Selected quad for the lemma: soul_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
soul_n	life_n	live_v	spirit_n	13,616	5	5.5781	4	true

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A39810	The tragedy of Thierry, King of France, and his brother Theodoret as it was diverse times acted at the Blacke-Friers by the Kings Maiesties servants / written by John Fletcher, gent.	Fletcher, John, 1579-1625.; Massinger, Philip, 1583-1640.; Beaumont, Francis, 1584-1616.	1648 (1648)	Wing F1352; ESTC R30457	40,910	42

know Something 's amisse heaven helpe all 1. What cures has he Bawdb. Armies of those wee call Physicians some with glisters Some with lettice caps some posset drinkes some pills Twenty consulting here about a drench As many here to blood him Then comes a Don of Spaine and he prescribes More cooling opium then would kill a turk Or quench a whore i' th dogdayes after him A wife Italian and he cries tie unto him A woman of fourescore whose bones are marble Whose blond snow water not so much heate about her As may conceive a prayer after him An English Doctor with a bunch of pot hearbes And he cries out Endiffe and suckery With a few mallow rootes and buttermilke And talkes of oyle made of a Churchmans charity Yet still he wakes 1. But your good honour Has a prayer in store if all should faile Bawdb. I could have prayed and handsomely But age and an ill memory 3. Has spoll'd your primmer Bawdb. Yet if there be a man of faith i' th Court An can pray for a pension Enter Thierry on a bed with Doctors and Attendants 2. Here 's the King Sir And those that will pray without pay Bawdb. Then pray for me too 1. Doct. How does your Grace feele your selfe now Thier. What 's that 1. Doct. Nothing at all Sir but your fancy Thier. Tell me Can ever these eyes more shut up in slumbers Assure my soule there is sleepe is there night And rest for humane labours doe not you And all the world as I doe out-stare time And live like funerall lampes never extinguisht Is there a grave and doe not flatter me Nor feare to tell mee truth and in that grave Is there a hope I shall sleepe can I die Are not my miseries immortall oh The happines of him that drinkes his water After his weary day and sleepes for ever Why doe you crucifie mee thus with faces And gaping strangely upon one another When shall I rest 2. Doct. O Sir be patient Thier. Am I not patient have I not endur'd More then a maingy dog among your dosses Am I not now your patient ye can make Unwholsome fooles sleepe for a guarded foot-cloth Whores for a hot sinne offering yet I must crave That feede ye and protect ye and proclame ye Because my power is farre above your searching Are my diseases so can ye cure none But those of equall ignorance dare yee kill me 1. Doct. We doe beseech your grace bee more reclaim'd This talke doth but distemper you Thier. Well I will die In spight of all your potions one of you sleepe Lie downe and sleep here that I may behold What blessed rest it is my eyes are rob'd of See hee can sleepe sleep any where sleep now When hee that wakes for him can never slumber I' st not a dainty ease 2. Doct. Your Grace shall feele it Thier. O never I never the eyes of heaven See but their certaine motions and then sleepe The rages of the Ocean have their slumbers And quiet silver calmes each violence Crownes in his end a peace but my fixt fires Shall never never set who 's that Enter Martell Brunhalt Devitry Souldiers Mart. No woman Mother of mischiefe no the day shall die first And all good things live in a worse then thou art Ere thou shalt sleepe dost thou see him Brun. Yes and curse him And all that love him foole and all live by him Mart. Why art thou such a monster Brun. Why art thou So tame a knave to aske me Mart. Hope of hell By this faire holy light and all his wrongs Which are above thy yeares almost thy 〈◊〉 Thou shalt not rest not feele more what is pity Know nothing necessary meet no society But what shall curse and crucifie thee feele in thy selfe Nothing but what thou art bane and bad conscience Till this man rest but for whose reverence Because thou art his mother I would say Whore this shall bee doe ye nod I 'le waken ye With my swords point Brun. I wish no more of heaven Nor hope no more but a sufficient anger To torture thee Mart. See she that makes you see Sir And to your misery still see your mother The mother of your woes Sir of your waking The mother of your peoples cries and curses Your murdering mother your malicious mother Thier. Physicians halfe my state to sleepe an houre now Is it so mother Brun. Yes it is so sonne And were it yet againe to doe it should be Mart. She nods againe swing her Thier. But mother For yet I love that reverence and to death Dare not forget you have been so was this This endlesse miserie this curelesse malice This snatching from mee all my youth together All that you made mee for and happy mothers Crown'd with eternall time are proud to finish Done by your will Brun. It was and by that will Thier. O mother doe not lose your name forget not The touch of nature in you tendernes 'T is all the soule of woman all the sweetnes Forget not I beseech you what are children Nor how you have gron'd for them to what love They are borne inheritors with what care kept And as they rise to ripenesse still remember How they impe out your age and 〈◊〉 time calls you That as an Autumne flower you fall forget not How round about your hearse they hang like penons Brun. Holy foole Whose patience to prevent my wrongs has kill'd thee Preach not to me of punishments or feares Or what I ought to be but what I am A woman in her liberall will defeated In all her greatnes crost in pleasures blasted My angers have beene laught at my ends slighted And all those glories that had crown'd my fortunes Suffer'd by blasted vertue to be scatter'd I am the fruitfull mother of these angers And what such have done reade and know thy ruine Thier. Heaven forgive you Mart. She tels you true for millions of her mischiefes Are now apparent Protaldye wee have taken An equall agent with her to whose care After the damn'd defeat on you she trusted Enter Messenger The bringing in of Leonor the bastard Sonne to your murder'd brother her physitian By this time is attacht to that damn'd devill Messen 'T is like hee will bee so for ere we came Fearing an equall justice for his mischiefes He drench't himselfe Brun. He did like one of mine then Thier. Must I still see these miseries no night To hide me from their horrors that Protaldy See justice fall upon Brun. Now I could sleepe too Enter Ordella Mart. I le give you yet more poppy bring the Lady And heaven in her embraces gives him quiet Madam unvaile your selfe Ordella I doe forgive you And though you sought my blood yet I le pray for you Brun. Art thou alive Mart. Now could you sleepe Brun. For ever Mart. Go carry her without wink of sleepe or quiet Where her strong knave Protaldy's broke o th wheele And let his cryes roares be musick toner I mean to waken her Thier. Do her no wrong Mart. Nor right as you love justice Brun. I will thinke And if there be new curses in old nature I have a soule dare send them Mart. Keepe her waking Exit Brunhalt Thier. What 's that appeares so sweetly their 's that face Mart. Be moderate Lady Their. That angels face Mart. Go neraer Thier. Martell I cannot last long see the soule I see it perfectly of my Ordella The heavenly figure of her sweetnesse there Forgive mee Gods it comes divinest substance Kneele kneele kneele every one Saint of thy sexe If it be for my cruelty thou comest Do ye see her hoe Mart. Yes Sir and you shall know her Thier Downe downe againe to bee reveng'd for bloud Sweet spirit I am ready she smiles on me O blessed signe of peace Mart. Goe neerer Lady Ordella I come to make you happy Thier. Heare you that Sir She comes to crowne my soule away get sacrifice Whil'st I with holy honours Mart. Shee 's alive sir Thier. In everlasting life I know it friend O happy happy soule Ordella Alas I live Sir A mortall woman still Thier. Can spirits weepe too Mart. Shee 's no spirit Sir pray kisse her Lady Be very gentle to him Thier. Stay she is warme And by my life the same lips tell me brightnesse Are you the same Ordella still Mart. The same Sir Whom heavens and my good Angell staid from ruine Thier. Kisse me againe Ordella The same still still your servant Thier. 'T is she I know her now Martell sit downe sweet O blest and happiest woman a dead slumber Begins to creep upon me O my jewell Enter Messenger and Memberge Ordella O sleepe my Lord. Thier. My joyes are too much for me Messen Brunhalt impatient of her constraint to fee Protaldye tortur'd has chokt her selfe Mort. No more her sinnes goe with her Thier. Love I must die I faint close up my glasses 1. Doct. The Queen faints too and deadly Thier. One dying kisse Ordella My last Sir and my dearest and now Close my eyes too Thier. Thou perfect woman Martell the Kingdome 's yours take Memberge to you And keep my line alive nay weep not Lady Take me I goe Ordella Take mee too farewell honour Dies both 2. Doct. They are gone for ever Mart. The peace of happy soules goe after them Beare them to their last beds whilst I study A tombe to speake their loves whilst old time lasteth I am your King in sorrowes Omnes We your subjects Mart. Devitry for your service bee neere us Whip out these instruments of this mad mother From Court and all good people and because She was borne noble let that title find her A private grave but neither tongue nor honour And now lead on they that shall read this story Shall find that vertue lives in good not glory Exeunt Omnes FINIS