Selected quad for the lemma: truth_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
truth_n	believe_v	faith_n	reason_n	7,423	5	5.8303	4	true

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
B04919	Partridge's advice to the Protestants of England.	Partridge, John, 1644-1715.	1678 (1678)	Wing P615; Interim Tract Supplement Guide C.20.f.2[314]	1,669	1

Partridge's Advice To the PROTESTANTS of ENGLAND NOW to your cost you see with grief and tears The tricking Shams of the proceeding Years You that now see scorn'd to believe it then Impos'd upon even by the worst of Men. Now hang your Freedom on each Villains Sword Cheated your selves taking your Princes Word Thus folly still helps to compeeat your fate And all that can be said You Repent to late But come chear up Heaven will relieve your need 'T is from that Throne your happy Fates decreed He had his orders then to spare you too A 〈◊〉 ●●●…ipping is the Scholars due The troops of Gods are brought you to carress The dextrous Arts of Priests and Idleness Religions scandal to encrease Rome 's store Which Fools believe and mad Men do adore Tricks made by Priests the Ignorant to surprise Who Sacred Writ and Reason do despise But you know better and have oft been told Of those damn'd Cheats you know they want your Gold Preserve your Faith your Ancestors have won You know the Truth the Mistick Three in One. Stoop not to Idols nor lay Reason by Give not your Faith up nor yet tamely die The Sun will rise the Actors fill the Stage And One and Twenty Months is not an Age. Therefore be Wise attend the Hand Divine Till the still Voice gives you the Sacred Sign I. TOuch't with a teeming strain of English growth My burning Muse into a flame breaks forth In Sacred Passions scorns to be afraid Of those vast Murders pious Rome hath made A gracious Mother merciful and good Her Thoughts are murder and her Bosom's blood II. The Priests of Rome are like their Mother true Lazy and Letcherous yet Obedient too Furnish'd with all the Vice that Nature gives They are the only Epicures that lives Yet they converse with God disperse their Powers Confess your Wives and also get you Heirs III. Of all the Arts the Devil yet made choice This thing of Popery was his Master-piece For in revenge with Heaven being at ods He taught the Papists how to Eat their Gods Then 't would not be amiss since thus they do To make clear work and Eat the Devil too IV. Can you forswear your Faith give God the lye Cant with a Priest and lay your Reason by Lay down your Wealth to serve the Church they That suck your Blood when they pretend to Pray Can ye be Priest-rid and be aw'd by Threats Can ye believe a Crew of Pious Cheats V. Can ye believe a little Dow-bak'd God A Conjuring Bell and a Good-Friday Rod A Lying Legend and a Priestly Curse A Dish of Holy-water and a Cross When Rome grows Rampant Hell it self contrives When Satan Preacheth Belzebub believes VI. What Man can think the Inquisition good When Church-men wash their Hands in Lay-mens Blood Can ye adore a Cross be damn'd in Jest Cheat all your Senses and believe a Priest Heretick can't believe ye 're only fit True slaves to Rome will never question it VII Should but a Priest say to his Zealot Go Murder that Heretick it must be so He dares not ask the Reason goes his ways The Father says it and the Fool obeys What Man of Sense but must amazed stand To see Fools act what Bloody Rogues command VIII Consider France and Spain see what 's there done Under what Plagues those Neighbouring Nations groan And all this done by Holy Churches care For where Priests sway be sure oppressions there Priest P on the name I loath the very smell They 'r wretched things scarce good enough for Hell IX The Flux of Fate that gives us hopes and fears Sets Rome in Triumph London all in Tears That Brood by Flames that made your City rue Will if they can next burn your Bodies too Rome's Bloody Bigots Londons Fate once chang'd Yet of a Crew of Rogues but one Fool hang'd X. Apostate Church a Faith built up in Blood A lazy Priest a little sensless God All their Religions Lyes its proofs a sin When Scripture fails then Miracles come in Yet nee'r forget nor it forgive them Knaves While Martyr'd Godfrey's Blood for Vengeance craves XI Creation What is that What Noyse ye make The Thing 's not strange that Priests do undertake Nay and do more the Church hath here the odds God made but Man but now the Priests make Gods Never be bubled by a Popish Lye Rather than that resolve Revenge and dye XII Let not Rom's Court Hozo proud e're expect On English Men her lawless Laws t' erect Nor let the Popish-brood think to controul One single Attom of a true English Soul God loaths their Worship they hate Holy Writ We hate their Faith Hell waits to punish it