Selected quad for the lemma: truth_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
truth_n	according_a	zeal_n	zealous_a	72	3	8.8494	5	false

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A56853	Fons lachrymarum, or, A fountain of tears from whence doth flow Englands complaint, Jeremiah's lamentations paraphras'd, with divine meditations, and an elegy upon that son of valor Sir Charles Lucas / written by John Quarles.	Quarles, John, 1624-1665.; Marshall, William, fl. 1617-1650.	1649 (1649)	Wing Q128; ESTC R235077	54,591	166

strive to smother The truth with flattring zeal call him brother Nay holy brother though his faith be small If he can rail and reverently baul Against grave Bishops and their pious King Oh this is holy nay a zealous thing And those are holy that can pray by chance According to the Spirits influence And teach their prick-ear'd brethren to deny The Common Prayer but know no reason why And those whose great humility can be Content to make a Pulpit in a tree Or in some Barn there by the Spirit pray Five or six hours not caring what they say Or if a Black-smith or a Tinker can Hammer out Treason he 's a zealous man Or if a learned Cobler will be sure To stitch it close oh he 's a Christian pure Oh these are holy yea and learned Teachers These are Divines and only these are Preachers They 'l cry all learned Prelats out of season They must not preach for fear they should speak reasō Oh these are they whose ruder tongues can cry Advance Mechanicks down with Majesty These these are they whose dūghill thoughts could never Attain perfection but they still endeavor To banish wisdom that at last they may Make all the world as ignorant as they See how they 'ave turn'd my joy to griping sadness Plenty to want and peace to downright madness Vertue to vice and chastity to vainness Learning to scorn Religion to prophaneness Flattry to zeal and non-sence unto Reason Honor to shame and Loyalty to Treason Pity to Murther Truth to feigned lyes Prayers to curses Plundring to a prize Thus thus they gripe my Soul and go about To change my shape and turn my inside out Unhumane Actions Ah who can behold Such Tyrannies and not his blood grow cold Break break ye flood-gates of my brimfil'd eyes And let my tears have passage to surprize This Fort of sorrow and tumultuous cares And drench the mountains in a Sea of tears Forbear ye lowring skies there is no need Ye should disburse a showre I have agreed With sorrow and his powers still to remain Clouded with grief and f●ll the Earth with rain Oh horrid dismal Heav'n provoking times Surpassing Sodoms nay Gomorrah's crimes Were ne're so bad Oh Hell-invent●d fate Worse then the worst that I can nominate Are these my people for whose sakes I lie Involv'd with torments wrapt in Tyranny Are these my Sons whose sorrows now I weep Are these my children that are lul'd asleep See how secure they rest and never fear Approaching woe mine eyes can ye forbear To vent ten thousand tears Oh never let Your lids conceal you till y 'ave paid the debt Ye owe to sorrow for those sins which thirst For greater plenty then can be disburst Oh sigh sad Soul until thy heart be sore Then sigh because thou canst not sigh no more Oh that my voyce like thunderclaps could tear And split the portals of each deafned ear That so my cries might ravish every brain And fil'd with horror make them deaf again And this I wish because my Sons are all So deaf they will not hear me when I call Did they not flourish in a peaceful state Enjoying store of all things till of late They grew thus factious and have I not been In former times the worlds admired Queen Have not all Nations formerly been proud To do me service Have they not allow'd A due respect unto me every where And honored me if not for love for fear And must I now by your your means incut As many plagues as mischief can infer Must I now pine away that have been strong Must I now stoop that have stood up so long Must I be now subordinate to those That never dat'd subscribe themselves my foes Must I be now divided that was never Divided yet Must I be lost forever Must I be now consumed and thrown down And must they scoff me now that dar'd not frown In former times Must I be now confounded Must I be now revil'd and cal'd a Roundhead Must I be now nick-nam'd Must frighted fame Sound a Retreat and scorn to own my name Must I be now dispers'd Must my own hand Destroy the bounty of my fruitful Land Oh grief transcending thought shall Englands glory Be thus abstracted and thus made a story To after ages Would not this perplex A Soul that never knew what 't was to vex What grief can equalize my grief What pain Can be equivalent Would any gain Experience If they would may they incline Themselves to this experienc'd grief of mine Ah grief of days what marble eye can read Of such extreams as mine and never bleed 'T would dull the sharpest brain to meditate Upon my grief nay make them desperate Had Nero liv'd in this tempestuous age He might have blusht to see his boiling rage Out-vi'd by yours nay Corah and his crew Never pursu'd their Moses as ye do With such untutor'd violence 't is strange Oh whither will your headlong fury range Advise by times and know there is a God That overlooks you Know that Moses Rod May turn a greedy Serpent and devour As well the greater as the smaller power Go go ye sad contrivers of these times Consult with sorrow think on all those crimes Ye have committed and then think what you Have done and after what ye have to do Advise with care for your condition 's such Y 'ave much to do because y 'ave done too much Too much Alas too much in my sad state Is done already and I fear too late For remedy And secret danger lies In dull delay 't is wisdom to advise Betimes for true and timely care prevents Untimely ruine hindring the intents Of studied malice industry prepares A balm for that which negligence impairs Those that by dreaming sloth sustain a loss Obtain least pity and the greatest cross Consider what a grief 't will be to see The sad distraction of this Monarchie Wrought by your slothful negligence when all My lofty structures by your hands must fall Nay worse then this when famine shall devour What fire and sword hath left when every hour The Bells shall toul with such a feeble sound As if that they themselves a want had found Will it not melt a stone to hear the cries Of hungry children and the sad replies Of their dejected friends who can forbear To think on this and never shed a tear How children cry for bread and fain would rest Seeking protections in their mothers brest Alas poor Orphans how are they beguil'd When the sad mother's forc'd to eat the child For want of food make their blood their drink Oh what a wounding sorrow 't is to think How all will be destroy'd both young and old How warm blood will be mingled with the cold How you will roar and cry for want of bread Some on the ground some dying and some dead Some gnaw their flesh and some fight who shal eat Each other O uncomfortable meat And then the ravening