Selected quad for the lemma: mercy_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
mercy_n	call_v	lord_n	soul_n	6,288	5	5.4233	4	true

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A01514	The poesies of George Gascoigne Esquire; Hundreth sundrie flowres bounde up in one small poesie	Gascoigne, George, 1542?-1577.	1575 (1575)	STC 11636; ESTC S102875	302,986	538

might To sée that ioyfull daye Haud ictus sapio Gascoygnes good night WHen thou hast spent the lingring day in pleasure and delight Or after toyle and wearie waye dost séeke to rest at nighte Vnto thy paynes or pleasures past adde this one labour yet Ere sleepe close vp thyne eye to fast do not thy God forget But searche within thy secret thoughts what déeds did thée befal And if thou find amisse in ought to God for mercy call Yea though thou find nothing amisse which thou canst cal to mind Yet euer more remember this there is the more behind And thinke how well so euer it be that thou hast spent the daye It came of God and not of thée so to direct thy waye Thus if thou trie thy dayly déedes and pleasure in this payne Thy life shall clense thy corne from wéeds thine shal be the gaine But if thy sinfull sluggishe eye will venter for to winke Before thy wading will may trye how far thy soule maye sinke Beware and wake for else thy bed which soft smoth is made May heape more harm vpō thy head than blowes of enmies blade Thus if this paine procure thine ease in bed as thou doest lye Perhaps it shall not God displease to sing thus soberly I sée that sléepe is lent me here to ease my wearye bones As death at laste shall eke appéere to ease my gréeuous grones My dayly sportes my panch full fed haue causde my drousie eye As carelesse life in quiet led might cause my soule to dye The stretching armes the yauning breath which I to bedward vse Are patternes of the pangs of death when life will me refuse And of my bed eche sundrye part in shaddowes doth resemble The sūdry shapes of deth whose dart shal make my flesh to trēble My bed it selfe is like the graue my shéetes the winding shéete My clothes the mould which I must haue to couer me most méete The hungry fleas which friske so freshe to wormes I can cōpare Which greedily shall gnaw my fleshe leaue the bones ful bare The waking Cock that early crowes to weare the night awaye Puts in my minde the trumpe that blowes before the latter day And as I ryse vp lustily when sluggish sléepe is past So hope I to rise ioyfully to Iudgement at the last Thus wyll I wake thus wyll I sléepe thus wyl I hope to ryse Thus wyll I neither waile nor wéepe but sing in godly wyse My bones shall in this bed remaine my soule in God shall trust By whome I hope to ryse againe from death and earthly dust Haud ictus sapio The introduction to the Psalme of Deprofundis THe Skies gan scowle orecast with misty clowdes When as I rode alone by London waye Cloakelesse vnclad thus did I sing and say Behold quoth I bright Titan how he shroudes His head abacke and yelds the raine his reach Till in his wrath Dan Ioue haue soust the soile And washt me wretch which in his trauaile toile But holla here doth rudenesse me appeach Since Ioue is Lord and king of mighty power Which can commaund the Sunne to shewe his face And when him lyst to giue the raine his place Why doe not I my wery muses frame Although I bée well soused in this showre To write some verse in honour of his name Gascoignes Deprofundis FRom depth of doole wherein my soule doth dwell From heauy heart which harbours in my brest From troubled sprite which sildome taketh rest From hope of heauen from dreade of darkesome hell O gracious God to thée I crye and yell My God my Lorde my louely Lord aloane To thée I call to thée I make my moane And thou good God vouchsafe in grée to take This woefull plaint Wherein I faint Oh heare me then for thy great mercies sake Oh bende thine eares attentiuely to heare Oh turne thine eyes behold me how I wayle O hearken Lord giue eare for mine auaile O marke in minde the burdens that I beare Sée howe I sinke in sorrowes euerye where Beholde and sée what dollors I endure Giue eare and marke what plaintes I put in vre Bende wylling eare and pittie therewithall My wayling voyce Which hath no choyce But euermore vpon thy name to call If thou good Lorde shouldest take thy rod in hande If thou regard what sinnes are daylye done If thou take holde where wée our workes begone If thou decrée in Iudgement for to stande And be extreame to sée our scuses skande If thou take note of euery thing amysse And wryte in rowles howe frayle our nature is O gloryous God O King O Prince of power What mortall wight Maye then haue lyght To feele thy frowne if thou haue lyst to lowre But thou art good and hast of mercye store Thou not delyghst to sée a sinner fall Thou hearknest first before we come to call Thine eares are set wyde open euermore Before we knocke thou commest to the doore Thou art more prest to heare a sinner crye Then he is quicke to climbe to thee on hye Thy mighty name bee praysed then alwaye Let fayth and feare True witnesse beare Howe fast they stand which on thy mercy staye I looke for thée my louelye Lord therefore For thée I wayte for thée I tarrye styll Myne eyes doe long to gaze on thée my fyll For thée I watche for thée I prye and pore My Soule for thée attendeth euermore My Soule doth thyrst to take of thée a taste My Soule desires with thée for to bée plaste And to thy worde which can no man deceyue Myne onely trust My loue and lust In confidence continuallye shall cleaue Before the breake or dawning of the daye Before the lyght be seene in loftye Skyes Before the Sunne appeare in pleasaunt wyse Before the watche before the watche I saye Before the warde that waytes therefore alwaye My soule my sense my secréete thought my sprite My wyll my wishe my ioye and my delight Vnto the Lord that sittes in heauen on highe With hastye wing From me doeth fling And stryueth styll vnto the Lorde to flye O Israell O housholde of the Lorde O Abrahams Brattes O broode of blessed séede O chosen shéepe that loue the Lord in déede O hungrye heartes féede styll vpon his worde And put your trust in him with one accorde For he hath mercye euermore at hande His fountaines flowe his springes doe neuer stande And plenteouslye hee loueth to redéeme Such sinners all As on him call And faithfully his mercies most estéeme Hée wyll redéeme our deadly drowping state He wyll bring home the shéepe that goe astraye He wyll helpe them that hope in him alwaye He wyll appease our discorde and debate He wyll soone saue though we repent vs late He wyll be ours if we continewe his He wyll bring bale to ioye and perfect blisse He wyll redéeme the flocke of his electe From all that is Or was amisse Since Abrahams heyres dyd first his Lawes reiect Euer or neuer ¶