Selected quad for the lemma: truth_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
truth_n	call_v	mad_a	stoic_n	18	3	16.4552	5	false

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A44471	The Odes, Satyrs, and Epistles of Horace Done into English.; Selections. English. 1688.	Horace.; Creech, Thomas, 1659-1700.	1684 (1684)	Wing H2774A; ESTC R216475	160,277	410

undone Thither I went Poor Fool resolv'd to drown But He stood by and in a lucky time He cry'd take heed Young Man forbear the Crime 'T is foolish modesty that makes Thee dread Amongst Mad-men to be accounted Mad For first inquire what madness is and see If every Man be not as mad as Thee Tho They pretend to be so grave and wise Then go and hang thy self that 's my advice He who 's to Folly or to Vice inclin'd Or whom dark Ignorance of Truth doth blind The Stoicks call him mad thus every one Whether he holds the Plough or fills the Throne Is counted mad but their Wise-man alone Some call Thee mad but those that call Thee so Observe I 'le prove them quite as mad as You As Men that lose their ways in Woods divide Some go on this and some on t'other side The Error is the same all miss the Road Altho in different Quarters of the Wood. Thus as they call thee think that thou art mad But those that call thee so are quite as bad For first one sort of madness is to fear When nothing frights and when no danger 's near As if when on an even Field he goes He should complain that Flames and Rocks oppose Others altho through different ways They run Are quite as Mad for they rush boldly on Thro Flames and boisterous Seas to be undone And tho his Mistress Sister Father Wife Should cry Ah Dear be cautious of thy Life Look there 's a Ditch take heed he hears no more Then drunken Furius did when heretofore He acted Hecuba a lazy drone He fell asleep and slept securely on Nor could be wak't tho Catien's voice did rage And Mother hear I call thee crack't the Stage Now grant this Madness I design to show If this Man's mad then all the World is so First Damasippus's mad because he buys Old Statues true for what 's more plain than This Is he that trusts him sober grant he is Suppose here take this Sum of Gold I said I never do expect to be repaid Are you mad if you take it No but more If you neglect this easie offer'd store For twenty Bonds on cheating Nereus draw 'T is not enough add all the chains of Law Cicuta can invent to hold him fast This Proteus will avoid these Bands at last This Proteus Debtor for when e're you bring Your Action he 's a Stone or any thing A Bore a Bird a Tree when e're he will And thus deride your loss and cheat your skill Now if He 's mad that wasts and sober He That gets Petillus is more mad than Thee Who trusts thee so and lets his Stock decay By lending more than you design to pay Sit still and hear those whom proud thoughts do swell Those that look pale by loving Coin too well Whom Luxury Corrupts or fancy'd fears Oppress and empty superstitious Cares Or any other Vice disturbs draw near I 'le prove that all are mad sit still and hear 3. First give the Covetous the largest Dose Of Hellebore or rather let 's suppose That whole Anticyra is design'd for those Saberius Heirs did write upon his Grave How much He left what Legacies he gave Or were to give as He by Will allow'd Two hundred Fencers to delight the Crow'd And costly Treats as great as Arrus wou'd And Corn as much as Afric yields a year Now whether this be well or ill forbear To censure me and be not too severe For Saberus I think was wise enough To know that he deserv'd and fear'd reproof What did He mean when He his Heir injoyn'd To write on 's Tomb how much He left behind Why whilst he liv'd he thought the being Poor Was heinous and avoided nothing more And should be guilty of a damn'd excess If he had left behind one farthing less For Honor Vertue Fame and all Divine And Humane Things must follow lovely Coin And he that gets but that is any thing What e're he please Just Valiant Wise a King And this He thought as vertuous Acts would raise His Fame and get him an Immortal praise This was his thought of Wealth How far from this Did Aristippus think and do with his Who bad his Slaves as He o're Lybia past Leave all his Wealth because it stopt his hast Which was most mad Sir that Example 's vain That solves old doubts by raising more again He that buys Harps and throws his Wealth away On Pipes yet never does design to play He that buys Awls and Lasts yet doth not know And ne're designs to try to make a Shoe Or Ships and Oars yet is averse to Trade All and there 's Reason for 't would count him Mad And what 's He better that still strives for more Still heaps up Wealth yet cannot use the Store But fears to touch as if 't were Sacred Ore He that all Night lyes stretcht on heaps of Wheat And watches what he does not dare to eat With Bill in hand yet after all this pain Tho 't is his own he cannot touch a Grain But still on Haws and bitter Herbs doth Dine And tho his Cellar 's stor'd with racy Wine Drinks Vinegar and tho extreamly old Yet lyes on Straw or Flocks and lyes acold Whilst his embroider'd Silks and costly Cloaths Lye rotting in his Chests and feed the Moths Yet few do think these mad for most like These Are sick and troubled with the same Disease What dost thou keep it for thy squandring Boy Or for thy Slave old Chuff and ne're enjoy He 'll drink it out and prove a mad Gallant Or dost thou keep 't lest thou thy self should'st want Oh Fool how little would thy Money wast If thou on better Cale and Oyl did'st feast Wore better Cloaths and went more neatly drest If thou canst live upon this little Store Why dost thou swear and lye and cheat for more And are you Sober If you walk't the Street Throw Stones and fight and justle all you meet Or stab your Slaves you would be quickly known Call'd Mad by every Boy and Girl i' th' Town Now thou dost hang thy Wife and now dost kill With Drugs thy Mother art thou Sober still For why Thou dost not do this impious deed At Argos Town nor dost thou make her bleed With a sharp Sword as mad Orestes did And dost thou think Orestes heretofore After He stain'd his Sword in 's Mother's gore Grew mad alone and was not mad before Yet after that when you suppose him Mad What did he do And were his Actions bad What did He do that you dare discommend He neither stab'd his Sister nor his Friend But only as his Frenzy forc't did call One Rogue the other Witch and that was All. Opimius that old Chuff and richly poor Who wanted e'en the Wealth he had in store That on Feast-days did meanest Wine provide In Earthen Jugs and Lees on all beside Lay in a Lethargy all hope was gone And now his joyful Heir