Selected quad for the lemma: ground_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
ground_n	bring_v	good_a	see_v	1,546	5	3.3026	3	false

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A54795	Sportive vvit the muses merriment, a new spring of lusty drollery, joviall fancies, and a la mode lamponnes, on some heroic persons of these late times, never before exposed to the publick view / collected for the publick good by a club of sparkling wits, viz. C.J., B.J., L.M., W.T., cum multis alsis----	Phillips, John, 1631-1706.	1656 (1656)	Wing P2113; ESTC R36677	62,402	221

Suffolk's Dutchess Two children of Edward the third Here lye in Death's cold clutches This is King Edward the third's brother Of whom our Records tell Nothing of note nor say they whether He be in heaven or hell This same is Iohn of Eldeston And he was Earl of Cornwall This is the Lady Phillis Mohun No doubt but she made horns well At first she was Dutchess of York And then the Wife also Of Edward Duke of York and this Two hundred and thirty years ago The Lady Anne Rosse but note ye well That she in Childbed dy'd The Lady Marquess of Winchester Lyes buried by her side Now think your penny will spent good folks And that you are not beguil'd Within this cup doth lye the heart Of a French Embassador's childe Nor can I tell how it came to passe On purpose or by chance The bowels they lye underneath The body is in France The Countess of Oxford her mother The good old Lady Bourleigh And that 's her daughter another Countesse Asunder these not far lye These once were bonny Dames and though There were no coaches then Yet they their breeches jogg'd themselves Or had them jogg'd by men But wo is me those high-born sinners That wont to work so stoutly Are now laid low and 'cause they cann't Their Statues pray devoutly This is the Dutchess of Somerset The Lady Anne by name Wife to the Duke of Somerset Duke Edward of great fame She liv'd in Edward the sixt's time So long ago 't was since How long ago was that I pray Her Husband protected the Prince And underneath this stone doth lye Sir Robert Cecils L●dy low Mother to th' Earl of Salisbury And then cry'd one It may be so In this fair Monum●nt which you see Adorn'd with so many pillars Doth lye the Countess of Buckingham And her Husband Sir George Villers To the late Duke of Buckingham We nere spake of his Brother This old Sir George was Grandfather And the Countess his Grandmother Sir Robert Eatam a Scotch Knight And he was Secretary To both of our late Queens so great Queen Anne and then Queen Mary This was the Countess of Lenox Iclep'd the Lady Marget She was King Iames's Grandmother Which Death I doubt did forget This was Queen Mary Queen of Scots By more then her husband bedded King Iames's Grandmother at the Castle Of Fothringham beheaded The Mother of Henry the seventh This is that lyeth hard by She was the Countess know ye well Of Richmond and Darby Henry the seventh here doth lye VVith his fair Queen beside him He was the Founder of this Chappel Oh may no ill betide him Therefore his Monument 's in bras● The cost was nere the lesse The Duke of Richmond and Lenox Lies there with his Dutchess And here they stand upright in a presse With bodies made of wax With a globe and a wand in either hand And their robes upon their backs General Ireton and his Lady Are here the spoyles of Death And also two of his children This must be said in a breath Here lyes the Duke of Buckingham And the Dutches his wife Whom Felton stabb'd at Portsmouth town And so he lost his life Two children of King Iames these are Nor do our Records vary Sophia in the cradle lies And this is the Lady Mary And this is Queen Elizabeth How the Spaniards did infest her Her Body 's here bury'd with Queen Mary And now she agrees with her Sister Old Devereux Earle of Essex Stands there with his Buff coat The Parliaments first Generall And very stoutly he fought To another Chappel now come we Tho people follow and chat This is the Lady Cottington And the people cry WHO 's THAT This is the Lady Francis Sidney The Countess of Sussex is she And this the Lord Dudley Carleton is And then they look up and see Sir Thomas Bromley lyeth here And eight of his children Four daughters and four sons also Both women grown and men The next is Sir Iohn Fullerton And this is his Lady I trow And this is Sir Iohn Puckering With his fine Bed-fellow That in the middle is th' Earl of Bridgewater Who makes no use of his bladder Although his Countesse lye so nere him And so we go up a ladder King Edward the first a gallant blade Lies under-neath this Stone And this is the chair which ●e did bring A good while ago from Scone In this same Chair till now of late Our Kings and Queens were crown'd Vnder this Chair another stone Doth lye upon the ground On that same stone did Iacob sleep Instead of a Down pillow And after that 't was hither brought By some good honest fellow King Richard the second he lyes here And his first Queen Queen Anne Edward the third lyes here hard by Oh he was a gallant man For this was his two-handed Sword A blade both true and trusty With which he conquer'd France cries one Good Sir 't is very rusty Feel but the weight on 't in your hand Who now with this can fight And then the petticoats and wastcoats Do wonder at his might Here a lyes again with 's Queen Queen Philip A Dutch woman by Record But that 's all one for now alas His P-'s not so long as his Sword King Edward the Confessor lyes Within this Monument fine This Monument was made before William the Conqueror's time There lyes Harry the fifth and there Doth lye Queen Elenor She was Edward the first's wife Which is more than ye knew before Henry the third here lyes ●n●omb'd He was Herb John in Pottage Little he did but still reigned on Although his sons were at ag● Fifty six yeares he reigned King Ere he the Crown would lay by Onely we praise him 'cause he was Last builder of the Abbey There 's General Popham and his Lady A very fine device a If more ye ask concerning him The D. a jot can I say Here Thomas Cecil lyes who 's that Why 't is the Earle of Exeter And this his Countesse is Good Lady To die how it perplexed her Here Henry Cary Lord Hunsdon rests Though a makes a noyse with his name This man was Chamberlain unto Queen Elizabeth of great fame And here one William Colchester Lyes of a certainty An Abbot he was of Westminster And he that sayes no doth lye This is the Bishop of Durham Much bigger then a Fairie Henry the seventh lov'd him well And made him his Secretary Sir Thomas Ruthal what of him Poor Gentleman not a word Onely they bury'd him here but now Behold that man with a sword Humphrey de Bohun who though he were Norborn with me in the same town Yet I can tell he was Earl of Essex Of Hereford and Northampton He was High Constable of England As History well expresses But now pretty maids be of good cheere We 're going up to the Presses And now the Presses open stand And ye see them all a row But more

please my minde It doth so ●ase behinde For to wipe For to wipe my ●ewel Tobacco 's my delight So 't is mine to sh Oh fine smack Oh brave ●ack my jewel 2. Tobacco onely can draw the vapours down from my troubled brain And from the bashful Pan vapours rise 'twixt my thighs to my nose again Five Pipes I have devour'd Five Pans I have deflowr'd full of fume Full of fume down flurting And yet I would have more And yet I have great store 3. Tobacco is a dish for an Earl for a Lord for a Knight for a Squire Than shiting who can wish greater if you please or occasion require Tobacco 's a fine thing But shiting 's for a King for the brains For the pains of the belly Tobacco who despise Then shiting who denies None I think Though I stink I tell ye 4. When I puff it through my nose I do make Fly such flakes I do mock the clouds When my arse to close-stool goes mark how I rap thunder-claps aloud My smoak doth dark the sun My raps out-roar a gun Oh that fart how it rattles This Pipe more I 'll pull This Pan I 'll shite more full So good-night We will shite out the battle 5. My nose mine arse doth blew doth throw Firy puffs counter-buff from my jaw My nose mine arse or doth blow or doth throw Firy puffs counter-buffs from my maw My nose hath made an end Mine arse and he are friends He 'll not j●st He 'll be kist but in spite not My ●ose will no more puff Mine arse hath shit enough Give ' some drink we shall P●nk if we wipe not A Lampoun HEre 's a Health to good Queen Mary we 'll have it ere we part And to King Charles her husband I 'll pledg't with all my heart Here 's a Health to my Lady Mary for whom I 'll spend my heart And to the Prince her brother and to the Duke of York Here 's a Health to my Lady Dutchess that loves red hair so well And to my Lord her husband that made her belly swell Here 's a Health to my Lady Dorset that rules the Royal twig And to my Lord her husband and his great Periwig Here 's a Health to my Lady Caernarvan that 's a pearl in each mans eye And to my Lord her husband that can both swear and lye Here 's a Health to my Lady Rich that looks so like a Witch And to my Lord her husband that can't endure the switch Here 's a Health to my Lady Kent that hath a bounsing C And to my Lord her husband that tickl'd my Lady Hunt Here 's a Health to my Lady of Newport that can both sing and dance And to my Lord her husband that 's run away to France Here 's a Health to my Lady Denby as sweet as Sugar-candy And to my Lord her husband that little Jack-a-dandy Here 's a Health to my Lady Wimbleton but fifteen years of age And to my Lord her husband that 's jealous of his Page Here 's a Health to my Lady Holland of all women the best And to my Lord her husband that goes so neatly drest Here 's a Health to my Lady Goring whose lies a cooling And to my Lord her husband that got his means by fooling Here 's a Health to my Lady Pembrook And so I 'll end my Song And to my Lord her husband that never did man wrong On a precise Woman ONe came to Court a wench she was precise And by the spirit did the flesh despise One mov'd a secret Match betwixt them two But she in sooth and sadness would not do He did reply So sweet and fair as she Made of the stuff all other women be Ought by the law of woman to be kinde And shew her self to bear a woman's minde Well Sir quoth she you men do so prevail With cunning speeches and a pleasant tale 'T is but a folly to be over-nice You shall but twenty shillings is my price If you a brace of Angels will bestow Come such a time and I am for you So He took leave then and with her husband met Told him by Law he was to pay a debt Intreating him to do so good a deed As lend him twenty shillings at his need Which very readily he did extend And th' other willing on his wife to spend So taking leave of him he went his ways Meeting his Creditor within few days And told him Sir I was at home to pay The twenty shillings which you lent last day And with your wife because you were not there I left it pray you with my boldness bear 'T is well quoth he I 'm glad I did you pleasure So coming home questions his wife at leasure I pray Sweet-heart was such a man with thee To pay two Angels which he had of me She blush'd and said he had been there indeed But you did ill to lend husband take heed It is not good to trust before you try Pray lend no more for it may breed some strife To have such knaves come home to pay your wife The Drunkard's Song WHen I go to revel in the night The Brewers dogs my brains do bite My head is too heavie and my heels are too light And I like my humour well well And I like my humour well With ipse he I line my head My Hostess 's Cellar is my bed The world 's our own when the devil 's dead And I like my humour well well c. Then I fall to talking of the Court Or about the taking of some Fort And I swear a lye for a true report And I like my humour well well c Now from the Wars I came I swear How I made a fellow die for fear How many I kill'd that I ne'er came near And I like my humour well well c. If my Hostess bids me pay the Score I 'll stand if I can and call her Whore Or stumble and reel out of the door And I like my humour well well c. The cape of my Cloak hangs all a one side My hat band 's lost and my hose are untide My heels on the ground begin for to slide And I like my humour well well c. Then justle with every post I meet I kick the dunghills about the street I trample the kennels under my feet And I like my humour well well c. The Constable then I curse and ban He bids me stand if I be a man And I tell him he bids me do more then I can And I like my humour well well c. If I fall to the ground the Watch-men see They ask me if I foxed be I tell them 't is my humility And I like my humour well well c. If I chance to justle with a Taylors stall My nose to the ground doth catch a fall We kiss and be friends and so we part all And I like my humour well well c. When I come home my wife will

but yesterday Oh quoth the devil and that I will see And he pull'd her hose beneath her knee And looking upwards from the ground There he spy'd a most grievous wound Oh quoth the devil now I see He was nothing cunning that gelded thee For when he had cut off thy stones clean He should have sow'd up the holes again He call'd the little Devil to him anon And bid him look to that same man While he did go to some private place To get some salve in a little space The Devil was no sooner gone his way But upon her belly there crep't a flea The little Devil soon espied that He up with his paw and gave it a pat The woman for fear began to start And out she thrust a most horrible fart Hoop hoop quoth the little devil come again I say Here 's another hole broke hard by by my fay Baker quoth the devil thou canst not be ●ound That smellest so sore above the ground Thy life and days it cannot be long Thy breath it savours so horrible strong The hole is broke so near the bone There will no salve well stick upon Therefore Baker hie thee away And in this place no longer stay Charing Cross UNdone undone you Lawyers are That wander about the Town And can't finde the way to Westminster Now Charing-Cross is down At the end of the Strand they make a stand Swearing they 're at a loss And chasing say That 's not the way They must go by Charing-Cross The Committees they said Verily To Pop'ry it was bent For ought I know it might be so To Church it never went What with and other Laws The Kingdom doth begin To think you 'll leave them ne'er a Cross Without doors nor within For neither man woman nor childe Can say I 'm confident That ere they heard it speak a word Against the Parliament 'T had Letters about it found some say Or else it had been freed 'Fore George I 'll take my oath of it 'T could neither write nor read The Maids Portion 1. NOw all my friends are dead and gone Alas what shall betide me For I poore maid am left alone Without a house to hide me Yet still I le be of merry cheer And have kind welcome every where Though I have but a Mark a year And that my mother gave me 2. I scorn to think of Poverty Or want of food or cloathing I le be maintained gallantly And all my life want nothing A frolique mind● Il● alwayes beare My poverty shall not appeare Though I have but c. 3. Though I am but a silly wench Of Country Education Yet I am woo'd by Dutch and French And almost every nation Both Spaniards and Italians sweare That with their hearts they love me dear● Yet I have but a Mark a yeare And that my mother c. 4. The Welch the Irish and the Scot Since I came to the Citty In love to me are wondrous hot They tell me I am Pretty Therefore to live I will not feare For I am sought both farre and near Yet I have but c. 5. This London is a gallant place To raise a Lasses fortune For I that came of simple race Brave roarers doe importune I little thought in Dorchester To find such high preferment here For I have but a Mark a yeare Which my good mother c. 6. One gives to me perfumed Gloves The best that he can buy me Live where I will I have the Ioves Of all that doe live ●●gh me If any new toyes I will weare I le have them cost they ne're so dear Though I have but c. 7. My fashion with the Moone I change As though I were a Lady All quaint conceits both new and strange I le have as soon as may be Your Courtly Ladyes I can jeare In cloath but few to me come neere Yet I have but c. 8. French Gowns with sleeves like pudding baggs I have at my requesting Now I forget my Country ragg● And scorn such plaine investing My old acquaintance I casheere And of my kin I hate to hear Though I have but c. 9. My petticoats of Scarlet brave Of Velvet Silk and Sattin Some Students of my love do crave That speak both Greek and Latin The Soldiers for me domineere And put the rest into great feare All this is is for a mark a year And that my mother c. 10. The Precisian sincerely vowes And doth protest he loves me He tires me out with yea's and no's And to impatience moves me Although an oath he will not swear To lye at no time he doth farre All this is for a mark a year And that my mother c. 11. My Coach drawn with four Flanders Mares Each day attend my pleasure The Water-men will leave their fares To wait upon my leisure Two Lacqueys labour every where And at my word run here and there Though I have but c. 12. Now if my friends were living still I would them all abandon Though I confesse they lov'd me well Yet I so like of London That farewell Dad and Mammy dear And all my friends in Dorcetshire I live well with a mark a yeare And that my mother c. 13. I would my sister Sue at home Knew how I live in fashion That she might up t●London come And learn this Ocupation For I live like a Lady here I weare good clothes and eat good cheare Yet I have but c. 14. Now blessed be that happy day That I came to the Citty And for the Carrier will I pray Before I end my Ditty You maidens that this Ditty heare Though means be short yet never feare For I live with a mark a year Which my old mother gave me VVat's A la mort. 1. IF mourn I may in time so glad Or mingle joyes with ditty sad Lend your eares lend Wa● your eyes And look you where she ●o●abed lies Two simple fee● alas containes The last which late oer Downs and Plaines Made Horse and Hound and Horn to blow Why Wat where art So ho so ho 2. Where is this view and cunning sent Which so much blood and breath ha●t spent This subtile traines thy Courses strong Thy Capers high thy Dances long Thy envious leannest and thy Muse As perfect as a Maidens Scuce Thy tract in snow like widdowes we Why Wat c 3. Oh! where is now thy flight so fleet Thy jealous brow thy nimble feet Thy magick frisks thy Circles round Thy Jugling feats to mock the hound Who sees thee now in covert creep To sit and hark or stand and weep Or coole thy foot to foyle thy foe Why Wat c. 4. Why didst thou not then flye this fate And from this forme thrust forth thy Mate As some good Wife when Death 's at dore Shee 'l thrust her good Man forth before Why didst thou not this doome to scape Upon thee take some Wizards shape Or shrowd thy selfe in Cottage low Why