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Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
book_n	good_a	name_n	write_v	2,463	5	5.4271	4	true

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ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A63969	Poems on several occasions, with a pastoral to which is added, A discourse of life / by John Tutchin.; Poems. Selections	Tutchin, John, 1661?-1707.; Tutchin, John, 1661?-1707. Unfortunate shepherd.	1685 (1685)	Wing T3382; ESTC R20654	43,574	158

4. Ne sit ancillae tibi amor pudori Xanthia Phoreu c. I. TO love a Serving-Maid no Sin can be Servants to us in Love are free The rough Achilles fell in Love With the white Skin'd Briseis and did prove Her humble Servant once her lofty Lord. The Son of Telamon so fam'd in War His Female Slave ador'd A Girle fair Was all the great Atrides did esteem Of all the Wealth and Victories got by him II. How canst thou tell but that fair Phillis may Be born of as noble clay As that which makes those Pageants we call Kingst Thou know'st not but she springs From a great Regal Line And weeps because the Gods have cast her down Believe me Phocus she deserves a Crown She needs must be Divine She who no breach of Oaths did ever know Who for an honest fame could wealth for-go Must needs of some high Parentage be born I whom Age doth seize With its incurable Disease I who all wanton wishes scorn Admire her Face her Arms and every Limb And think it worth my just esteem BOOK II. ODE 16. Otium Divos rogat in patenti Prensus Aegeo c. I. WHen the poor Mariner can nought espie But Sea and Skie Caught in the large Aegean Waves The dismal Clouds chasing away the Day The waining Moon no Light does give The guiding Lamps of Heaven are gone away Then the poor Merchant prays the Gods to live Peace cry the Thracians lame with War The Medes as quiet as their Quivers are Would be But Peace alas is sold Not for rich gems nor Purple nor for Gold II. 'T is not Oh Grosphus treasures great Can make perplexing care retreat 'T is not the Spears with Horses joyn'd Remove the tumults of the Mind Or drive the busie thoughts from off ones Bed His Mite a Million is who lives so well As no base Fear molests his sleep No great Ambition does disturb his Head Whose Board with homely Dainties doth excell Above a King's desire Set off with one old Salt that once did grace his Sire III. Why for Eternal Pleasures do we strive In a decaying mortal life Why must our station be remov'd From that dear Country once we lov'd Why do we seek another Air And leave our Native Land The change of Climates does not change our care Who aws a Nation can't himself command Care from the sturdy Ships won't keep adoof Though they were all of Canon proof The Card the Compass Helm and all the Art That Neptunes briny Subjects know Perplexes the poor Seamans Heart Sometimes he dreads the Rock and then the Seas And knows not where to go Fear trips it faster than frightn'd Hind Flies with more hast than the rough Easter Wind To rob a Mind of Ease IV. He that at present has a joyful Mind Ne're thinks on what 's to come He scorns to think on things that are not made Without a Being are in Chaos laid What pleasure can he find To dream of future care or think of future ease He keeps his pleasant home And mixes his sad thoughts with those that please None that the Gods have blest we happy call For whom they happy made was never blest in all How soon the great Achilles did to Death Yield his departing Breath How soon Death took him hence Who had Millions slew Soon did old Tython bid his House adieu His snowie Hairs cou'd not their wearer save From the inexorable Grave What is deni'd to thee to me may fall by chance V. Thou tell'st thy hundred Flocks of bleating Sheep Art pleas'd when thy Sicilian Heisers low No Musick is so good As Neighing Mares that rattle through the Wood Thou in bright Tissues in deep red dost go When the good natur'd Gods have given me A Soul of Verse a Poets name That 's writ on the chief Pinnacle of Fame A Heart from all perplexing Passions free Free from the Cowards cold and Madman's Heat But scorns the Vulgar and contems the great BOOK III. ODE 9. Donec gratus eram tibi Nec quis quam c. A DIALOGUE BETWIXT HORACE and LYDIA HORACE WHen I alone my Mistress did enjoy When She was kindly free not vilely coy When no smooth Lad about her Neck did cling I vy'd in pleasure with the Persian King LYDIA When you no Beauty lov'd but only mine And Lydia was no slave to Chloe's shrine Then fairest Lydia had a lasting Name Preceded Ilia in the rank of Fame HORACE The Thracian Chloe now has got my Heart Sweet at her Lute excelling in her Art For whose dear sake I joyfully would die If I might gain the living Maid thereby LYDIA Calys Ornitho's Son a worthy Name Scorches my Heart with no unequal flame For whom I would a double Death enjoy If Heaven would give me the surviving Boy HORACE What now if Venus should the game retrieve And Marriage bonds betwixt us two should give If I should hate fair Chloes Aubourn Hair And ope ' the Gate to Lydia as my Dear LYDIA Though thou wert wilder than the raging Sea And he as beauteous as the Milky-way Thou angry as the Seas that threat the Skie In thy lov'd bosom I would live and die ODE I. AND why in red dost thou appear Heavens how you look and how I gaze Can you the Martial Livery wear And with it tread the Lovers Maze Though red and furious you are seen I 'm sure you 're white and kind within II. For you I sigh I grieve alone Give me your Heart to ease my pain I 'll kindly mark it for mine own And give it back to you again Free from times blot my Name shall rest Enroll'd so safe within your Breast ODE I. CUrse on your Friends Why should they interpose I never sought their Love And if my Loving you they disapprove You say You Love and you I chose Base awkard Sots To tell of Blood and Name And Titles and Estate and talk of Fame Things not worth the having Of which Young Lovers never have a Thought Though they by Fools are dearly bought They are not worth the saving II. Would you that Young tawdry Cockscomb wed Your Father so admires No bind him to your Waiting-Maid She 's fit for his Desires I grant him store of Wealth and I have none But yet my Wit will last when all his Money 's gone Poor silly Fool Must he my Rival be 'Cause he 's set off with gawdy Shows Lace Ribbons and fine colour'd Cloaths And this is all his Equipage and Worth I too will dress my Sword and set it forth In the new fashion'd Pedantry It shall make Love as well nay better far than he III. Let the old Fumblers dote at home And make long Baggs for whom they please In wanton Joys young Lovers roam And Fancies crosses still their Ease Friendship and Love all Tyes will break And will from Nature License seek Why then Dear Caelia should your Friends make such ado About your Joynture and your Portion given Which if

sure 't is we On yonder Mountain great Alphesebseus Cut his lov'd Name and still the gentle Ground Retains the mark for each good Swain to read The wandring Sheep when o're the place they go Forbear to eat it that it still may grow Damae In yonder Wood there stands an aged Tree In which is carv'd the mighty Orpheus Name For many hundred years ago and still 'T is legible Happy the Tree that bears it for 't has giv'n An Immortality a lasting Verdure And sure his Pipe lies buried thereabouts For every day the Airy Choristers Do thither come a Heavenly Consort make Here Philomel does need no wakeful Thorne To spur her Breast nor can she sleep a Nights But always quavers out her Tereus Song Thyr. May I see henceforth nought but Woods and Plains May Shepherds be my Company And may We all be Merry And may these Eyes never behold the Court The boisterous Deep or the tempestuous Main The frightful Rock or the Death-threatning Sands Damaetas Sings SONG I. THen hail ye Shepherds free from Cares Free from Passions free from Fears Phillis Loves and Phillis may A greater Bliss to us convey Than what painted Sylvia brings To the costly Bed of Kings II. Kings are Gods so let them be Still they 're from my Envy free We can sport and spend the Nights In no less ūdisturb'd delights A calm Voyage we can prove O're the Hellespont of Love III. The Beechen Bowl no poison hath 'T is Gold and Silver make up Death Behind these Walls no Bullies slide 'T is Arras does the Traytor hide No wanton She was here Embrac'd At Court no Woman e're prov'd Chast. IV. Virtue here in pomp Array'd Is the Beauty of each Maid No Ornaments but homely Stuff Serves to set poor Phillis off Yet as fair as sweet she 's seen As the Beauteous Paphian Queen V. Then hail ye Shepherds free from Cares Free from Passions free from Fears Hail ye Nymphs as kind as Day Fair as Spring and sweet as May Your old Damaetas still shall raise A living Structure to your Praise Thyr. We thank you Father Cor. How well he Sings Sure he grows young again He like the Snake has cast his antient Skin Has ta'ne a new and Youth together with it Pray Father what 's your Age Damae Not quite an Hundred Thyr. Almost Damae Yes The yonder Grove and I were born together That aged Oak I well may call my Brother In the same Day my Father set us both Cory And you 're grown up together too Damae Some Snowy Hairs have seiz'd my aged Head And Moss the Hair of Wood has seiz'd its stock I know not but I may survive it Thyr. Were I as you I 'd cut it down and make A lusty fire of its spacious Boughs To warm my chilly Limbs in Winter E're I did die I would not leave a branch In any Wood should bear a longer date Than I. Damae No let Posterity enjoy the fruit Of former Ages Labour by it we 're made Immortal Through countless Ages shall it still be said This Damon set and this Damaetas planted Live still ye Woods and spread your flourishing Arms Grow 'till you make a solitude beneath Your Boughs 'till ye exclude the Light And you become an Umbrage for the Deer The timerous Hare the Fox and Evening Wolf Grow till ye be a shelter for the Swains A shade in Heat and Covert from the Storm Exeunt Finis Actus Tertii The FOURTH ACT. Ephelia and Amoretta Eph. HE 's the plague of my Life Am. How you blaspheme the Sacred Deity Ungrateful wretch whom Love might well disown Is that a plague God Cupid has ordain'd The great perfection of our humane Race Of Harmony and Love our Souls are made And who hath neither was by Fate design'd To be the laughing-stock of humane kind A thing so near a Beast but just the shape Does make the difference Eph. Love is indeed a Passion great and good And what the Gods so lovingly have given Should not so carelessly be thrown away We hoard our Jewels up in Cabinets Am. A better Cabinet can ne're be found Than the kind Breast of him adores your Name Eph. That homely rotten Chest would quite disgrace So Sacred Reliques as Immortal Love The Smoaky Chimny of his Breast could ne're Adorn so pure a flame as mine Am. But then your Love might be an Ornament To his mean Breast Eph. 'T would look just like a Canvase Coat That 's lace'd with Gold and line'd with Velvet Am. So much the better The White shows more delightful when 't is near The Black The transparent Taper never looks Half so bright as in the Dark Eph. Well when I Wed a Swain may Night be Day And all the course of Nature backward run May the fix'd Orbe a local Motion have And travel round the World with the Sun The Spheres descend and Sing my Marriage Song Am. Bravely resolved but Blasphemously spoken Eph. No! I love my self too well Were these Hands ever made to hold a Crook I phancy it a pleasant sight to see Me driving home a drove of Milking Cows My Husband Clown just following at my heels Whistling a lamentable Tune all clad In Leather ruffling and noisy like the Wind. Am. A very fine description of a Swain Eph. Then to the low thatch'd Cottage we are come And all the Houshold there is one great Dog And three small bawling Children Am. Very well joyn'd Eph. Then down I sit me by the Dun-Cows side And with my tender Hands I Milk her clean Can I leave all my glorious Pomp my self demean I who have known the pleasures of the Court Change all my former glory meanly take A homely Cottage for a gawdy Pallace Say Nymph I do but what is rational Am. So you say But what is all your boasted City Joy The fulsome pleasure does your Senses cloy Are not these homely Cotes this Rural shade A better Covert than a Masquerade Free from all tricks of Court we quiet rest And talk of Summer joys close in our Winter Nest. Eph. And may you there still rest unenvy'd be At least no great ambition work in me To Savage Woods and Desart Caves I 'll go When madness in my Breast does overflow Too well the City pomp and worth I know Secure like Bees we slumber in our Hive On Summer Honey we in Winter live Nor need we buzz about to every Bower And Plunder here and there a Flower Rob all the Gardens and each fruitful Soil Get little sweets with industry and toil Home to our very doors does Plenty come And begs admittance prays to find a home We spend the day in ravishing delights Good Books and better Friends dissolve the Nights Each Man an Angel seems each Prince a God Each Woman fair each Maid divinely good Free from the Stormy Winters hurtful noise We bathe in Pleasure and we swim in Joys Am. And what are gawdy Joys that do create In Men no