work_id,theme,provenance,created_at,text,reviewed_on,id,comments,metaphor,dictionary,updated_at,context
3662,"","Searching ""mind"" and ""dross"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-07-18 00:00:00 UTC,"'Tis so, and humbly I my will resign,
Nor dare dispute with Providence Divine.
In vain, alas! we struggle with our chains,
But more entangled by the fruitless pains.
For as i'th' great Creation of this All,
Nothing by chance could in such order fall;
And what would single be deform'd confest,
Grows beauteous in its union with the rest:
So Providence like Wisdom we allow,
(For what created once does govern now)
And the same Fate that seems to one Reverse,
Is necessary to the Universe.
All these particular and various things,
Link'd to their Causes by such secret Springs,
Are held so fast, and govern'd by such Art,
That nothing can out of its order start.
The World's God's watch, where nothing is so small,
But makes a part of what composes all:
Could the least Pin be lost or else displac'd,
The World would be disorder'd and defac'd.
It beats no Pulse in vain, but keeps its time,
And undiscern'd to its own height doth climb;
Strung first, and daily wound up by his hand
Who can its motions guide and understand.
No secret cunning then nor multitude
Can Providence divert, cross or delude.
And her just full decrees are hidden things,
Which harder are to find then Births of Springs.
Yet all in various Consorts fitly sound,
And by their Discords Harmony compound.
Hence is that Order, Life and Energy,
Whereby Forms are preserv'd though Matters die;
And shifting dress keep their own living state:
So that what kills this, does that propagate.
This made the ancient Sage in Rapture cry,
That fore the world had full Eternity.
For though it self to Time and Fate submit,
He's above both who made and governs it;
And to each Creature hath such Portion lent,
As Love and Wisdom sees convenient.
For he's no Tyrant, nor delights to grieve
The Beings which from him alone can live.
He's most concern'd, and hath the greatest share
In man, and therefore takes the greatest care
To make him happy, who alone can be
So by Submission and Conformity.
For why should Changes here below surprize,
When the whole World its revolution tries?
Where were our Springs, our Harvests pleasant use,
Unless Vicissitude did them produce?
Nay, what can be so wearisome a pain
As when no Alterations entertain?
To lose, to suffer, to be sick and die,
Arrest us by the same Necessity.
Nor could they trouble us, but that our mind
Hath its own glory unto dross confin'd.
For outward things remove not from their place,
Till our Souls run to beg their mean embrace;
Then doting on the choice make it our own,
By placing Trifles in th' Opinion's Throne.
So when they are divorc'd by some new cross,
Our Souls seem widow'd by the fatal loss:
But could we keep our Grandeur and our state,
Nothing below would seem unfortunate;
But Grace and Reason, which best succours bring,
Would with advantage manage every thing;
And by right Judgment would prevent our moan
For losing that which never was our own.
For right Opinion's like a Marble grott,
In Summer cool, and in the Winter hot;
A Principle which in each Fortune lives,
Bestowing Catholick Preservatives.
'Tis this resolves, there are no losses where
Vertue and Reason are continued there.
The meanest Soul might such a Fortune share,
But no mean Soul could so that Fortune bear.
Thus I compose my thoughts grown insolent,
As th' Irish Harper doth his Instrument;
Which if once struck doth murmur and complain,
But the next touch will silence all again.",,9508,"","""Nor could they trouble us, but that our mind / Hath its own glory unto dross confin'd.""",Metal,2009-09-14 19:34:16 UTC,I've included entire poem
3663,"","Searching ""impression"" and ""heart"" HDIS (Poetry); found again ""head""",2005-05-16 00:00:00 UTC,"As when the ancient World by Reason liv'd,
The Asian Monarchs deaths were never griev'd;
Their glorious Lives made all their Subjects call
Their Rites a Triumph, not a Funeral:
So still the Good are Princes, and their Fate
Invites us not to weep, but imitate.
Nature intends a progress of each stage
Whereby weak Man creeps to succeeding Age,
Ripens him for that Change for which he's made,
Where th' active Soul is in her Centre staid.
And since none stript of Infancy complain,
'Cause 'tis both their necessity and gain:
So Age and Death by slow approches come,
And by that just inevitable doom
By which the Soul (her cloggy dross once gone)
Puts on Perfection, and resumes her own.
Since then we mourn a happy Soul, O why
Disturb we her with erring Piety?
Who's so enamour'd on the beauteous Ground,
When with rich Autumn's livery hung round,
As to deny a Sickle to his Grain,
And not undress the teeming Earth again?
Fruits grow for use, Mankind is born to die;
And both Fates have the same necessity.
Then grieve no more, sad Relatives, but learn;
Sigh not, but profit by your just concern.
Read over her Life's volume: wise and good,
Not 'cause she must be so, but 'cause she wou'd.
To chosen Vertue still a constant friend,
She saw the Times which chang'd, but did not mend.
And as some are so civil to the Sun,
They'd fix his beams, and make the Earth to run:
So she unmov'd beheld the angry Fate
Which tore a Church, and overthrew a State:
Still durst be Good, and own the noble Truth,
To crown her Age which had adorn'd her Youth.
Great without Pride, a Soul which still could be
Humble and high, full of calm Majesty.
She kept true state within, and could not buy
Her Satisfaction with her Charity.
Fortune or Birth ne're rais'd her Mind, which stood
Not on her being rich, but doing good.
Oblig'd the World, but yet would scorn to be
Paid with Requitals, Thanks or Vanity.
How oft did she what all the World adore,
Make the Poor happy with her useful store?
So general was her Bounty, that she gave
Equality to all before the Grave.
By several means she different persons ty'd,
Who by her Goodness onely were ally'd.
Her Vertue was her Temper, not her Fit;
Fear'd nothing but the Crimes which some commit;
Scorn'd those dark Arts which pass for Wisdom now,
Nor to a mean ignoble thing could bow.
And her vast Prudence had no other end,
But to forgive a Foe, endear a Friend:
To use, but slight, the World; and fixt above,
Shine down in beams of Piety and Love.
Why should we then by poor unjust complaint
Prove envious Sinners 'cause she is a Saint?
Close then the Monument; let not a Tear
That may prophane her Ashes now appear:
For her best Obsequies are that we be
Prudent and Good, Noble and Sweet, as she.",,9509,"","""So Age and Death by slow approches come, / And by that just inevitable doom / By which the Soul (her cloggy dross once gone) / Puts on Perfection, and resumes her own.""","",2009-09-14 19:34:16 UTC,I've included entire poem
3739,"",Searching in HDIS (Drama),2005-06-03 00:00:00 UTC,"FRIEND.
Fear not, Sir, I'll excuse ye.
Goes out bowing to Mar.
SIR JOHN.
You little amiable mischievous Ape you, what a scurvie malicious Jest did you break upon me, to make the Proverb good, You had rather lose your Friend than your Jest?
DIAN.
A Jest! it was a parlous true one then: I said you were all Mettle; A brazen face, a leaden brain, and a copper nose and beard.
SIR JOHN
Wit, Lightning, and Quick-silver, thou little more than Dwarf, and something less than woman.",,9659,"","""I said you were all Mettle; A brazen face, a leaden brain, and a copper nose and beard.""",Metal,2009-09-14 19:34:23 UTC,"Act IV, scene iv"
3750,"","Searching ""mind"" and ""iron"" in HDIS (Drama)",2005-06-08 00:00:00 UTC,"PET.
What can this mad poor Captain do for you, love you whil'st you can buy him Britches, and then leave you; a Woman has a sweet time on't with any Soldier Lover of 'em all, with their Iron minds and Buff hearts: feather'd Inamorato's have nothing that belongs to Love but his Wings, the Devil clip 'em for Petronella--",,9677,"","""[A] Woman has a sweet time on't with any Soldier Lover of 'em all, with their Iron minds and Buff hearts""",Metal,2009-09-14 19:34:24 UTC,"Act IV, scene 4iii"
3823,"","Searching ""heart"" and ""steel"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-06-09 00:00:00 UTC," But Friendship fain would yet it self defend,
And Mighty Things it does pretend,
To be of this Sad Journey, Life, the Baite,
The sweet Refection of our toylsome State.
But though True Friendship a Rich Cordial be,
Alas, by most 'tis so alay'd,
Its Good so mixt with Ill we see,
That Dross for Gold is often paid.
And for one Grain of Friendship that is found,
Falshood and Interest do the Mass compound,
Or coldness, worse than Steel, the Loyal heart doth wound.
Love in no Two was ever yet the same,
No Happy Two ere felt an Equal Flame.
",,9844,"","""Or coldness, worse than Steel, the Loyal heart doth wound""",Metal,2009-09-14 19:34:31 UTC,Stanza V.
3824,"","Searching ""mind"" and ""dross"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-07-18 00:00:00 UTC," If by Traduction came thy Mind,
Our Wonder is the less to find
A Soul so charming from a Stock so good;
Thy Father was transfus'd into thy Blood:
So wert thou born into the tuneful strain,
(An early, rich, and inexhausted Vain.)
But if thy Præexisting Soul
Was form'd, at first, with Myriads more,
It did through all the Mighty Poets roul,
Who Greek or Latine Laurels wore.
And was that Sappho last, which once it was before.
If so, then cease thy flight, O Heav'n-born Mind!
Thou hast no Dross to purge from thy Rich Ore:
Nor can thy Soul a fairer Mansion find,
Than was the Beauteous Frame she left behind:
Return, to fill or mend the Quire, of thy Celestial kind.",,9845,•C-H includes twive: Once under Dryden and once under Killigrew. The poem is Dryden's.,"A "" Heav'n-born Mind"" may have ""no Dross to purge from [its] Rich Ore:""",Metal,2009-09-14 19:34:31 UTC,Stanza II.