLDIER read How mourn'd we when his IAFFIER struck and bl● Yet this great Poet who with so much Ease Still drew his Pen and still was sure to please The Light'ning is less lively than his Wit And Thunder-Claps less loud than those o' th' Pit Had of his many Wants much earlier dy'd But that kind Banker B n supply'd And took for Pawn the Embryo of a Play Till he cou'd pay himself next full third Day Were Shakespear's self alive again he 'd ne'er Degenerate to a Poet from a Player For now no Sidneys will three Hundred give That needy Spencer and his Fame may live None of our poor Nobility can send To his Kings-Bench or to his Bedlam Friend Chymists and Whores by this great Lord were fed These by their honest Labours earn'd their Bread But he was never so expensive yet To keep a Creature meerly for its Wit But now your Yawning prompts me to give o'er Your humble Servant Sir I 've done no more EPIGRAM By Mr. Killingworth PUgh Tom how dost come by these horrid Capriches Art asham'd of thy Face that thou pull'st down thy Breeches For what is it else tho' we laugh at the matter To quit pretty Version and write sorry Satyr thou 'dst done well enough had'st thou stuck to pure Rhyming Let Slovens mind the Sence you Beaux's mind the chyming Sweet before was thy Fame but now by dull thinking Methinks the Perfume is quite voided in stinking To the Infinitely