Selected quad for the lemma: soul_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
soul_n	bear_v	body_n	spirit_n	4,492	5	5.1658	4	false

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A96974	Parnassus biceps. Or Severall choice pieces of poetry, composed by the best wits that were in both the universities before their dissolution. With an epistle in the behalfe of those now doubly secluded and sequestred Members, by one who himselfe is none.	Wright, Abraham, 1611-1690.	1656 (1656)	Wing W3686; Thomason E1679_1; ESTC R204146	62,203	178

Cloak And many a beaker of bear in your Cloak And yet I stand in fear of your Cloak That I shall be nere the near for your Cloak Therefore good Sir forbear the Cloak For though I have worn bare the Cloak I had rather for to tear the Cloak Then see another wear the Cloak Your friend in truth till death me choak If you will let me have the Cloak Loves Courtship HArk my Flora Love doth call us To the strife that must befall us He hath rob'd his mothers Myrtles And hath puld her downy Turtles See our geniall posts are crownd And our beds like billowes rise Softer lists are no where found And the strife its selfe 's the prize Let not shades and dark affright thee Thy eyes have lustre that will light thee Think not any can surprize us Love himselfe doth now disguise us From thy wast that girdle throw Night and silence both wait here Words or actions who can know Where there 's neither eye nor eare Shew thy bosome and then hide it Licence touching and then chide it Profer something and forbear it Give a grant and then forswear it Ask where all my shame is gone Call us wanton wicked men Doe as Turtles kisse and grone Say thou nere shalt joy againe I can hear thee curse yet chase thee Drink thy tears and still embrace thee Easie riches are no treasure She that 's willing spoiles the pleasure Love bids learn the wrestlers slight Pull and struggle when we twine Let me use my force to night The next conquest shall be thine Vpon the death of the Lord Stafford the last of his name MUst then our loves be short still must we chuse Not to enjoy only admire loose Must axiomes hence grow sadly understood And we thus see t is dangerous to be good So books begun are broken off and we Receive a fragment for an History And as 't were present wealth what was but debt Lose that of which we are not owners yet But as in books that want the closing line We onely can conjecture and repine So must we here too onely grieve and guesse And by our fancy make what 's wanting lesse Thus when rich webs are left unfinished The spider doth supply them with her thred For tell me what addition can be wrought To him whose youth was even the bound of thought Whose buddings did deserve the robe whiles we In smoothnesse did the deeds of wrinkles see When his State-nonage might have been thought fit To break the custome and allowed to sit His actions veiled his age and could not stay For that we call ripenesse and just day Others may wait the staffe and the gray haire And call that wisdome which is onely fear Christen a coldnesse temperance and then boast Full and ripe vertue when all actions lost This is not to be noble but be slack A Stafford ne're was good by the Almanack He who thus stayes the season and expects Doth not gaine habits but disguise defects Here nature outslips culture he came tried Straight of himselfe at first not rectified Manners so pleasing and so handsome cast That still that overcame which was shewn last All minds were captived thence as if 't had been The same to him to have been loved and seen Had he not been snatch'd thus what drive hearts now Into his nets would have driven Cities too For these his essayes which began to win Were but bright sparks which shewed the mine within Rude draughts unto the Picture things we may Stile the first beams of the increasing day Which did but onely great discoveries bring As outward coolenesse shews the inward spring Nor were his actions to content the sight Like Artists pieces plac'd in a good light That they might take at distance and obtrude Something unto the eye that might delude His deeds did all most perfect then appear When you observ'd view'd close and did stand near For could there ought else spring from him whose line From which he sprung was rule and discipline Whose vertues were as books before him set So that they did instruct who did beget Taught thence not to be powerfull but know Shewing he was their blood by living so For whereas some are by their big-lip known Others by imprinted burning swords were shown So they by great deeds are from which bright fame Engraves free reputation on their name These are their native marks and it hath been The Staffords lot to have their signes within And though this firme hereditatry good Might boasted be as flowing with the blood Yet he ne're graspt this stay but as those who Carry perfumes about them still scarce doe Themselves perceive them though anothers sence Suck in the exhaling odour so he thence Ne're did perceive he carried this good smell But made new still by doing himselfe well To imbalme him then is vaine where spreading fame Supplies the want of spices where the name It selfe preserving may for ointment passe And he still seen lie coffind as in glasse Whiles thus his bud dims full flowers and his sole Beginning doth reproach anothers whole Coming so perfect up that there must needs Have been found out new titles for new deeds Though youth and lawes forbid which will not let Statues be rais'd or him stand brasen yet Our minds retaines this royalty of Kings Not to be bound to time but judge of things And worship as they merit there we doe Place him at height and he stands golden too A comfort but not equall to the crosse A faire remainder but not like the losse For he that last pledge being gone we doe Not onely loose the heir but the honour too Set we up then this boast against our wrong He left no other signe that he was young And spight of fate his living vertues will Though he be dead keep up the Barony still Vpon the same UNequall nature that dost load not pair Bodies with souls to great for them to bear As some put extracts that for soules may passe Still quickning where they are in frailer glasse Whose active generous spirits scorne to live By such weak means and slight preservative So high borne minds whose dawnings like the day In torrid climes cast forth a full-noon ray Whose vigorous brests inherit throngd in one A race of soules by long succession And rise in their descents in whom we see Entirely summ'd a new born ancestry These soules of fire whose eager thoughts alone Create a feaver or consumption Orecharge their bodies labring in the strife To serve so quick and more then mortall life Where every contemplation doth oppresse Like fits of the Calenture and kills no lesse Goodnesse hath its extreams as well as sin And brings as vice death and diseases in This was thy fate great Stafford thy fierce speed T' out-live thy years to throng in every deed A masse of vertues hence thy minutes swell Not to a long life but long Chronicle Great name for that alone is left to be

faire As time and age cannot impaire Hadst thou a prospective so cleare That thou couldst view my object there When thou her vertues didst espy thou dst wonder and confesse that I Had cause to like and learne from hence To love by judgement not by sence On the death of a faire Gentlewomans Robin-redbrest WHatsoere birds in groves are bred Provide your anthems Robins dead Poor Robin that was wont to nest In faire Siloras lovely brest And thence would peep into her eye To see what feather stood awry This pretty bird might freely sip The sugered Nectar from her lip When many love-burnt soules have pined To see their rivall so retained But what caused Robins death was this Robin sure surfeited with blisse Or else cause her faire cheek-possest A purer red then Robins brest Wherein consisted all his pride The little bird for envy dyed On the death of Sir Tho Pelham MEerely for death to grieve and mourne Were to repine that man was borne When weak old age doth fall asleep 'T were foul ingratitude to weep Those threds alone should force out tears Whose suddain crack breaks off some years Here 't is not so full distance here Sunders the cradle from the beere A fellow-traveller he hath bin So long with time so worn to'th skin That were it not just now bereft His body first the soule had left Threescore and ten is natures date Our journey when we come in late Beyond that time the overplus Was granted not to him but us For his own sake the Sun ne're stood But onely for the peoples good Even so he was held out by aire Which poor men uttered in their prayer And as his goods were lent to give So were his dayes that they might live So ten years more to him were told Enough to make another old Oh that death would still doe so Or else on goodmen would bestow That wast of years which unthrifts fling Away by their distempering That some might thrive by this decay As well as that of land and clay T was now well done no cause to mourne On such a seasonable stone Where death is but a guest we sinne Not bidding welcome to his Inne Sleep sleep goodman thy rest embrace Sleep sleep th' ast trod a weary race Of Musick WHen whispering straines with creeping wind Distill soft passion through the heart And whilst at every touch we find Our pulses beat and bear a part When threds can make Our heart-strings shake Philosophy can scarce deny Our soules consists in harmony When unto heavenly joyes we feigne What ere the soule affecteth most Which onely thus we can explaine By Musick of the winged host Whose rayes we think Make stars to wink Philosophy can scarce deny Our soules consist of harmony O lul me lul me charming aire My senses each with wonder sweet Like snow on wool thy fallings are Soft like spirits are thy feet Griefe who needs fear That hath an ear Down let him lie And slumbring dye And change his soule for harmony To his Mistresse I Le tell you how the Rose did first grow red And whence the Lillies whitenesse borrowed You blusht and streight the Rose with red was dight The Lillies kiss'd your hands and so grew white You have the native colour these the die And onely flourish in your livery Before that time each Rose was but one staine The lilly nought but palenesse did containe On a black Gentlewoman IF shadowes be a Pictures excellence And make it seem more glorious to the sence If stars in brightest day are lost for sight And seem more glorious in the mask of night Why should you think fair creature that you lack Perfection cause your eyes and haire are black Or that your beauty which so far exceeds The new-sprung Lillies in their maidenheads The rosie colour of your cheeks and lips Should by that darknesse suffer an ecclipse Rich Diamonds are fairer being set And compassed within a foileof jet Nor can it be dame nature should have made So bright a Sun to shine without a shade It seems that nature when she first did fancy Your rare composure studied Negromancy And when to you these guifts she did impart She used altogether the Black Art She framed the Magick circle of your eyes And made those hairs the chains wherein she ties Rebellious hearts those vaines which doe appear Twined in Meanders about every sphear Mysterious figures are and when you list Your voyce commandeth like an exorcist Now if in Magick you have skill so far Vouchsafe to make me your familiar Nor hath kind nature her black art reveald By outward parts alone some are conceald As by the spring head men may easily know The nature of the streams that run below So your black eyes and haire doe give direction That all the rest are of the like complexion The rest where all rest lies that blesseth man That Indian mine that streight of Magellan The worlds dividing gulph through which who venters With hoised sailes and ravishd sences enters To a new world of blisse Pardon I pray If my rude muse presumes for to display Secrets forbid or hath her bounds surpast In praising sweetnesse which she nere did tast Starv'd men may talk of meat and blind men may Though hid from light yet know there is a day A rover in the mark his arrow sticks Sometimes as well as he that shoots at pricks And if I might direct my shaft aright The black mark would I hit and not the white On a Gentlewoman walking in the Snow I Saw faire Cloris walk alone When feathered raine came softly downe And Jove descended from his Tower To court her in a silver showre The wanton snow flew to her breast Like little birds into their nest And overcome with whitenesse there For griefe dissolv'd into a teare Which trickling down her garments hemme To deck her freezd into a gemme Vpon one dead in the snow WIthin a fleece of silent waters drownd Before I met with death a grave I found That which e●iled my life from her sweet home For griefe streight froze it selfe into a Tomb Onely one Element my fate thought meet To be my death grave tomb and winding sheet Phoebus himselfe my Epitaph had writ But blotting many ere he thought one fit He wrote untill my tomb and grave were gone And 't was an Epitaph that I had none For every man that pass'd along that way Without a sculpture read that there I lay Here now the second time inclosed I lye And thus much have the best of destiny Corruption from which onely one was free Devour'd my grave but did not seize on me My first grave took me from the race of men My last shall give me back to life agen On a woman dying in travell the child unborne WIthin this grave there is a grave intombd Here lies a mother and a child inwombd T was strange that nature so much vigour gave To one that nere was born to make a grave