Selected quad for the lemma: woman_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
woman_n	eat_v	fruit_n	serpent_n	1,943	5	9.6634	5	true

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A39343	Dia poemata, poetick feet standing upon holy ground, or, Verses on certain texts of Scripture with epigrams, &c. / by E.E.	Elys, Edmund, ca. 1634-ca. 1707.	1655 (1655)	Wing E667A; ESTC R20077	18,776	70

half milk blood asswage The boistrous WILD-FIRE of thy dismal rage Fond man whom wrath beside himself hath hurl'd Wouldst kill the Life that 's come to save the world Most cruel Fox that would have suckt the blood Of sheep and Shepheard too the Lamb of God Lament not Rachel Moans bring no relief These brinish tears exasperate thy grief Grudge not thy Children th' happiness to die They cou'd doe nothing in this life but crie Their bitter cup they but a potion found Which purg'd their souls of flesh and made them sound I'th'body pierced by that Rabble-rout There 's made a breach to let the soul ' scape out And so they went to their long home this day The soldiers shew'd them mist themselves the WAY BACK-SLIDING OR A Spirituall Relapse A wounded spirit who can bear Prov. 18. 14. MY Heart bleeds Wounded spirit oh 'T was Sin gave me this deadly blow Sin thus Reviv'd I Die for neither Can be content to Live together We fight like two fierce Combatants that meet To get a Trophee or a Winding-sheet But must I Die indeed and can The Sinner thus Destroy the Man Self-Murtherer I am O! I Have Slaine my selfe yet would not Die Ah! I am Dead in Trespasses and Sin The Worme already feeds on me within Heale my back-slidings LORD O draw Me from the Roaring Lions Paw That tears my Soul O Jesu give Me once more Will and Pow'r to Live Cure but the wounded spirit that I bear I le fight th' Good Fight be more than Conqueror How can I do this great wickednesse and sin against God Gen. 39 9. HOld hold I will not do 't Shall I Turn Traitour to Heav'ns Majesty Shall I do this Sin ' gainst my God Such Folly will provoke his Rod. Dread my soul this Impiety Startle into an Extasie So may'st thou seem Thy Self to Flee Which is thy Greatest Enemy O! shall I sin ' gainst God whose Arm Protects me from Eternall Harm How sin ' gainst God whose gracious Eyes Dispel my Clouds of Miseries Without whose Countenance's Light My Mirth is Anguish Day is Night I will not do 't but Lord do Thou Now make me Able not to Do. Homo Lapsus She tooke of the fruit thereof and did eat and gave also to her husband with her and he did eat Gen. 3. 6. THe Vniverse at once th' Old Serpent Stung A World of Mischief in a womans Tongue She Tempts her Husband and her Noisome Breath Blasts Him and His Posterity to Death And he did Eat by th Counsell of a wife Not to Sustain but to Destroy His Life But ah He Err'd not thus alone He Fell On Us so hard He prest Us down to Hell Where we had stay'd but that th' Jesus of Men Went down Himselfe to fetch Us up agen His Mouth was made our Slaughter-House and we Being in His Loins had there our Destinie His Jawes Crush his own Happinesse and Ours We Surfeit too at that which He Devours Oh! we are Sick to Death can't Eased be But by the Fruit Born on a better Tree Which is our Living Food yea strange yet true ' ●is both our Physick and Physitian too I said of Laughter It is mad and of mirth What doth it Eccl. 2. 2. THrice Curst be Wanton Pleasure Hell 's Fine Daughter That Tickles us into such Fits of Laughter What i' st on Earth can make us be so Jolly Like Fooles in grain Laugh we at our own Folly Solace by Laughter breaks forth to Excess Out-goes its selfe and turnes to Heaviness Laughter's but the last Blaze of Mirth Full-Blown Our Joyes straight Fade from greatest come to none He Laugh no more for Mirth but if thou see Me Laugh vain World be sure I Laugh at Thee FINIS EPIGRAMS c. By E. E. Carpere vel noli nostra vel ede tua ENCOMIAST To J. C. NO Verse Grand Poet can express Thy Prayses they are Numberless Thy worth 's so Weighty 't is not meet 'T should stand upon Poetick Feet Which hence they mount to such a Height Like Poets Heads are alwayes Light But sith I am thus thrown upon Thy Muses Commendation Blots my Pen's lssue I shall place For some Black Patches in Her Face So may thy Phoebus dart His Rayes More Bright out of my Cloud of Prayse Thy Verse Runs in a Way so rare That it must needs be Singular Thy Muse so Chast thus seems alone To Bath her selfe in Helicon That Off-spring which from Her we see Was onely sure begot of Thee Mixture of Fancie she doth flye As if 't were Wits Adultery Thy Lines have such a glittering Strain ' Sthough Tagus had washt o're thy Brain Thy Sense doth with huge Myst'ries swell As 'twere Apollo's Oracle Our Judgement should dig deep to find The Hidden Treasure of thy Mind Thy Wit like Tersian Kings we see Keeps close in shew of Majestie Thy Fancy to such Height is Flown No words can reach it but thine own To shew how much a Poet can do Thou mak'st new Matter and Words too Thus in Arts most curious Schools The Best workmen make their own Tools Thus some Limners I could name Who make both Picture and its Frame Each Verse of thine with Lustre streams As though 't were one of Phoebus Beams Who e're dislikes thy Book his sight Of Judgement 's dazled at its light On a dull Poet but good Logitian IF his Verse character'd may be 'T is Laurel ' graft on P●r●h'ry●s tree He dresses his Poore Poetry I' th' rags of Old Philosophy As if indeed on Feet Poetick Hee 'd seem a true Peripatetick 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 On a Little Gentleman of Great Parts DOes Nature act the Limner's part Shaping lesse things with rarest Art Or like some Ladies does she set Her best Gems ●'th ' lesse Cabinet Great Volumes uselesse oft we see He 's Natures quaint Epitome Or else he may deserve the name Of her wittiest Epigram So small in Stature and in Age Yet learn'd he seems Minerva's Page No wonder then if she him dresse In such abundant gaudinesse Short like him are my Verses Feet O were they also like him sweet To a false-hearted Poet. THou' rt double-Tongu'd and double-Foot'd to boot Thy false Verse savours of a Cloven foot On a Gentlewoman of a Brown Complexion but Handsome Features WHilst Lovely Her Black Features prove They seem like COALS ' o th' Fire of Love On a Gentleman who Died with Lord in his Mouth WHen he had breath'd out LORD His Soul thought fit As loath to leav 't to leap forth after it On the Death of Leander THe Saying prov'd too true by his Distress That FIRE and Water are both Mercilesse But Cold Death did asswage his Hot Desire The Fatall Water serv'd to Quench His FIRE To one that gets his Living by writing Satyres THou Feed'st on thine own Brains 't is said With thy wits Tooth thou Eat'st thy Bread Nec Fonte labra prolui Caballino MY Mouldy Brains I ne're wash'd