Selected quad for the lemma: heart_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
heart_n	beauty_n	eye_n	love_n	4,210	5	5.2173	4	true

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A09626	Festum voluptatis, or The banquet of pleasure furnished with much variety of speculations, wittie, pleasant, and delightfull. Containing divers choyce love-posies, songs, sonnets, odes, madrigals, satyrs, epigrams, epitaphs and elegies. For varietie and pleasure the like never before published. By S.P. Gent.	Pick, Samuel.	1639 (1639)	STC 19897; ESTC S114710	19,277	64

not for all To them the darkest nights are best Which give them leave a sleep to fall But I that seek my rest by light Hate sleep and praise the clearest night Bright was the Moon as bright as day And Venus glistred in the West Whose light did lead the ready way That brought me to my wished rest Then each of them increast their light While I enjoy'd her heavenly sight Say gentle Dames what mov'd your minde To shine so bright above your wont Would Phebe faire Endimion finde Would Venus see Adonis hunt No no you feared by her sight To lose the praise of beauty bright At last for shame you shrunke away And thought to reave the world of light Then shone my Dame with brighter ray Then that which comes from Phoebus sight None other light but hers I praise Whose nights are clearer than the dayes Vpon a scoffing laughter given by a Gentlewoman LAugh not too much perhaps you are deceived All are not fooles that have but simple faces Mists are abroad things may be misconceived Frumpes and disdaines are favours in disgraces Now if you do not know what mean these speeches Fools have long coats Monkies have no breches Ti'he againe why what a grace is this Laugh a man out before he can get in Fortune so crosse and favour so amisse Doomesday at hand before the world begin Marrie sir then but if the weather hold Beauty may laugh and love may be a cold Yet leave betimes your laughing too too much Or find the Fox and then begin the chase Shut not a rat within the Sugar hutch And thinke you have a Squirill in the place But when you laugh let this goe for a jest Seeke not a woodcocke in a Swallowes nest An invective against Women IF Women could be faire and yet not fond Or that their love were firme not sickle still I would not wonder that they make men bound By serving long to purchase their good will But when I see how fraile these creatures are I laugh that men forget themselves so farre To mark the choyce they make and how they change How oft from Phoebus they doe change to Pan Unsetled still like haggards wild they range These gentle birds that flie from man to man Who would nor scorne and shake them from the fist And let them goe faire fooles which way they list Yet for their sport we fawne and flatter both To passe the time when nothing else can please And traine them to our lure by substill oath Till weary of our wills our selves we ease And then we say when we their fancy trle To play with fooles O what a doult was I SONET YOung men flie when beauty darts Amorous glances at your hearts The fixt marke gives the shooter ayme And Ladyes lookes have power to maime Now twixt their lips now in their eyes Wrapt in a kisse or smile-smile-love lies Then flie betimes for onely they Conquer love that run away SONET CVpid calls O young men come And bring my wanton harvest home When the birds most sweetly sing And flowers are in their prime No season but the spring Is Cupids harvest time SONET INto loves field or Garden walke Where Virgins dandle on their stalke Blowne and playing at fiveteene And poynting to their beds Come bring your sickle then And reape their maiden heads SONET To his Mistresse confin'd O Thinke not Phoebe 'cause a cloud Doth now thy silver brightnesse shrowde My wandring eyes Can stoope to common beauties of the skie Rather be kind and this eclipse Shall neither hinder eye nor lippes For we shall meet Within our hearts and kisse when none shall see 't Nor canst thou in the prison be Without some loving signe of me When thou dost spie A Sunne beame peepe into the roome 't is I For I am hid within that flame And thus into the Chamber came To let thee see n what a Martyrdome I burne for thee When thou doest touch the Lute thou maist Thinke on my heart on which thou playst When each sad Tone Upon the strings doth shew my deeper groan When thou dost please they shall rebound With nimble aire strucke to the sound Of thine owne voice Oh thinke how much I tremble and rejoyce There 's no sad picture that doth dwell Upon thy Arras wall but well Resembles me No matter though our age doth not agree Love can make old as well as time And he that doth but twenty clyme If he dare prove As true as I shewes foure score yeares in Love Sonnet on his Mistresse THe purest piece of nature is my choice tomorrowes death and this dayes breath Have certaine doomes from her all charming voyce So beyond faire that no glasse can her flatter so sweetly milde that tongue defil'd Dare not on her their envious stories scatter The wittie formes of beauty that are shed In flowing streames From Poets Theames Like shadowes when her selfe are fled Oh let me live in t'heaven of her bright eye Great love I 'le be thy constant votary A Madrigall COy Celia dost thou see You hollow mountaine tottering o're the plaine o're which a fatall Tree With treacherous shades betraies the sleeping Swaine Beneath it is a Cell As full of horrour as my breast of care Ruine therein might dwell And fit a roome for guilt and blacke despaire There will I headlong throw This wretched weight this heape of miserie And in the dust below Bury my carcase and the thought of thee Which when I finisht have O hate me dead as thou hast done alive And come not neere my grave Least I take heate from thee and so revive Sonet Antiphrasticall to loves fire SUrely Love is but a water Dew of early clouds of nature A dew which on the pricks of Roses Venus Lime-twigs she reposes Clouds which from their youthfull fire Rise in smoke of loose desire Borne up by hopes and rapt by feares Vanish straight or melt by teares Venus made out of the water Of the Ocean showes her nature In those selfe-betraying eyes Envious Cupid doth so prise When those corps are crown'd with teares Twinkling starres swim in their Spheares So eyes in water drencht to prove The heart first mover drown'd in Love SONET His Mistresse unkindnesse I Pray thee leave love me no more Call backe the heart you gave me I but in vaine the Saint adore That can but will not love me Show me no more those sunny breasts With azure rivelets branched Where though my eyes with pleasure feasts Yet is my thirst not stanched Those poore halfe kisses kill me quite Was ever man thus served A mid'st the Ocean of delight For pleasure to be starved O Tantalus thy paines nere tell By me thou art prevented No wonder to be plagu'd in hell But in heaven to be tormented A Pastorall of Phillis and Coridon ON a hill there growes a flower Faire befall the gentle sweet By that flower there is a Bower Where the heavenly Muses meet In that Bower there

Festum Voluptatis Or the BANQUET OF PLEASURE FVRNISHED WITH MVCH Variety of Speculations Wittie Pleasant and Delightfull Containing divers choyce Love-Posies Songs Sonnets Odes Madrigals Satyrs Epigrams Epitaphs and Elegies For varietie and pleasure the like never before published Musica mentis medicina moestus By S. P. Gent. LONDON Printed by E. P. for Bernard Langford and are to be sold at the signe of the Blue Bible at Holborne-Bridge 1639. TO THE WORSHIPFVLL His much esteemd good Friend Mr. RICHARD PELHAM Esquire S. P. Wisheth all happines and prosperity here and hereafter WORTHY SIR IT may seeme something strange that so meane a Muse as mine upon so unworthy a Subject as this should so rudely dare to shelter it selfe under the protection of your Name or intrude upon the consure of so solid a judgement as resides in your brest considering how conversant you daily are with raptures both of a higher straine and better nature daily proffered to your view and censure But the perswasion of your courteous acceptation of such wild Olives as these are as of Plants which inoculated and pruned in time may produce more mature and delicious fruites unto her fosterers hath emboldned me to it and shall therefore I hope be the better excused though it want much of what I wish it had because it flyes to you as a Refuge under whose Hands it hath both security and warrant Expect no quaint language nor fragrant Flowers of flowing Rhetorick but such as use to proceed from springing youth they are the wanton fruits of idle houres and so happily cannot yeeld that rellish that may be expected from them But yet your ingenuity and generous disposition assures the acceptation being the first fruits of my Muses springing And that you cherish them that they dye not in their Bud but by your promptitude may be preferred from the blast of envy and the rot of time and oblivion The perswasion of your liberall acceptation vouchsafed me not onely ympes my Muses wings for a higher flight in the future but vowes me to acknowledge my selfe now and ever Your Worships most obsequiously to be commanded SAMUEL PICK. To the Reader GENTLE READER I Must now crave thy courteous acceptation of this small worthlesse Treatise this is a granted Maxim that a slander by hath many times better eyes than they that play the game there is no man that cannot erre well then may the poore endeavours of a young braine be pardoned If thou shouldest here expect a lofty Scene or Phrases deckt with embolished speeches I am sorry I have given thee no better content but indeed I must needs tell thee Eloquence was never any part of my Essence Pardon I pray thee my presumption and protect me from those Cavelling finde-faults that never like well of any thing they see printed though never so well compiled What I have here done I have done to pleasure my friends and thee and not to make any profit by them wherefore my gentle Reader accept kindly I pray thee of all and be not as hard Censurers hastie to blast young springing Blossomes in their tender Bud so shall I be obliged to the due observation of thy better content and remaine Thine at command SAM PICKE Author to his Booke COme hither Book take counsell hee that goes Into the world meets with a world of foes Thy Mother was my Muse a gentle Dame Who much ador'd Apollo's sacred Name Then being free-borne know that thou art going Into a World of wits still fresh still growing Yet wonder not that I have got no friend To write in thy behalfe What! should I send Thee like a Serving-man with Letters No The World shall see thee first and seeing know Whether thou merits praise none shall have cause To be condemn'd of folly in the applause Of thy harsh lines the worst that can be thought Is this that none would write they were 〈◊〉 naught Alas poore Booke hunt not thou after praise Nor dare to stretch thy hand unto the Bayes Vpon a Poets head let it suffice To thee and mee the World doth us despise 'T is for a better Pen than mine to say I know 't is good and if you lik't you may POEMS To TIME GRave Censurer of Things long since o'repast Of present actions and what shall be last Think 't not amisse that my unlearned quill Hath spent some minutes of thee and so ill I le thanke thy present patience and in time My Muse may give thee thankes in better Rime To the READER MOst welcome guest to thee my homely Cates If any thing my barren Muse relates That may the palate of thy stomacke please I wish't Ambrosia though a pulce or pease Here is no forc't but voluntary dish And should be better had I but my wish To his worthy esteemed good Friend Mr. IOHN WADLAND sonne of Mr. GEORGE WADLAND of Leicester and to his vertuous Sisters Mrs ANNE WADLAND Mrs SUSANNA Mrs MARTHA and Mrs MARY WADLAND c. WHen I forget to thinke on ye My selfe must cease my selfe to be For sooner may my flesh dissolve And humid earth my bones involve Yea sooner shall the glorious Sunne Loose its bright lustre and the Moone Rapt in sable Clouds of Night Cease to give her silver light Than I forget what your desert Hath lively graven in my heart Yours obliged to doe you service S. P. To his singular good Friend Mr. THOMAS MOUSLEY IF ever there were any in whose love I counted my selfe happy farre above The rate of common Friends whose verball gloze More of false flattery than true friendship shewes 'T was in thy selfe and that thrice happy day Wherein my heart did by mine eyes survey Approve thy matchlesse worth and give consent To knit our hearts within one Ligament Yours vowed till death S. P. To his affectionate good Friend Master WILLIAM SYKES SIR unto you in faith I 'm much indebted For undeserved love from you received My debt 's a debt to pay 't I know not how The more I pay the more still I doe owe. To his loving Friend Mr. BARTHOLOMEW WOLLOCKE NO sooner doe I thinke on thee but streight My Muse growes frolique and as if kind fate Had to thy Name annext a power t'infuse Life in the deadest dullest slowest Muse She then begins to revell it and soare A higher pitch then ere she slew before At least my thoughts suggest so for I 'm sure I finde my spirits nimbler and more pure My Verse flowes ranker and if this May argue truth in ought then so it is To his kinde Friend Master GEORGE BROOKE SIth on my worthiest Friends I now doe muse how should my Muse to mind you once neglect Sith you are such then should she but abuse should she not use you with all due respect Yours at command S. P. To his loving Friend Master TIMOTHY LANGLEY YOur large compleat solid sufficiencie Hid in the veile of your wise modesty Your quaint neat Learning your acute quick wit And

sincere heart for great imployments fit But stay I have not time here to relate Of your desert what truely might be spake I will referre it till another time And I my selfe your servant will combine Your affecting Friend S. P. To his deare Mistris H. P. LEt but thy beauteous eye look on this Line And see as in thy Glasse thy beauty shine Which beauty Nature gave thee to disgrace Our latter Artists that make up a face Of seeming beauty for to blind such eyes As with Pigmalion them doe Idolize Should I not praise what I praise-worthy see I should doe wrong to Nature and to Thee Yet while I speake thee faire so short I come Of thy perfections that I 'm deem'd by some To light the burning Sun yet from my hand Receive this graine unto thy heape of sand Loves Hyperboles IF Love had lost his shafts and love downe threw His thunder-bolts or spent his forked fire They onely might recover'd be anew From out my heart crosse wounded with desire Or if debate by Mars were lost a space It might be found within the self-same place If Neptunes waves were all dry'd up and gone My weeping eyes so many teares distill That greater Seas might grow by them alone Or if no flame were yet remaining still In Vulcans Forge he might from out my brest Make choyce of such as would befit him best If Aeole were deprived of his charge Yet soone could I restore his winds againe By sobbing sighs which forth I blow at large To move her minde that pleasures in my paine What man but I could thus incline his will To live in love that hath no end of ill His Mistris Eyes serve CUPID both for Darts and Fire OFt have I mus'd the cause to finde Why Love in Ladies eyes doth dwell I thought because himselfe was blind Hee lookt that they should guide him well And since his hope but seldome failes For Love by Ladies eyes prevailes But time at last hath taught me wit Although I bought my wit full deare For by her eyes my heart is hit Deepe is the wound though none appeare Their glancing beames as Darts he throwes And sure hee hath no shafts but those I mus'd to see their eyes so bright And little thought they had been fire I gaz'd upon them with delight But that delight hath bred desire What better place can Love require Then that where grow both shafts and fire To his Mistris who had vowed Virginity EVen as my hand my Pen and paper layes My trembling hand my pen from paper strayes Lest that thine eyes which shining made me love you Should frowning on my suit bid cease to move you So that I feare like one at his wits end Hoping to gaine and fearing to offend But whilst like clouds tost up and downe the ayre I wracked hang 'twixt hope and sad despaire Despaire is beaten vanquisht from the field And unto conquering hope doth yeeld For if that nature love to beautie offers And beauty shun the love that nature proffers Then either unjust beauty is too blame With scorne to quench a lawfull kindled flame Or else unlawfully if love we must And be unlov'd then nature is unjust Unjustly then Nature hath hearts created There to love most where most their love is hated And flattering them with a faire-seeming ill To poyson them with beauties sugred Pill That he cannot leave to love though commanded HOw can my Love in equity be blamed Still to importune though it nere obtaine Since though her face and voyce will me refraine Yet by her voyce and face I am inflamed For when alas her face with frownes is framed To kill my Love but to revive my paine And when her voice commands but all in vaine That love both leave to be and to be named Her Syren voyce doth such inchantment move And though she frown even frowns so lovely make her That I of force am forced still to love Since that I must and yet cannot forsake her My fruitlesse prayers shall cease in vaine to move her But my devoted heart nere cease to love her Vpon his Mistris hiding her face GOe wailing accents goe With my warm teares scalding teares attended To the author of my woe And humbly aske her why she is offended Say Deare why hide you so From him your blessed eyes Where he beholds his earthly Paradise Since he hides not from you His heart wherein Loves heav'n you may view Vpon begging a Kisse SOrrow slowly killeth any Sudden joy soon murthers any Then sweet if you would end me 'T is a fond course with lingring griefe to spend me For quickly to dispatch me Your only way is in your armes to catch me And give me Dove-like kisses For such excessive and unlookt for blisses Will so much over-joy me As they will straight destroy me To CUPID AH Cupid I mistooke thee I for an Archer and no Fencer tooke thee But as a Fencer oft faines blowes and thrusts Where he intends no harme Then turnes his balefull arme And wounds that party which least his foe mistrusts So thou with fencing Art Faining to wound mine eyes hast hit my heart To his heart being in thraldome NAy nay thou striv'st in vaine my heart To mend thy misse Thou hast deserv'd to beare this smart And worse than this That wouldst thy selfe debase To serve in such a place Thou thoughtst thy selfe too long at rest Such was thy pride Needs must thou seeke another brest wherein to bide Say now what hast thou found In fetters thou art bound What hath thy faithfull service woon But high disdaine Broke is thy thred thy fancy spun Thy labour vaine Falne art thou now with paine And canst not raise againe And canst thou looke for helpe of me In this distresse I must confesse I pitty thee And can no lesse But beare a while thy paine For feare thou fall againe Learne by thy hurt to shun the fire Play not with all When climing thoughts high things aspire They seeke their fall Thou ween'st nought shone but gold So wast thou blind and bold Yet lie not still for this disgrace But mount againe So that thou know the wished place Be worth thy paine Then though thou fall and die Yet never feare to flie Vpon his Mistresse Beauty and voyce PAssion may my judgement bleare Therefore sure I will not sweare That others are not pleasing But I speake it to my paine And my life shall it maintaine None else yeelds my heart easing Ladies I doe thinke there be Others some as faire as she Though none have fairer features But my Turtle-like affection Since of her I made election Scornes other fairest creature Surely I will not deny But some others reach as high With their sweet warbling voyces But since her notes charm'd mine eare Even the sweetest tunes I heare To me seeme rude harsh noyses Vpon Visiting his Mistresse by Moone light THe night say all was made for rest And so say I but

man'd To part the head and members yet 't is pitty But what cares she for head I hope she scornes Were he seaven heads she 'd crown them all with horns On Age. IF we love things long sought for age is a thing That we are fifty yeeres a compassing Vpon Church a whore hunter HEre lyes a Church triumphant still in evill That never fought with sin the world nor devill But still with flesh he changed friendly knocks And so to shun the Plague dy'd of the Pox. Vpon faire Mistresse Eliz. Ambar REader stay see who lyes here Attracting Ambar shining cleare Yet death that clearnesse cloudeth now But being bright it shineth through Vpon a Colliar HEre lyes the Colliar Ienkin Dashes By whom death nothing gain'd he swore For living he was dust and Ashes And being dead he is no more Vpon a young Gentlewoman STay doe not passe here fixe your eyes Upon a Virgins Obsequies Pay tribute to a troubled heart 'T is but one teare before you part And what are teares they are but streames Of sorrow which like frightfull dreames Disturbe our senses yet I crave No other sacrifice to have But if you passe and let fall none Y' are harder then this marble stone Your love is coldet and your eyes Are senselesse of my miseries Vpon a great Vsurer TEn in the hundred lyes under this stone And a hundred to ten but to ' th Devill he 's gone On a young Gentlewoman NAture in this small volume was about To perfect what in women was left out But fearing least a peece so well begun Might want preservatives when she was young Ere she could finish what she undertooke Threw dust upon it and shut up the Booke Of one that loved Sack as his soule GOod Reader blesse thee be assur'd The spirit of Sack lies here immurd Who havoc't all he could come by For Sack and here quite sackt doth lye Of a curst wife IF it be true what I heare tell That some affirme the grave is hell And if that hell be then so neere The veriest Devill in hell lyes here One that dyed with griefe a few dayes after her husband HE first deceased she a little cry'd To live without him lik't it not and dy'd A double fellow ill composed HEre lyes one double in his grave For he was still a foole and knave Vpon faire Elizabeth Butter HEre lyes sweet Butter turn'd to grasse To make sweet Butter as it was Vpon John Death a good fellow HEre Deaths inter'd that liv'd by bread Then all should live now Death is dead On a selfe conceited foole HEre lyes a man that was an Asse Then sure he 's better then he was One that cheated his father HEre lyes a man who in a span Of life beyond his father ran On an Vsurer HEre lyes on Ten per Cent. In deathshouse and payes no rent An Elegie by the Author upon the death of his deare father Master Edward Picke TO tell my losse so well to each man knowne Were to lament my selfe not him that 's gone That were to cry out helpe to those that ly By the same griefe dead to eternity But yet that men may fully understand Know 't was my father even by whose hand I first had breath and I will give him fame By writing in a double kind his name I doe confesse he 's gone and yet my losse If tould is undervalued so grosse So young are my complaints that I lament In petty notions sorrowes rudiment My infant teares yet knowe not all my woe Because I knew not all that was to grow In him a graft all hope but riper yeeres Shall teach me how to parallell my teares And so improove I may as he did grow In vertue daily thriving in my woe Did we not lose enough when Adam fell By thee curst fruit but thou must longer still Produce our myseries and when w' are best By tempting one must murther all the rest Was he too good for earth and did heaven call To have him there so that he needs must fall If so 't is well for it was equity Man-kind and he by the same fate should dye But though th' art dead thy memory survives And thy good deeds shall out-last others lives SA PICK. An Elegie upon the death of his deare friend Mistresse PRISCILLA WADL HEre though her spot lesse span-long life be spent Are silent steps to shew where goodnesse went Nature did in such rare compleatnesse make her To shew her Art and so away did take her For she was onely to us wretches lent For a short time to be our president Goods we inherite daily and possession O that in goodnes were the same succession For then before her soule to heaven she breathed She had to each of us a part bequeathed Of her true wealth and closing thus her eyes Would have enrich'd her sex with Legacies SA PICK. Vpon the death of Mistresse Sarah Wadl WEepe weepe your sorrowes are well paid For 't is a Virgin here is layd You that shall see this Monument And cannot at this fight lament The conscious marble will you show How to discharge your comely woe Either you may the occasion fit By melting into teares like it Or if you punish not your eye By weeping cause it fatally Behold her Tombe then may you moane By standing stupid like the stone Yet both these sorrowes are well paid For 't is a Virgin here is laid FINIS