Selected quad for the lemma: law_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
law_n	good_a	king_n	people_n	13,375	5	4.9419	4	true

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A39233	Poems, or, Epigrams, satyrs, elegies, songs and sonnets, upon several persons and occasions	Eliot, John.	1658 (1658)	Wing E521; ESTC R40411	49,129	127

I Can neither beg relief nor fly Yet to the hazard of thy Crown If I should perish by thy frown Where I a perfect Rebell fall The world shall me a Martyr call And I hope in revenge of me Abolish quite thy Laws and thee On Loves blindeness WHat is the reason Love is blinde Because for Love no cause we finde But here and there and this and that We doat on for I know not what Lust does somewhat rampart prove And straight is christned into Love So that though beasts we are in shame We must be Lovers all in name 2. The black we see do fair admire And fair there be that black desire A sort there is affects the crump And all alike but for the rump Love being now a Drunkard grown And can a Madam hug in Ioan Tell me then must not Love be blinde When Women lov'd are for their kinde 3. We men an Idoll Beauty make And do adore't for Fancies sake Our thoughts create the handsom creature And our tongues commend the Feature Or else the Breech first warms desire And then the face maintains the fire Does not then Cupids eye-sight fail That for the Heart does wound the Tayl. 4. For what should Love have Eyes to see When all his sports in Darknesse be But little is his use of Light Whose only work is done at night In that alone Loves pleasure lyes That for the hand is made not eyes Where let me lye and let me be Blinde Boy as dark and blinde as thee An Elogie on the Death of Love I Never yet wrote Love-lines Now a few Upon the Death of Love me thinks are due From every Pen And most unskilfull I That would be doing want Ability No Muse can I invoke unto my aid They are all dumb or suddenly afraid To touch this Subject They 'll not have it read In Crimson Characters that Love is dead No Muse What then Turne over Historie Or search the Poets Try if they can be Assistant by example Learn to move In their high strains Ovid wrote much of Love But not his Death His Art of Love was light And in the Elogies that he did write He could not frame perfection of that Ruth Which here is laid before us in a Truth Nor had Euripides in all his pack A Theam so ' Tragick or a Scean so black As is the Death of Love Stay Speak no more Nor study for expressions to deplore The losse of him The sense of these two words Love 's dead enough of Argument affords To melt dry eyes to Tears and hearts of stones To moulder into Sand by ceaseless grones While I was writing this to Earths great wonder The Heavens thick showres did weep and rore in thunder A Song GIve me a Preacher Whose Life is a Teacher Whose Sentences suit with his Actions Who rayls not at Rochets Nor preacheth odd Crochets Nor troubleth the Church with new Factions No Scoffer no Squibber No Ale or Wine Bibber No wrangler for Tith-Pigs or Geese But Truth teacheth plain And good house maintain And loves more the flock then the fleece On the Duke of Buckinghams Death An Elogie YEt were Bidentals sacred and the place Strucken with thunder was by special grace Nere after trampled over if this blow That struck me in my height and brought me low Came from the hand of Heaven let it suffice That God requir'd no other sacrifice Why do you bruse a Reed as if your rod Could wound me deeper then the hand of God Why do you judge me ere the judgement day As if your verdict could Gods judgements sway Why are you not contented with my blood For hate of me why make you Murder good He that commends the fact does it again And is the greater Murtherer of the twain Oh high-revealed malice that canst draw Heaven out of Hell check Gods proper Law Nadab and Abibu that thus accord To offer your strange fire before the Lord Take heed 't will burn you 't is a dangerous thing He that doth blesse a Murtherer kills a King I now have past your pikes and seen my Fare My Princes favour and the peoples hate Strange blear-ey'd Hatred whose repining sight Feeds all on darknesse and doth hate the Light Shews any goodnesse in me was I all Marra corrupta and stigmaticall Was I all ill Yet those that ript me found Some of my vitalls good some inward sound I had a Heart scorn'd danger and a Brain Beating for Honour life in every vein Nor was my Liver tainted but made Blood That might have serv'd to do my Country good Had you not let it out nor was my Minde So fixt on getting as to make me blinde And to forget mine Honour and my friend Witness those now who need no more depend And those whose merits I have made and rays'd Will finde out somthing more that may be prais'd All do not mourn in jest ther 's some one Eye Shed tears in earnest when it saw me dye And whatsoere those Remonstrants make I never lost my self but for their sake That God forgive them for the rest I le say I lov'd the King and Realm as well as they EITAPH REader stand still and look lo here I am That was of late the Mighty Buckingham God gave to me my being and my breath Two Kings their favour and a Slave my death And for my fame I claim and do not crave That thou beleev'st two Kings before a Slave An exortation for the battering down of those vanities of the Gentiles which are comprehended in a May pole written by a Zealous brother from Black-fryers THe mighty Zeal which thou hast new put on Neither by Prophet nor by Prophets son As yet prevented doth transport me so Beyond my self that though I ne'r could go Farr in a verse and all rimes have defy'd Since Hopkins and good Thomas Sternhold dy'd Except it were the little pains I tooke To please good people in some praier booke That I 've set forth or so yet must I raise My spirit for thee who shall in thy praise Gird up her loynes and furiously run All kind of feet but Satans cloven one Such is thy Zeale so well dost thou express it And wer 't not like a charme I 'de say Christ bless it I needs must say 't is a spirituall thing To raile against the Bishop or the King Nor are they mean adventures we have bin in About the wearing of the Churches linnen But these were private quarrells this doth fall Within the compass of the generall Whether it be a Pole painted and wrought Farr otherwise then from the wood 't is brought Whose head the Idolmakers hand doth crop Where a lewd bird towring upon the top Looks like the calf at Horeb at whose root The unyoakt youth doth exercise his foot Or whether it reserves its boughs befriended By neighbouring bushes and by them attended How canst thou chuse but seeing it complain That Baal's worship'd in the groves again Tell me