Selected quad for the lemma: water_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
water_n	let_v	put_v	strain_v	4,592	5	10.4585	5	false

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A17129	A buckler against the fear of death; or, Pious and profitable observations, meditations, and consolations: by E.B.	Buckler, Edward, 1610-1706.; Benlowes, Edward, 1603?-1676, attributed name.	1640 (1640)	STC 4008.5; ESTC S101669	42,782	142

Put him in another mood Of Saul we heare no evil whilst he stood Endow'd with nothing but a private fortune And afterward we heare as little good Of Saul a King His honours did importune His bad nature to produce Such fruits as were too unfit For a King and to commit Sinnes that were beyond excuse As long as man is limited within The bounds of humble base and mean estate He seems to make some conscience of a sinne And one that would be good at any rate But no wickednesse he spares When by chance the man is mounted And 'mongst great ones is accounted Then the man himself declares Then his depraved nature with loose rains Runnes uncontrolledly into the mire Of all impietie no sinne remains Unacted by him doth he but desire To be wicked vain or idle Any lust to satisfie That lust he will gratifie His affections wear no bridle I 'll never be deboist although my seat Of glory in the world be ne'r so high I will not therefore sinne because I 'm great For if I greater were yet I must die And must at Gods bench appear Where my sentence shall be given To receive a hell or heaven As my doings have been here Sect. 3. Pleasures cannot protect us from the stroke of Death Under the sunne there was not any joy Which Solomon that wise and famous King Had not a tast of whatsoever may Gladnesse content delight and solace bring That he from the creature gathers Not one pleasure doth he keep His heart from yet he 's asleep In the dust among his fathers His senses had those objects which delight Content and please and ravish most his touch His tast his hearing smelling and his sight His mind and humour too all had as much Of delicious satisfaction As from all beneath the skie Ever could be fetched by Any possible extraction Three hundred concubines he had to please His touch by turns each of them was his guest At night Seven hundred wives beside all these The worst of them a Princesse at the least Such a female armie meets To make his delight run o'r Sure they are enough to store Twice five hundred pair of sheets To please his tast this great Kings daily chear Exceeded for varietie and plentie He had his Ro●-buck and his Fallow-deer His fatted fowl and everie other daintie He had pala●e-pleasing wine Gormandizers whose best wishes Terminate in toothsome dishes No where else would sup or dine And everie day both men and women-singers Imprisoned his care with charming voices The Viol touch'd with artificiall fingers An Organs breathing most melodious noises Sackbut Psalterie Recorder The sh●ill Cornet and the sharp Trump●t Dulcimet and Harp These all sounded in their order And in his gardens he had lovely ranks Of flowers for odour all sweets else excelling Whose beauteous lustre stellifi'd the banks All these were to delight his sense of smelling And perfumes of sweetest savour Which all other nations bring As a present from their King Who did woo his Princely favour For objects which were wont to please the eye He wanted non● Did he desire a sight Of what might most affect variety Of lovely'st objects spangled with delight Everiewhere themselves present Scarce did anywhere appear Other objects then did wear Outsides clothed with content Behold his thousand wives If he would know The height of beautie it is seen in those A battel in a field of sanguine snow Betwixt the spotlesse lilie and the rose Part they would on no condition Nor would either of them yield Yet at length are reconcil'd And there made a composition His gorgeous clothes his silver and his gold His jewels his incomparable treasure Were all of them delightsome to behold And gave the eye a glorious glut of pleasure His friends his magnificent Buildings fish-ponds gardens bowers Interlac'd with gallant flowers Gave both eye and mind content Yet he 's dead Delights cannot protect us From Deaths assaults pleasures eternize not Our nature yea when sicknesse shall deject us They will not ease nor comfort us a jo●e What doth most exactly please us Here appears not where a grave is And what most of all doth ravish On a death-bed will not ease us Meditation 1. MEthinks the trade of brainlesse Epicures Is not so good as it doth seem to be The sweetest cup of luxury procures No man below an immortalitie Yea when sicknesses do lay Him upon his bed and strain Everie part with deadly pain All his pleasures flie away Let 's put the ease there was a belly-god Whose studie 't was to give his throat content To sacrifice to 's panch both rost and sod Was his religion Every element Its imployment had The Waters Fruitfull Earth and nimble Air Ransack'd with a costly ●are For fish flesh and sowl were caters The other cook'd it This luxurious race Did breath his stomach twice a day at least And each dish flo●ed in provoking sawce Which still afresh his appetite increas'd From Dives that 's now in hell For a table full of rare Toothsome and delicious fare This man bears away the bell Well this fat hog of Epicurus stie Falls sick of surfe●ing or else the gout Or dropsie gripes him most tormentingly That you would think his soul were going out Pains do hinder him from sleeping He lies restlesse and is so Full of tossings to and fro That his house is fill'd with weeping His servants seeing him so out of quiet Sadly bespoke him thus Sir here 's a Phesant A dish of Partridge Larks or Quails a diet Your Worship loves a cup of rich and pleasant Wine that comforts where it goes Muscadine Canarie Sherrie That hath often made you merrie This may ease you of your throes The man repli'd If I had wine by ods Better then nectar which the poets feigne Was drunk in goblets by the heathen Gods It would not ease me of my smallest pain Should God rain me from the skies Manna glorious Angels food 'T would not do me any good 'Gainst it would my stomachrise There was another that plac'd no delight In any thing but wealth his chiefest good Was purest gold whether 't were wrong or right He would be gaining for he never stood Upon conscience at all And to cry down avarice As he thought was a device Merely puritanicall To lie to cheat to swear and which is worse To forswear to dissemble in his dealing Went ever down with him as things of course Nor would he slack a jote at down-right stealing Blind he was not yet he saw Not that statute-usury Was at all forbidden by Any part of morall law 'T was fish whatever came within his net Sweet smell'd the dunghill that affoorded gain On such a thriving pinne his heart was set No thoughts but golden lodged in his brain Scraping thus early and late And increasing by these bad Wayes and means at length he had Heaped up a vast estate They say a Turkish Musulman that dies A faithfull servant unto Mahomet